creepy naked guy

I have been on a quest lately to find a swimming hole within biking distance of my house. Living in Maine, and with the multitudinous rivers, streams and ocean inlets in my general vicinity, this would seem to be an easy task. But not so. Of course there are various places to swim, but I’m looking for a place a little more secluded, if you know what I mean. Thoreau and Ben Franklin are on my side in this quest for a place where I can indulge in an “open-air bath.” But there’s always the chance that I might get caught and viewed as some kind of freak. I had an experience last summer where I drove out to a secluded pond near my home. I hiked about a mile into the woods, and jumped into the water. Not seeing anyone around, I took off my bathing suit and threw it onto the rocks onshore. It was dusk, and the chances of anyone happening along were slim. And yet, who should appear out of the woods but four women. I was floating about twenty yards offshore and they called out to me, asking if I would mind if they joined me. Of course I agreed. What else could I do? They didn’t notice my state of undress, and, clad in their various swim attire, they jumped in as well. So here we have a great moral dilemma. Does a man, floating naked in the middle of a pond, admit to his newly manifested female companions that he is in fact naked and that perhaps they would like to take their leisure elsewhere? Or does he pretend that everything’s fine, just fine, nothing to see here? Well, I opted for the latter choice. But when the sun started to go down and the water got chillier, I had to make a decision. I slowly paddled towards shore, and gingerly retrieved my suit from the rocks at the water’s edge. You probably don’t know how difficult it is to put on a swimsuit while you are trying to tread water, but let me tell you, it’s not easy. As I climbed out of the water, clothed, I heard giggles behind me. They knew what had happened. I distinctly heard one of them say, “That must have been a thrill for him.” As if I was some kind of pervert. As if it was my plan to go skinny-dipping in a remote pond and hope that some women came along. Please. And yet, they had come out of nowhere, intruded on my privacy, and here I was, feeling like the creep. I remember swearing to myself that I would never let this happen again. But here I am, one summer later, looking for some kind of swimming hole utopia. I’m a married father of two, not some weirdo hiding in the bushes. All I want is someplace where I can be alone and feel close to nature. People can legally go off into the woods, drink a few Buds, and fire shotguns at innocent animals, or tear across frozen lakes on loud, belching snowmobiles, or plow through the woods on ugly, dangerous ATV’s, and all this is legal. And yet I, with my low carbon footprint, am some kind of freak. A man who goes into the woods with a gun to kill animals is called a sportsman. But a man who goes into the woods to swim unencumbered in a secluded pond is just a creepy naked guy, apparently.

random journal entry, August 10, 2007

A rainy Friday. My last full day here. Woke early, around 6:30 am. Walked into town to Bread Alone for bagel and coffee. Spent about two hours eating and reading Glass Bead Game. Walked back to the Inn and took a drive up to Phoenicia, past Mount Tremper and the Zen Mountain Monastery. Came back to town and walked around. Stopped into Dharmaware to buy a small bodhisattva statue for Mom and Dad. Ate lunch at pizzeria (again!) Then walked back to the Inn for coffee and journal writing. Hoping the rain will clear so I might be able to go for a swim later, or at least tomorrow a.m. A lonely day, so far. Just got some good advice about swimming holes: Seven Waterfalls. And I learned that apparently bears are pretty much harmless. Maybe the sun will come out tomorrow. Did more walking in the afternoon. Bought a bottle of wine and got take-out from Joshua’s: a Middle-Eastern sampler. Watching sports on TV in the p.m. Hoping for sun.

my disappearance

I have been absent lately. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t tell how many people are reading my feed because WordPress discontinued their feed stats. Maybe it’s because I’ve been away, celebrating my 40th birthday in the woods, hiking and swimming in mountain streams, visiting Tibetan Buddhist monasteries and having run-ins with black bears. Maybe it’s because I’ve been too caught up in my reading (Hesse, Mann) and am living in my own mind, shutting out the outside world. I really can’t say. But here’s a picture of one of the places I swam while I was away, near Woodstock, NY. Enjoy.

dreamworld

This has been the hardest vacation in my life to come back from. I can’t really say why, but this whole week I’ve been in a daze. It’s common knowledge that when you go away and step outside the everyday patterns of work and family responsibilities, your body and mind start following what are probably their more natural rhythms. When your first arrive at your destination, you look at all the poor folks who are just ending their vacation and you take pity on them, not fully realizing that you too will be just like them in a week’s time. In our case, when we stepped off the ferry onto the island, we saw all the people lined up with their cars stuffed to bursting, waiting to get back on the ferry for the trip back to the mainland and the real world that accompanies it. We were giddy. A week later, we were the sad sacks waiting in line to sail back to reality. But the week in between was magical as always. The weather cooperated most of the time. We rode our bikes, swam almost every day in the quarries, read books, and slept as late as we wanted. My children became island kids for a little while, and my wife and I wondered, as we always do, what it would be like to live on an island and pursue the contemplative, artistic life. Probably very hard. My fantasies of being a published author resurfaced. Vacations always force me to challenge the expectations I have of myself, making me see the dichotomy between what my life is right now, and what I’d like it to become. Reading and writing books sounds like a great way to earn a living. I imagine my kids gently knocking on the door of my study (oh, to have a study!), asking me if I’m done with the day’s writing so I can come outside and play with them. I’m going to read A Wrinkle in Time and Island of the Blue Dolphins next to inspire me to write a children’s story. When I was younger, my mom used to call me the Absent-Minded Professor. I guess that description still fits. If I had my way, I’d live in my own mind most of the time, but the pressures (and joys) of work and child-rearing intrude on my private little dreamworld. The greatest pleasure of any vacation for me is having the space and time to allow that dreamworld inside myself take a more prominent place in my daily life, if even for a few days or a week. Swimming naked in a quarry isn’t a bad perk either, although I couldn’t help noticing upon my return that all my swimming didn’t end war. Guess I’ll have to keep at it.

vacation

Well, faithful readers, I’m leaving for vacation tomorrow. My family and I will be spending a week on Vinalhaven, an island in Penobscot Bay. I’ll be out of reach of television, email, cell phones, and just about every other vestige of modern civilization. We’ll be swimming in quarries, beachcombing, taking lots of long walks and bike rides, and I imagine consuming a good deal of wine. Have a great week, and stay cool. My you achieve true independence.

paradise lost

Everything good comes to an end. I found out today that the rules have changed at the swimming hole I mentioned in the post below. As I made my second visit in as many days to the pond near Camden that my family and I like to frequent, I noticed some small yellow signs tacked up on the trees by the water’s edge. They read “No Nudity. By order of police.” This pond, which I can tell you now, is located in Appleton, was for many years an idyllic refuge for swimmers, both clothed and unclothed alike. One side of the pond was reserved for the “textiles” and the other side for the more adventurous types. The two groups co-existed peacefully for quite some time. When the land was eventually bought by a local man a few years ago, he generously allowed people to continue this common tradition. But this summer, everything has apparently changed. The owner, who I can’t begrudge at all, has changed his mind for reasons unknown to many of the regulars I talked to today, and decided that he can no longer offer refuge for the more liberal bathers. In other words, you can still swim in the pond (and it is a breathtakingly beautiful spot), but you had better keep your pants on. If you read this post on a regular basis, you’ll already be familiar with my agreement with the Buddhist philosophy that suffering comes from our attachment to things that are fleeting. I am living proof of that maxim today. Appleton was for me a little oasis in a world of madness. It was a place that I always assumed would be there for me, my escape from the sometimes dehumanizing world we live in…my refuge from conformity. This same thing happened a few years ago to a beach that my wife and I liked to visit in St John, US Virgin Islands. It was so out of the way, so remote, that you really had to make an effort to get there. It was our little paradise…until the National Park Service (under George W. Bush) decided to take a tougher stance against miscreants like myself. I even wrote a letter to the Superintendent of the Virgin Island National Park, begging him to reconsider…to no avail. It was illegal, and that was that….even if Park Rangers had to sneak up on you in boats to cite you. We haven’t been back since. Meanwhile, people can still ride their snowmobiles through Yellowstone National Park. I guess that kind of recreation is OK. I may still go back to Appleton once in awhile to swim, but probably not. It’s lost its charm for me now. As soon as I get over my despair for a dear friend lost, I’ll start looking for another Eden.

innocence

I took my children swimming outside yesterday, for the first time this summer. While my poor wife worked, I took the kids to a little swimming hole we like to frequent in the hills above Camden, Maine. I can’t tell you where it is, unless you want to come with me sometime, or I’d have to kill you. Suffice to say, it has a unique dress code. (I can see Muddy Waters wagging his finger at me, reminding me that “if you’ve got something good, keep it in your pocket.” Sorry, Muddy.) With the sun glinting through the clouds, we drove out to our little idyll. I put the life jackets on the kiddies, and we went for a dip. The water was not as warm as it could have been, but children never seem to notice the cold. I swam with them for a few minutes, then climbed onto the bank and sat in the grass while the warm, late afternoon sun shone down upon us. My children played in the shallow, sandy end of the pond, making mud pies and splashing each other. Suddenly my daughter exclaimed, “Dad, this is the funnest, coldest time I’ve had all day!” I couldn’t have agreed more. I got eaten alive by bugs, and I had to use my stern dad voice to get them to come out of the water and dry off, but just for an hour, we inhabited our own little Eden here on earth, innocent before the Fall.

swimming and immortality

Summer in Maine is almost here. For me, that means swimming, whenever and wherever I can. Nothing can bring you back to nature, and to yourself, like swimming can. There’s good reason water and eternal life are so deeply intertwined in literature and religious texts. I would recommend a book, Haunts of the Black Masseur: The Swimmer as Hero, by Charles Sprawson, for a rare philosophical examination of swimming.

Imagine a muggy rainy day at a secluded lake. You can see the raindrop-pocked water through the pine trees as you make your way down the forest path. You undress at the water’s edge. You feel a thrill, maybe a tremble in your fingers. You’re innocent once more, childlike and pure. You want to wash off the dust of the world. There is only silence and the occasional call of a loon. No one around for miles. Just you and Nature, face to face. You enter the water and feel the brief intimation of immortality that Wordsworth spoke of. You’re being held gently and rocked, once again. You’ve come home.

clothing, optional

There is a brief passage in Walden where Thoreau describes bathing in the idyllic waters of his Pond. If you’ve ever been to Walden Pond in the summer, you can imagine what this must have felt like one hundred years ago, miles from your closest neighbor: Like pure bliss. We’ve all gone skinny-dipping at least once in our lives, (I hope!) and we all know how good it feels. My first experience was about twenty years ago at Robert Moses State Park on Long Island at a designated clothing-optional beach. At first it felt strange. But the strangeness disappeared after about five minutes when I realized that no one was staring at me and no one looked like a runway model. It was the height of summer, about ninety degrees. The ocean water felt luxurious against my skin and it was glorious to come back to my towel and lay basking in the bright sun. I was hooked. For many years afterwards, I would proselytize to the uninitiated about the benefits of my discovery. I used to compare nude bathing to buying a microwave oven (Bear with me). Before you get a microwave, you don’t understand what all the fuss is about, but after you have one you can’t imagine how you ever lived without it. When I talked this way, people looked at me funny. Then everyone had a microwave and my analogy lost its meaning. So I changed my object of desire to an iPod, but now everyone has one of those as well. I once heard Muddy Waters quoted as saying, “If you’ve got something good, keep it in your pocket.” Maybe that’s what I should do, I decided. Much like politics and religion, no one likes to be lectured to. The most meaningful discoveries you make in life are the ones you make yourself. But bathing this way, whether it be on a beach in the bright sun with hundreds of people or alone in a secluded quarry hidden deep in the woods, makes me feel more connected to the earth than anything else I can imagine. It’s childlike and pure. And in the crazed, nature-deprived, hyperactive, over-scheduled, hell-in-a-handbasket world we live in, one of our last and most tragically underutilized rebellions.

bog man

I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I heard a story that Thoreau liked to submerse himself in bogs in order to feel closer to nature. I suppose I could do some internet research to find out if this story is true, but even if it’s not, I’d rather believe that it is. The image of a man going to such extremes in order to get closer to the Earth is touching.