August 2003, 36 degrees in the shade and the farmhouse just finished. A perfect day for snuggling up to a bottle of cold Alsace and dozing away the day in the shade. Why is it that this image always turns out to be a dream - someone, somewhere in the greater beyond thrusts his finger through a cloudless sky and says "It could be you!" To be more precise it nearly always translates as "It IS you!" In this case the only shadow being cast over me was that of my wife, Joyce, and the only words I could pick out as I surfaced from my dream image was "PICNIC".

To you that may seem like a fairly innocuous word - to me it means a day of trying desperately to get comfortable sitting on a blanket, balancing a (non alcoholic) drink in one hand, a sandwich in the other and, at the same time, trying to disperse the regiments of flies that seem to find me more appetising than the food. "The lake at Lauriere", the shadow decreed, "We need the chairs, covers, coolbox and blanket" - I imagined that somewhere along the line I missed "kitchen sink"! Mention of the word "chairs" raised my spirits for a brief moment until I remembered that my Mother and Joyce's parents were staying with us, so the blanket was destined for me. Dutifully and with a heavy heart I packed the Landrover to the brim for the safari that would take all of 10 minutes drive.

Lac du pont à l'Age at Lauriere is a much underrated lake a couple of kilometres outside of the village. Nestling in a sheltered valley of chestnut and oak trees, the lake caters for all ages - a safe (monitored) bathing area with sandy beach for children and adults, large grassy areas with shade for, dare I say it, "picnics"; pedalo's for hire, crazy golf, a cafe, windsurfing and a plethora of points around the lake for a quiet day of fishing. Sadly one particular attraction was missing - 'doing nothing' wasn't on the list.

The drive was uneventful, 11 o'clock in the morning and we didn't pass a car (or any sign of life for that matter), Lauriere was deserted, it was too hot for anyone to even make it to the bar on the square - so what was I doing driving along in a black Landrover that doubled up as an oven, and doing a passable impression of a cooked turkey - the answer - I'm English that's why! The car park at the lake was pretty much deserted, a couple of cars hugged the shade underneath the trees - a temporary measure as the sun would eventually snake across the sky and expose them to the full heat of the afternoon, instantly vapourising their occupants when they returned to the car. Loaded like pack horses, we set up camp on the grassed area just below the car park and within dragging distance of the shade of the trees. With all of the family dutifully settled I took up my position on the blanket and surveyed the scene.

The grassy bank slopes down the hill to the beach and affords a panoramic view of the lake and the surrounding forest. The cafe and bar was within easy reach - although I knew that I wasn't going to sample its delights today. A few kids were splashing about in the bathing area, someone else was floating around (asleep) on an air bed, and a couple of middle aged ladies were trying their best to get an all over tan (sadly just out of viewing distance) - maybe the day wasn't going to be so bad after all. No more that a couple of dozen people in all, and a scene of complete serenity. Then I spotted it - close to the beach area was someone erecting a home made wigwam with skull and crossbones fluttering on the top of a stick - it couldn't be French.

The sight held my interest for only a couple of minutes. Having deduced they were probably English and slightly eccentric, I opted to take a short walk in the opposite direction to Swiss Family Robinson and take a few photographs of the beach area. "Only be 10 minutes" I said, relieved to be at last free of the dreaded blanket, and wallowing in the sensation of some feeling returning to my backside. Resisting the urge to double back to the shade of the bar area I set off to the left of the lake, navigating the crazy golf course, and on to the rough track which winds its way down the side of the lake. Having found a good vantage point to take the photographs, I decided to continue on and explore a little further - not a good idea with only an hour left to lunchtime.

The one thing in the Limousin which never fails to amaze me is how soon you can find solitude. After a couple of hundred metres I had stepped into a completely different world - totally at one with nature, just the occasional angler, most of them asleep, broke the spell as I trekked on towards the earth dam at the far end of the lake. I am no naturalist (I even have difficulty spelling it) but the array of butterflies, dragon flies and lizards was spectacular. Species that I had never seen before. Eventually I arrived at a rickety bridge across the river which provides the overflow from the lake, beyond this is no mans land!

For a short time the shade ended and I stepped into the searing heat to walk across the dam, only 100 metres or so, but I was dripping by the time I reached the welcome shade of the trees on the far side. I never wear a watch here, but I estimated that I'd only been away about 15 minutes so I could conceivably circumnavigate the lake and not be too late for lunch. Onwards and upwards!

The track on the far side of the lake plunged straight back into the forest and afforded splendid views across the lake. It continued like this for about another kilometre before it petred out. Any sensible person would have turned back at this point - but not me - the thought of the dreaded blanket that awaited me on my return blinkered my judgement - that and the uncontrollable urge to replicate Livingstone! Scanning the immediate area I noticed a small track running along the water's edge, overgrown and rocky but definitely navigable - or so I thought. Shorts and casual shoes were definitely not the recommended attire for this route, but then if I'd been wearing sensible boots and jeans then I would probably died of heat exhaustion. Nettled, scratched and stung I continued to make good headway along the track, stopping occasionally to take yet another photograph.

After close on half an hour of scrambling my solitude was abruptly brought to an end by the site of an elderly lady and two young children coming in the opposite direction - just as I'd been indulging in some self congratulation of my fortitude in getting so far. Stepping aside, and slithering down the bank a couple of yards in the process, I offered a polite "Bonjour". This was returned, along with the advice that the route wasn't passable. Balancing on the bank as I was, with one foot stuck in the mud and trying to retain some element of dignity and composure, I thanked her and indicated that I would, nevertheless, try to go a little further. The resigned and knowing smile should have said it all. (Why is it that however well you speak French, they always know you are English - as if we have it tatooed on our foreheads at birth). After another 15 minutes I reached the end of the track!

Looking down the lake, I could see that it was actually much larger than I thought. This area was in complete contrast to the leisure area, wild and remote, I could swear that the place was home to crocodiles and, with that thought in mind, kept one eye firmly on the water. The silence was only broken by scuttling noises in the undergrowth no doubt caused by invisible prehistoric creatures who were tracking me, waiting for the moment when this piece of "Rosbif" finally gave up the ghost! Not to be deterred, I decided to search out another route - there just had to be way around. I'm one of those people who will drive for miles rather than find reverse gear and turn back - I put it down to laziness and the fact that the turning circle on a Landrover is so bad it renders the "three point turn" obsolete. Scrambling up the bank through the forest I came to a respectable looking farm track and decided to follow this for a while - after all it was heading in the right general direction. I was surprised to find yet another lake on the other side (or an extension of the original).

In the forest were dry stone walls disappearing into the distance and lulling me into a false sense of security - where there are dry stone walls there must be civilisation. Not so in the Limousin. These walls predate the forests and hark back to the time, only 200 years ago, when all this countryside was moorland, grazed by sheep. Farming was always difficult here and when the sheep farmers gradually gave up the ghost they planted trees rather than sell the land on to others - so now we have the forests - an amazing and totally unintentional piece of foresight. Although I knew this at the time its always a difficult fact to accept. Happily continuing on past huge fields of maize and an inquisitive herd of Limousin cattle, the track eventually came to an abrupt end in the middle of the forest! I swear there are more cul de sacs in this area than Hampton Court maze. I spent another half hour exploring different tracks with much the same result before finally relenting and deciding to backtrack - not an easy decision. I made a mental note to bring a map next time.

I won't describe the return trek, it's much the same as the last only in reverse, except parts of the track were a bit like the Hinterstoisser Traverse on the North face of the Eiger, passable in one direction - not so easy coming back. Now twice as nettled and scratched as an hour earlier, I eventually emerged onto a larger track further up the bankside that I had somehow missed earlier. Staggering out of the undergrowth, dripping with sweat and looking for all the world like some long lost neanderthal man, I startled a French family happily seated around a large table in the shade of the trees enjoying lunch. Bottles of wine at the ready, real knives and forks, real food, all eight of them happily tucking into an enormous meal. Somehow they had managed to bring their entire dining room into the middle of the forest in the back of two Renault 5's! The "Bonjour" was more guarded, after all here I was appearing out of the undergrowth in the middle of nowhere, disturbing the peace and tranquility. I tried a hopeful "Bon appetite", but to no avail - for all the copious quantities of food and drink, there obviously wasn't enough to share with a vagrant!


The way back was a blur, my only thought a cool drink and something (anything) to eat. I arrived back at the leisure site to find that the place was now much busier than before, plastic killer whales and sharks abounded in the bathing area, and families everywhere were relaxing after their no doubt copious picnics. It is quite often the case that these places are busiest around four o'clock in the afternoon - following a hearty lunch and a quick siesta. The family had moved some 100 yards further back as they followed the shade of the trees. so I had to weave through sunbathing bodies who looked back at me with polite curiousity; bedraggled, with my shorts and teeshirt I seemed to be over dressed for the occasion. (Its that "I am English" tatoo again!). It was like finding civilisation for the first time, although I noticed that "Wigwam Man" was still camped by the beach awaiting rescue. Having survived the initial tirade and black looks over being late for lunch, by this time the family were close on starvation, it was somehow a relief to be sitting on the dreaded blanket. Fed, watered, and lying back to take a few minutes nap, my wife chirped up "Fancy a quick walk then!"