There are those favorite places in the world. One of those, for me, is in Redington Pass.
When the flow is strong, the stream splits into dozens of channels in the bedrock.
There is a boulder there, large and flat. I can sit with my legs crossed India style. The slight slope makes it more comfortable. There, as the waters cascade down the carved channels toward me, I feel wonderfully alive.
The mist from the turbulence of the falls floats by, across my bare body, chilling just right, as the sun warms my back.
Minerals and tannins create effervescence. The tiny bubbles fizz like root beer, fizzy all over, up into nostrils. I touch the world with the inhale of breath. I smell fresh mineral vapors.
It is like an energy, a presence that flows down. Chinese call it chi, the natural fung shui of it seems evident. I raise my palms and know something unique.
Sound is only the pleasant roar of water flow and the silence in-between. It seems to wash away any thoughts that have nothing to do with where I am right now, here, alone, at one with nature.
I wrap my kilt around my waist ready for a bottomless ride across New York State. Our journey begins in this driveway in Buffalo and will end with nude friends at a campground, somewhere in the Green Mountains of Vermont. We say our goodbyes. DF and her brother have those tears that dear ones share.
By the time we have arrive at the end of the block, you can hear the rip of separating Velcro at my waist and DF is pulling her dress over her head and folding it up. We have been dressed during our nude journey for plenty long enough and bare skin is liberation.
We’re on our way to the semi-organized “World Naked Hiking Day” in Vermont. We’re about to meet cyber friends that I have been corresponding with for years, in the flesh. We’re more than ready.
In the southwestern New York, we came across an emerald gem. It has a grey bedrock channel through it. In some places it sparkles like tiny diamonds. It’s called Skinny-dip Falls. It’s a canyon gorge with a nude area about a mile long. Some sources say that it is designated, but it appears to speak for itself.
We have been having a peaceful R&R morning in Shawneee State Park, Ohio. It is mid- week, Tuesday, and we are nearly alone. I count just five occupied spaces out of the many in our area.
I take to the asphalt, walking down to the ranger station to square up and ask about hiking in the area. There are park maps pulled out, as I inquire. Not seeing what I am looking for, I mention that we have been a way from eastern forested areas like this and we would like solitude, maybe some meditation.
There is a trail up the road. Suspiciously, it doesn’t sound quite right, but there is little else to go on.
A short trip up the road through the canyon is a boat launch and dam. A lower parking lot is empty. Nobody is around. We get our light gear and follow a sign, walking across the road over to a hole in the foliage. It soon becomes apparent, that this trail is all our own.
Just a few feet in, we confidently strip off. I toss my clothing into the pack and out of the way.
Lawn mowers are everywhere, everyone has a big green lawn. Dorothy, we’re not in Arizona anymore!
We begin with a slow easy start, meandering through the back country roads of Missouri, smelling the cool morning breeze as it wraps around our bodies.
There is a beautiful bridge that we use to pass over to “east of the Mississippi” a sort of demarcation dividing the USA in half. Western Americans know this concept as if pioneers embarking “out west.” We anticipate a change. Oddly, on the other side of bustling Cape Girardeau, sits a strip bar and gas station, surprisingly nothing else, just some fields and trees and the road.
We’re going across five states today, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky and landing somewhere in the Ohio River Valley. I’ve checked the nudity laws. They vary from state to state, some more threatening than others. It is best to just use our regular carnuding strategies. We’ll be on Interstate highways mostly. Not much concern, but of the view of a bored truck driver who might awaken from his driving tedium.
I pull over for cell phone reception at a rest stop to make a telephonic doctor’s appointment. With that out of the way, we decide on lunch on one of the picnic tables and have a break from is longer day of driving.
The place seems odd to me. Each tree is perfect and uniform in shape and size. These clones have been here many years and manicured, probably planted at the same time. It reminds me of a Jetson’s cartoon that I saw years ago, where in the future, the trees are all gone. Their replacements are actually metal and uniform. I wander off to the edge of this park in fascination. I find much wild biodiversity attempting to creep in the empty space and take over. It is barely contained by perimeter fences.
As we sit and eat, we people watch. I contemplate that there is a defining identification regionally about clothing. Redneck chic is a big thing. Western outfits began to be replaced more by baseball caps with logos and tee shirts, as we have made our way eastward. Illinois seems more urban with paler skin from lack of sun. Indiana has the redneck look down pat. It seems like a tribal thing. My wrap around kilt, a convenient individuality, gets second glances. If only we would spend our summers dressed as human beings. There is much to do about really nothing. Continue reading →
…Missouri welcomes, as does every state. A long expanse of trees covers the countryside. There are national and state lands preserved for the future, bringing back the heritage that has been logged away. I had set up for some camping and hiking exploration in the Mark Twain National Forest, but hearing the voices of old friends on the phone, changed my mind. Follow the heart.
We stop for ice cream and gas along the highway. In the parking lot, there is a young man with the lid up on his old pickup truck, sitting with car trouble. Five Amish men in their traditional dress, black suspenders, gather around him watching. After a while, I see a black horse carriage trotting away down the highway. No motor troubles.
We turn off of the Interstate as the shadows begin to get longer. The two lane road winds through forest and farmland.
We are feeling refreshed from our dip in the natural bathtub. We are comfortably barefoot, head to toe, road ready. We leave Dog Canyon, passing through Alamogordo, New Mexico, continuing our journey.
I’ve used the word “carnude”, or “carnuding” several times lately. Just to do some housekeeping, it is a contraction of “car” and “nude” that several of us came up with several years ago. It was a takeoff of the contraction “canuding” meaning canoeing nude. It simply means traveling by car without clothing. Here is a complete Carnuding Handbook, which explains the how to’s that we employ to safely carnude:
We slow through the quiet town of Tularosa. I have been through here numerous times over my lifetime, but never have taken true notice. I spot a large neighborhood of dressed up older homes. They are what I’d call New Mexico styles. They have much in common with the popular Santa Fe style, but are less restricted to the boxy pueblo look.
We wake up in our cozy tent, looking out of the net, hungry. That huge mountain rises up above us with its sense of beyond. There is more hidden up there, lots more, eventually there is a National Forest filled with pines and lush life.
Stepping out of our nest is like stepping into adventure. The view is spectacular. The valley is now its normal self, under a big turquoise New Mexico sky. We are on vacation. Breakfast comes, as I tear down the tent. I carefully tuck each component of our campsite in its assigned place in the small car.
The plan was to be out somewhere in the Lincoln National Forest, this morning, somewhere near Capitan, New Mexico. Yesterday, we altered that in a moment and visited White Sands National Monument instead. We then stayed here, just a few miles away.
So, we’re hours from that original goal, in no particular hurry and about to alter our plans again. Like I said, “We’re on vacation,” But what I haven’t said is that this is an open ended trip. We can stay on the road as long as we like. Just that, feels mighty liberating.
I pull out my notes and check our parameters. What can we do today? There is a compelling notion of a hike up a spectacular looking canyon that we have been curiously viewing from our breakfast table.
The Free Range Naturist 