Illustration by Drew Shannon
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When my older brother, Patrick, asks me if I want to go to Wreck Beach, he doesn’t specify that it’s a nude beach. I’d heard him talk about it before and recalled that detail he seemed to be omitting. “Isn’t it a nude beach?” I ask. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he says.
My brother and I lead different lives. I’m a homeowner in Kitchener-Waterloo, Ont., in my 16th year of teaching high school, living with the same partner for 10 years. I take comfort in routine and predictability. He lives in Vancouver, where he rents a one-bedroom apartment, works on and off as a longshoreman and he has had several open relationships, spanning weeks to years. He enjoys spontaneity and the unknown.
“Do I have to be naked?” I inquire. “No, there’s people who are in bathing suits, but the cool people are naked,” he replies, leaving me feeling anxious and uncool.
I like the idea of being at a beach on this hot summer day, but I can’t bear the thought of baring it all.
After expressing my reservations, and being assured that I won’t stick out too much if I wear a bathing suit, Pat convinces me that I have to go so that I can experience Canada’s first nude beach. “It’s a cultural experience,” he tells me.
It’s not that I don’t like my body. I love exercising and I’m in good shape. I’m also comfortable with my manhood – I have no problem showering at the gym or in a changeroom after playing hockey. I suppose I just don’t feel the need to doff my bathing suit and sport my birthday suit.
Being nude at the beach also seems impractical. Aren’t nude beach goers worried about sunburns? On a blue sky day with a high UV index, there is plenty of sun to shine where the sun doesn’t usually shine.
After parking at the University of British Columbia’s campus, we walk across the street and descend several hundred steps through the woods.
The stairs deposit us directly onto the golden-sand beach. It’s a unique contrast going from woods to beach, almost as if we’re leaving one world and entering another.
The area closest to the trees has several vendors selling food, clothing and jewellery. The section of beach spread out in front of the stairs is densely populated with people enjoying the sun. It’s divided by large logs placed to create the illusion of groups having their own section of beach.
I’m relieved to see that there’s almost as many people wearing bathing suits as there are nudists. Not that I’m uncomfortable with other people’s nudity. Just because I prefer to keep my privates private, doesn’t mean that I think everyone should.
I’m fascinated seeing the variety of body shapes and sizes – though I’m careful not to stare. Pat and I walk the beach, looking for a not-too-crowded spot to relax.
It was beautiful to see so many people embracing their bodies. The age of nudists ranged from 20-70 plus. All I can say is that gravity eventually takes its toll on everyone. Regardless of their age, size or shape, they were all glad to be unclad. Smiles were abundant. It seemed as though the nudists weren’t just free of clothes, they were free of worries and cares. Like a talented dancer on the dancefloor, they exuded confidence.
Pat and I eventually settle far from the busiest part of the beach where the ground is covered in pebbles and rocks rather than sand. Now that we’ve found our spot, Pat gives me the heads up that he’s going to remove his bathing suit.
I briefly consider if being naked would improve the time I’m having, but decide to keep my trunks on. I would just be doing it to try and fit in.
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I suppose that’s just another difference between me and my brother. I’m more private, closed off. He’s more public, clothes off.
With my eyes trained forward, admiring the view of the Pacific Ocean, I ask, “How come you like being nude at the beach?” Pat tells me that he started doing it so that he didn’t have any tan lines when he was naked, but that he grew to enjoy the experience of being nude at the beach.
After sitting in the sun for close to an hour, we’re sweating and the ocean seems more inviting. The water is brisk and refreshing, then we return to our towels to let the sun dry the salt water from our skin.
That’s when I notice a man jogging along the shoreline. He’s wearing running shoes and sports 1980s-style headphones while holding an old cassette tape player. And nothing else. I watch him carefully choose his footing and while I don’t see the appeal, I admire his commitment.
On a hot summer day, I’m not here for the nudity. I’m here to enjoy the water and my brother’s company. If someone has a problem with me not being naked, I will politely let them know that they can kiss my bathing-suit covered bottom.
Jason Garramone lives in Kitchener-Waterloo, Ont.
