A World of Fairy Tales
Three lakes, and a wild encounter
The reflections of the lake plunge me into a world of fairy tales. It’s almost 9 o’clock and the freshness of the morning tickles my nose. I take advantage of it because I know that the temperature will rise quickly and I want to avoid the scorching rays of the sun for my first hours of walking.
I woke up early that morning, with the main objective to walk around the three lakes of Longemer, Gérardmer, and Retournemer, true wonders of the valley of the lakes located in the Vosges mountains.
I read that the lake of Longemer is to be seen early in the morning when the light of the rising sun reflects on its waters. I don’t regret getting up in the early hours of the day, the show is gorgeous. An impressionist painter would have been the happiest in the world in front of such a landscape. For long minutes, I let my mind wander in the reflections of the lake.
I walk a long hour around the lake, taking advantage of a few stops to take some pictures, drink fresh water in my metal flask, and enjoy my pleasure to be surrounded by this luxuriant nature.
After this first meeting with the lakes of the region, I go to Gérardmer to start my second loop. It takes about 1h45 to go around this second lake, so I decide to have my lunch break right after to rest my legs and regain strength before continuing my walk.
As I walk along the trail that borders the west side of the water body, turning my back to the city, I hear the clink of my metal canteen in my backpack. That’s all it takes to throw me back twenty-five years or so as I climb the stony paths of the Vercors mountains, with my father in the lead and my mother and sister closing the march.
When we would go hiking for the day, or even for the week with two donkeys — my best memories — we would take turns carrying the water bottles, which we would fill when drinking water sources were available. In addition to a large blue plastic water bottle, we also had two smaller ones made of metal, including a dented orange one that must have seen more countries than any experienced hiker.
I can still hear the sound of that canteen hanging on my belt, the characteristic click of its closing system. I remember us taking breaks to drink and catch our breath before resuming our assent. I remember my dad studying his IGN map to make sure his family doesn’t get lost en route and gets safely to their destination.
I hear him again telling me to be careful where I set foot and to look ahead while walking. I can see again his big brown leather hiking boots with big red laces. My dad, solid as a rock, helping me through difficult passages by supporting me with his steady hand.
All these images suddenly come back to me, without me expecting it.
Halfway around the lake of Gérardmer, I stop to nibble on a cereal bar on a small rock by the water’s edge. Two ducks approach me and deliver a charming tirade that makes me happy. I regret not speaking their language.
We can read on the front of the restaurant: Les copains d’abord. A reference to our great Georges Brassens? Perhaps. After a warm welcome by a friendly waitress, I order a salad composed of white Munster — the local cheese — and cured ham, served with a lager. It feels good to sit down for a bite to eat.
I observe the few guests around the tables next to me, I listen to bits of conversations, I smile. I am a lonely traveler, but a happy traveler. My whole body is relaxed. My face glows with warmth after sunbathing all morning.
On my way to the restaurant bathroom, I see a framed photo hanging on the wall that is very familiar to me since it was the same one that was in my parents’ office in our old house. Georges Brassens, Léo Ferré, and Jacques Brel gathered around a table, for a meeting that has become a legend. I understand better now the name of the restaurant, which is based on Brassens’ famous song.
I walk through the streets of the city to get back on my feet, spot a store where I’ll come back to buy sweets and honey from the region, then climb into my car, heading for Lake Retournemer, the smallest and wildest of the three.
When I arrive at the tiny parking lot that borders the lake, I am struck by the silence that surrounds me. Nothing better than to start the afternoon gently. The muscles in my legs are getting tired, but I run between the trees, determined to continue my journey.
The sound of a waterfall attracts my attention and I stop for a while to contemplate the water gliding over the wet rocks. Half an hour later, a watchful heron greets me before I find my vehicle that will take me back to my wooden house. I am exhausted but happy as a kid to have been able to see three beautiful lakes and sumptuous landscapes the same day.
Half lying on the garden chair planted in the grass a few meters from the cottage, I open Jamey Bradbury’s book, Savage. After a day’s walk in the middle of nature, reading a book is the most pleasant way to relax. There is still enough light to turn a few pages and find young Tracy and her sled dogs.
While I am lost in the wilderness of Alaska, a slight noise in the trees behind me attracts my attention. Being as discreet as possible, I turn my head to the right to look over my shoulder, and that’s when my breathing stops.
About five meters away from me, two deer are facing me, their erect ears caressing the leaves of the tree under which they are frozen, surprised to find me there on their playground. Barely a second goes by, the two animals turn around and then run away, disappearing into the dusk.
That night, I close my eyes in the cozy bed of my wooden cottage, telling myself that I never want to leave this place again. Mountains, lakes, forests, and deer have conquered my heart forever.
I told another amazing encounter in a story also related to my trip to the mountains. Happy reading!
