A miserable hike up the fells in the rain is enlivened by walkers in their birthday suits
I’m off work and have headed to the Lake District for a break, to get some fresh air, enjoy the stunning scenery, and pay outrageous prices for a cappuccino. I’m having a grand time, the highlight of which was something that happened on a 16-mile ramble around Coniston.
It was a dismal day, an unpleasant rain was steadily falling and there was a chilly wind. Walking towards my friend and I was a woman who looked – and I’m not being nasty here – like she’d been in a fight.
She was about 70, walked with a heavy limp, and was wearing – in the pouring rain – a drenched jumper, and grey jogging bottoms covered in mud.
I was about to inquire whether she was okay – I was genuinely worried about her – but she got in first and said, in a conspiratorial manner, ‘just to warn you…’
In my head, such was the state of her, I genuinely thought she was about to say there was a bull loose in a field and she’d just been near-fatally attacked.
Instead she said, ‘there’s a group of naturists up ahead’.
My mate and I took a moment to comprehend this statement.
‘Naturists, as in nudes?’ I asked, as if there might somehow be another kind of naturist.
‘Yes,’ she said. ’10 of them. In fact I’m one of them but it was too cold so I’ve put my clothes on. Oh, here comes my husband now.’
My friend and I turned to see an elderly gentleman lumbering slowly our way, wearing a long overcoat, unbuttoned, a flat cap, and absolutely nothing else.
‘Hello,’ I said cheerily, attempt- ing to act as normal as you can when you’re on a remote Lake District fell and talking to a man with no pants on, testicles casually flapping in the breeze.
He wasn’t the talkative type, grunting something in our direction that judging by his miserable expression was two words, the second one being ‘off ’.
We left our new friends and continued walking. A long walk in miserable conditions had just been considerably enlivened.
Moments later eight figures came into view, slowly edging their way down a fell. Either they were all wearing matching fleshcoloured outfits or they too were sans clothing. ‘Brace yourself,’ I said to my friend, as if aboard a plane about to crash.
This group were clearly more hardcore than the first, for they were completely nude, bar their rucksacks (that’s not a euphemism).
The leader was a youngish girl, about 30, who stood out because her fellow naturalists were on the older side.
Now I like to converse with everyone I meet on the hills, so obviously I got into conversation. I asked why they did it. The young girl, who, I noted, was quite cold, said for her it was about body confidence. ‘But what about the first time you did it,’ I said looking at one of the blokes, ‘it must have been hard, so to speak.’ No one laughed. ‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘Everyone is so accepting.’
They were all very nice and we had a pleasant five-minute conversation, during which I have never concentrated so much on maintaining eye contact.
It turned out they had been for a swim in a tarn and were now heading back to Coniston.
My view is that naturism is an odd thing to be into – trousers were invented for a reason – and odder still on a freezing cold day.
That said, I’m a great believer in each to their own and if that’s what you enjoy, then who am I to question?
It’s certainly been the highlight of my week in the Lakes so far. Must dash now as I’m off to eat some Kendal Mint Cake, fully clothed.
They were completely nude, bar their rucksacks (that’s not a euphemism)