Hidden in the Woods

I have a special spot. It is not well known, nor frequented. Its access is easy.  It is comfortable, trees tower above, grass and mountain flowers carpet the ground among pine needles.

I make sure not to make tracks, or develop a trail. I make sure to not let anyone on the highway see me enter the forest. Sure people find it, there is actually a path worn through it.

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Hutch’s Pool: Part II



Day II:

It is very pleasant to open sleepy eyes to overhead gnarly oak trees above my head. The overcast that has been clinging to these high mountains has melted away. I remember the full moonlight from the night before. A grey moonlight, that I thought might keep me awake, didn’t stand a chance after such an active day on the trail and climbing around through and over the plethora of rock formations. DF lies beside me. I turn my head as she turns hers. Her eyes are peaceful.

The waterfall sound of the creek rushing through the boulders, washing away its channel through the Earth continues on. A few birds call out. A turtle dove, or “tortolita” coos. Nothing wrong here. We stretch.

I’d forgotten the foam mattresses, which keep the air mattresses from sliding, but we agree that we slept well, even though not tight spoons as usual. We’re ready for a wonderful day, a celebration of life, a birthday. The sun is nearly exactly where it was the day that I was born. This old tree is shading us today.

We are thinking about heading back today. We have put off the decision and brought extra food, just in case. We are feeling the effects of our first backpack foray of the year, a groan here and there. The day and circumstance are beautiful. We would have to leave early to make the 4:30 shuttle, or walk another four miles on pavement. We have appointments the following day and would have to get up and away early….

I ask myself, how would I like to spend my birthday? Pushing a timetable, or making the most of now and putting strife aside?

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Hutch’s Pool: Day I


We arrived for the first the shuttle at Sabino Canyon Visitor Center. We had had to wait out the weather.

There had been a nearly full moon the night before to walk up to the last shuttle stop. It can be a beautiful hike, but for the asphalt for miles and breaking rules about pitching a tent. We decided that for the five bucks to ride the shuttle, we would ride past the tourists, enjoy the views and be fresh. The tourists will be gone sooner, and we will be on the trail and free.

We are heading up to Hutch’s Pool for a night or two. I have a Birthday to celebrate in proper attire. I want to be with my favorite friend and enjoying my favorite activities. The pool is a favorite, about four miles hike for us. There are clouds over the Catalina Mountain range this morning, but the forecast is sunny. The grey covering is beginning to dissolve as the sun breaks through.

We place our packs on the back seat of the shuttle and listened to the descriptive recording along the way, as we watch the beautiful canyon pass by. The driver is friendly and helpful. I think back years to the last time that I had ridden the old shuttle and the driver’s voice had been our guide. Each one had had a different personality and enthusiasm. This recording sounded like one of those typical Disney movie narrators.

I was surprised as this recording mentioned plans for a dam a few decades ago. It would have killed all that fans out below Sabino Canyon and bury the rest of this wonder under water! Fortunately the funds dried up, so the water didn’t and the catastrophe was averted.

I watch the familiar places pass and remember my first trips up into this canyon. We used to be able to drive up and park on the side of the road before the shuttle. Hidden behind the giant boulders, we would drink cheap wine, smoke and skinny-dip. These days, 1.3 million visitors each year populate our old playground.

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The Naked Hermit

I recently got a copy of “The Naked Hermit.” This book comes from material gathered for a Ph.D. thesis, written by Nick Mayhew-Smith. He spent several years exploring numerous locations and milling through ancient manuscripts. He compiled a list of around fifty people, both men and women, who for Christian religious reasons had participated and lived as naked hermits.

This book focuses on a time in between in what are now the British Isles. A time when the mandate was to create a mass conversion of a Pagan population and Rome wasn’t in close control.

Many found themselves in bodies of water doing sacred rituals. Some, the originals, were desert dwellers. The author provides a plethora of those who could be described as monks.

The author spent various lengths of time doing his best to walk in these people’s shoes, that is lack of,  on location. He explains the profound insight that he discovered exploring the nudity and reclusive behavior.

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Rebirth in the Rain


I hear it outside of my window. I jump up and look to be sure of the familiar sound.” Plop, plop,” I haven’t heard this sound in a long time.

These are big rain drops. The patio has polka dots bigger than silver dollars. It’s the warm and tropical kind, that comes during this season up from the Gulf of Mexico. I’m excited. I step outside just to be sure, to find out if this is that wonderful warm summer stuff…that I love to dance in.

The plop sound on my naked body is accompanied by a sting like a soft pellet. The first has me alarmed, then each successive dollop becomes a sensual message, a delight to awaken me all over.

I climb up onto the granite slab just out my doorway. The polka dots have now melded together into a sheen. The sun has it glowing like a layer of wax, bringing distinction to the rock around me.

There had been a dusting during the last few days. A fine powder had been deposited on every surface. This quickly has become a mud, a transparent slippery slime. I become careful. My bare feet must slowly grip the surface with its contours and be assured with every step.

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Tortolita Traverse


Memorial Day weekend was cooler than average. The swimming pool parties had no swimmers in the still too cold waters. The whole of Spring has been like that, but we know that June and the hot times are on the way and we will then be hiking in the higher elevations. Last night, as we were playing music outside, we all knew that we were probably sitting in the last chilly evening.

The morning is feeling wonderful. We have a plan to explore a trail that I saw on satellite images. A couple of weeks before, we were bushwhacking our way up a wash in a part of Tortolita that I didn’t know was there. We had been stopped by a nearly dry waterfall cliff. This trail intersects that wash and appears to bypass the waterfall. It will give us access to the rest of the canyon and possibly a trail that would traverse and take us clear back into our own neighborhood.

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Nude vs. Clothed

Most of the following sense is not my original content. It was posted September 2015 by randomfactsgeekjga in Uncategorized. The original can be found at:


I added the illustrations and my addendums here for this presentation.

You know that it all just makes a whole lot of common sense!

Nudism is freedom. Naked is natural, naked is beautiful, naked is fun, naked is healthy, naked is happy, naked is never outdated, naked is friendly, naked is cool , naked is the best! Continue reading

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Bonita Creek


We have had the intention of staying at the Hot Springs for four naked days with a Friday trip out to Bonita Creek for a hike and exploration of that canyon. The weather has turned cold and sustaining northeasterly winds have tortured us. Our hike has now been changed to Sunday afternoon, when the temperature is forecast to rise above 70F and the winds will drop from 20mph plus to 9 to 13mph. I have hope that the narrow canyon with sharp steep walls will have the winds caught in tree tops, if it doesn’t just swish over it.

I wake up at sunrise Sunday morning. The place is calm and peaceful, as I climb from my tent and warm quilt. I’m still bundled in layers. Just the calm makes a terrific difference, after days of wind. I’m encouraged. Soon, the wind picks up again, however.

We make the walk over to the swimming pool hot tub for one last soak. It is delightful, not too much just right.

When camp is packed away and breakfast eaten. We drive over to say some good-byes, but last on the list is a quick, “warm us up” dip in stingy ‘ol Geronimo pool. There are several morning soakers there to share our bath.

When our task is accomplished, we’re off at a casual pace.

After trying out another different Mexican Restaurant in Safford, we make the drive out of town to Bonita Creek. We are hoping to have few people there. It is out of the way. The rains have the Gila river flooding and raging. Perhaps the water is up where we are going and flooding will dissuade people from crossing the creek in their cars.  That would give us the solitude that we seek for our naked hike and explorations. Continue reading

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Pondering the Adjustments of Life in a Body

One’s attitude has so much to do with dealing with being naked in cold weather. Having chosen and acclimated to the warm and hot desert where I live, my attitude provides horrible support.  In the Summer, I walk in the blast from a furnace and step out to what I sense is akin to opening an oven door. Then, I sit in the heat. I look for shade, but all in all, I like that heat, naked. I love a sauna. I’m a Tucsonan.

So, we visited the Hot Springs and the daily forecast continued to be incorrect. The northeastern wind continued to rush down at force and penetrate every nook and cranny available to it. It got me to think about my naturist cohorts in the north. One in particular comes to mind. He lives up in the grassy chilling cold of Scotland. He hikes for hours, for many miles, nude. He loves it. He takes care to watch wind-chill charts, his skin changes color as it begins to frost, but he keeps moving.

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At the Hot Springs: Part III



Here’s parts I and II:




Another Day Brings….

The winds increase the next day, which is not as the forecast foretold. Our little tent had been luffing like a sail throughout the night. The flexible arched poles would flex and bend, so much that it caused the walls to cower and nudge my thick goose down camping quilt.

We remain bundled to peak out of the tent. We remain bundled to eat breakfast. We wander around bundled in layers of clothing to mediate. We wonder, “What’s with all of the clothes?”

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