Naked Backpackers of the Big Cypress

March 23-2410, 2002

The following quote came from an unknown source on the Internet. I wish it could be claimed as my own. "Fantasies are just future realities." I read this realizing just how true it was. We, each one of us, are in charge of turning our fantasies into realities. We must live them to satisfy the desire in our beings.

I fantasized about backpacking naked when testing the pack weight at home. The pack felt neat without clothes, further feeding my fantasy. I hesitate hiking naked when alone on the trail, especially if it appears busy. A sure sign of a busy trail is the number of cars parked at the trailhead. One person hiking or backpacking naked is, in another's eyes, an exhibitionist. Two or more become a movement. We become more powerful and we make a statement that being naked is OK. Nude is natural.

Henry and I hiked about a half-hour before disrobing. It was time for fantasy to become reality. Off came the clothes. Shirts and shorts were stuffed into the packs. We were ready to make our statement. We became the Naked Backpackers of the Big Cypress.

The weather was perfect, warm, and sunny. A light breeze had a balancing effect on the warm rays of the sun. It was comfortable to be naked in the swamp, comfortable to be backpacking naked. I originally expected my pack to be uncomfortable without the protection of clothing. The padding on the pack was quite sufficient; none of the straps dug into my exposed skin. I am glad that I fantasized about backpacking naked. I am glad it became a reality on this trip. This fantasy will have to be stored in the "Must Repeat" folder of "My Fantasy Files."

An hour and a half into our hike we stopped for a rest. We did not realize that our destination was just fifty feet ahead. What a laugh we had when, rested and rejuvenated, we arrived at out campsite in two minutes. I was expecting another hour of hiking. Even with that much additional hiking it would have been an easy trek.

While resting I heard some pounding. We dismissed it as a woodpecker or a dead tree creaking in the breeze. Actually it was a human noise and we would soon meet its maker. After the two-minute-second-leg of our journey the packs were removed again. Camping on the site adjacent to the trail would not provide the privacy we naturists wanted. Searching for a private campsite off the main trail was our next chore. (Chore is an inappropriate word here. Getting dressed for work is a chore.) Backpacking in the swamp took some effort but how could we consider searching for a campsite a chore? As we went about the task at hand we would meet Eric.

We had backtracked to our resting-place of just a few minutes before. There was a path leading into the swamp grasses. Surely we could find a private site without any problem. I noticed something blue through the trees. "Hi, guys." I heard a voice. Without hesitation we approached this lone photographer-backpacker in our naked state so bare.

"Oh, I remember you." Said Eric to Henry.

Eric and Henry had met two weeks ago at this same campsite. Eric was just leaving and gave up his campsite to us naturists. We chatted for a while and introduced ourselves. Eric talked about his love of wild places. He talked about his passion for photography, backpacking, and feeling the energy of wild creatures. He was a very unique individual and seemed very mature for his age. He did not seem to be upset about two naked backpackers. I have experienced this phenomena before with people on the trail. As uptight as society is about nudity, something more than clothes are removed when naked introductions are made in the wilderness.

Eric and I exchanged email addresses and talked about sharing some of our respective wilderness haunts. I also gave him my website address. I told him about the variety of topics that I have been writing about. He asked me if my writing was technical or colorful.

"Oh, Very Colorful. Not for the faint of heart." I responded.

Eric was a very interesting person. I sensed how much he respected and loved the wilderness. He exposed himself to us while being completely dressed. He was so at one with nature and with himself. From the moment that he stepped into the swamp, until he talked to us, he had not spoken a word out loud. An interesting concept of getting in touch with one's inner self. I look forward to having Eric on my list of special outdoor friends. At some point in the future I hope to explore collaborating our respective arts.

As our tents were being pitched, I commented and laughed about Eric asking if my writing was "Colorful." There is no other way I could write but colorful: it's who I am, what I experience, what I desire, interesting people I meet, my adventures, and my emotions. The colorful list goes on.

"If you would have denied that your writing was colorful," Henry laughed, "I was ready to jump in and tell Eric that actually you write in technicolor."

We both chuckled about the technicolor joke as tents consisting of blue, teal, and red were being pitched. Sleeping pads of navy, gold and maroon were topped off with bedrolls of orange, flannel prints, and red. Backpacks of black, burgundy, and blue were stowed inside tents that clashed against the swamp foliage. Gear of various colors was produced to cook supper. Oh, the technical aspect of listing all the colors present. Let's just say that a rainbow was represented without the rain.

After some rest and relaxation it was time to wash up a bit. We realized that the heat of the afternoon would be the best time to rinse off. On extended trips there is time to lay out the solar showers in the sun. Cold water from the pump would have to do. There would be no relishing a warm shower this evening, better grab a shower while the sun was still warm.

I filled my water jugs and stepped away from the water source. The ground was soggy beneath my feet but not squishy between toes. I lathered up my hair and rinsed, the cold water was invigorating to say the least. I started to feel refreshed and my skin re-moisturized. Squatting I reached for the soap and noticed a very dainty purple flower on a two inch stem. The leaves were lime-green and almost laying flat on the ground. The edges of the leaves were slightly curled, a shape I recognized. "Pinguicula," I exclaimed out loud to myself. Carnivorous plants the size of a nickel were scattered at my feet. They were so numerous that I actually stomped several deeper into the loom. Plants that I have painstakingly tried to grow were abundant here in the Big Cypress. I wondered how many people pass by this spot and never realized what was growing here?

After the body was cooled down and refreshed, it was time for a few photo ops, reading, and more relaxation. As I hiked deeper into the swamp, looking for interesting photo opportunities, I wondered. When I am naked while photographing something in nature, is that considered Nude Photography? A point to ponder. The Cypress, Pinguicula, and the Pines surrounding me were not wearing clothes. By human standards they are naked. So I really was on a nude photo shoot in the swamp. Just wait till you see my nude models, the Sexy Cypress, the Tantalizing Pinguicula, and the Pines with their straight hard woodies extending upward.

While scribbling down my thoughts about this trip, Henry told me he was looking forward to this journal. "It will give me a good yard stick with which to measure the accuracy of your writing," he said. As ink adhered to paper I realized that my journal was getting longer and longer. I told Henry that I thought by the time I got done, and have this journal posted to the group, he would need a fifty-foot tape measure. As an after thought, with either measuring device he should be able to add, subtract, multiply, and divide to achieve the answer he is looking for. Henry, on our next trip, remind me to bring my slide rule.

As the evening progressed we allowed the swamp to play its spell on our naked bodies. The air cooled down as we made preparations for a campfire. Venturing away from camp, as dusk enveloped the swamp, firewood was gathered. Henry tore four pages out of a magazine he was reading to start the fire with. "There, that should lighten the load." He said as he tossed the magazine back into his tent. I thought he was going to burn the whole magazine. My only question is, if this was a magazine with photos of naked men, would page 69 go up in smoke so quickly? Probably Not!

As dead cypress branches were fed into the flames, a few mosquitoes attacked the cool side of the human bodies. The bloodsuckers were no dummies, staying away from the flames that warded off the evening chill. Mosquitoes know that humans stare into the flames and go into daze. They watch the flames dancing in the night. They smell the smoke as it curls into the dark sky. Even naturists, the easiest of human prey, go into a trance when campfires burn low. With buzzing sounds far away from ears, buttocks were exploited for sweet nectar. The naturists were only mildly uncomfortable as their eyes were glued to the burning embers.

Sunday brought Henry's early departure from the swamp. He and his bicycle were going to explore some trails before returning to Miami. I spent the morning reading, writing some poetry, and absorbing more energy from the swamp. I was so inspired by this trip that I too, could feel the renewed energy. I encountered a copper colored snake, probably a water moccasin, sunbathing on the trail. I was reminded of Eric, who wanted to feel the energy of a rattlesnake that crossed his path on a previous hike. Although I did not want to pick up the snake, I could feel his energy as he lifted his entire body and literally jumped off the trail. As he slithered off, already in his home, I promised myself that I would return to Big Cypress as a naked backpacker to absorb more swamp energy.

� Copyright 2002 Dustin P. Roeb�re All Rights Reserved