2019.02.23 Stuff
As the sun sets over the Nelson Sun Club, we go for a stroll.
A tui flits across the fairway, a cooler breeze rustles through the gum trees. I'm not dressed for the drop in temperature.
As part of my mission to get the full naturist experience at the club - motto: Stay a while, we've got nothing on - it's all or nothing. I choose nothing.
Walking with me on the rolling fairways of the club's pitch-and-putt nine-hole golf course are secretary Lorraine, wearing just a leopard-print head scarf and a gold chain necklace, vice-president Andrew, in a hat and sandals; committee member Geoff in a floppy hat and red t-shirt and president Russell, positively overdressed in an akubra-style hat and floral shirt.
Not a pair of pants in sight. I'm equipped with only a pen and notepad, which subconsciously moves south towards areas that have not seen the sun in a while. It takes an effort to keep writing.
It takes an effort not to chicken out of the whole thing. Fifty-plus years of conditioning that you wear clothes in the outdoors, especially in company, is a hard thing to shrug off.
As a painfully self-conscious teenager I barely took my shirt off. I had a brief streaking phase in the 80s, the odd skinny dip along the way, and I've never been offended by others getting their kit off. But "clothes-free recreation" is just something I never really thought of doing myself.
The club website has some reassuring words: "If this visit happens to be your first experience in social nudity, please know that your age, body shape or what you do '9 to 5' is neither here nor there and you are not judged.
"It is perfectly normal to feel nervous as you approach our grounds for the first time, however once you've seen it through you'll find yourself asking what all the fuss was about."
So I am perfectly, normally slightly panicked as I drive to the club on a gravel road through rolling countryside in Upper Moutere. At the end of the aptly named Sunrise Valley Road there's a sign with the club logo of golfers playing au naturel, and a request that visitors make prior arrangements before turning up.
I drive on past the golf course and pull into the visitor's area. As I get out, an alarm goes off.
Is it some sort of textile alert? (Those wearing clothes are "textiles" in naturist parlance).
But it's just the dinner gong, calling members to the main tent for a meal as part of the club's significant birthday - 50 years of being all together in the altogether.
The night before has seen a flash anniversary dinner, complete with live band and a "golden" theme. My mind conjures images of Goldfinger's deadly paint job, but out of respect to the catering staff, the club's members were dressed for their big night.
But tonight most of those helping themselves to salads and cold meats are in their birthday suits, nothing but jandals and all over tans.
Russell and Lorraine, most prefer not to use their last names, meet me fully clothed out of deference to my first visit, and we head to the verandah of the club's 100-year old farm bungalow. It has four bedrooms (no wardrobes) that you can book for $60 a night.
The club's anniversary celebrations feature a tour of nearby vineyards, clothed naturally; outdoor games, a beer tasting session and film evening.
A half-century is quite an achievement for a club fittingly born out of little.
Founding member Hub, now in his 80s, still lives on the grounds, one of 20 permanent residents. Originally from the Netherlands, he started the naturist movement in Nelson in 1969 after moving to New Zealand.
The club used to rent land in Belgrove for $10 a year, "but there was nothing there apart from sand flies and wasps" so they moved to the 2.8 hectare Upper Moutere property in 1971, and the club has been developing ever since.
Hub has described it as paradise "without the fig leaves".
Russell says membership has fluctuated over the years, peaking at 140. Currently there are 60 members, including the permanent residents. Most are in their 50s and older, reflecting a national trend as naturist clubs, like many other recreational groups, struggle to attract younger families facing increasing time pressures.
There are no paid employees, just enthusiastic volunteers who maintain the grounds.
It's as spick and span as any well-run campground, and the campers themselves are doing the normal camping things, chatting in groups, carrying their dishes to the communal kitchen, relaxing in the sun - just with nothing on.
So what is it, I ask, what's the attraction about wandering around naked?
Apart from the physical benefits of Vitamin D from soaking up the sun, the word that comes up most often is freedom. I press a little harder.
"It's incredibly liberating," says Geoff. "That's something that's incredibly hard to describe if you haven't done it.
"It seems funny; what's the difference between wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and not. But the difference is so much."
Andrew says many people have stressful lives and the club gives them a perfect place to unwind.
I wonder if shrugging off clothes is a physical expression of that mental unwinding.
And, they all say, being naked puts everyone on the same footing; there are no judgments about what you look like.
Rod, who has been a member with his wife for 22 years and is a permanent resident, puts it like this: "If you are a true naturist the philosophy is the beautiful bits are on the inside.
"A true naturist accepts people for who they are, the big bits, the little bits..."
He is also fond of saying: "We come into the world like it and we go out of the world like it. Most of our forefathers ran around with no clothes."
There is also the companionship with club members, who share similar outlooks on life. Many club regulars had their first experience of social nudity at the Mapua Leisure Park which has a "clothing optional" season in February and March, but they say the club provides a greater sense of community.
One of the things you learn quickly at the club is that eye contact is essential. Andrew has hazel eyes, it's hard to tell with Lorraine and Russell who are wearing sunglasses but Russell has nice tortoiseshell frames.
There are some other protocols to follow. The only area where nudity is mandatory is around the solar-heated swimming pool. "Club uniform", they call it.
Another is: "If the bum's bare, cover the chair". A small towel is carried for this purpose.
And then there it's ok to look, but not to stare policy.
Russell expresses a long-held exasperation at misconceptions that naturist clubs must be a haven for wild sex parties.
The club website spells it out: "We are a platonic community, marked by the absence of physical or sexual overture. Exhibiting overt sexual behaviour is not tolerated."
Membership is controlled to avoid an imbalance of solo men and there is a year long probationary period.
"A lot of people think nudie rudie, or that everyone swings. They are just so wrong," Russell says.
And certainly the atmosphere as I stroll around is more Hi-de-hi, albeit a full frontal version, than anything sexual.
As my tour nears the end, I inspect the communal showers; no need for cubicle doors.
I get a glimpse of what the members are on about; no-one has batted an eyelid at me, some of my self-consciousness has dropped away.
I'm still not entirely comfortable meeting strangers with nothing on; there's a nagging feeling that something is missing.
But I can see the potential for it to become easier, and there's something to be said for wandering around in the great outdoors without threads. Perhaps it's the whole getting back to nature connection, or something as simple as the sensation of air on your skin, and the sense of making a small rebellion against society.
I get another glimpse. A male club member walks past sporting a discreet tattoo of a silver fern on one buttock.
The ultimate freedom of expression.
The Nelson Sun Club is one of 17 naturist clubs in New Zealand.
New Zealand Naturist Federation president Donna Miller says there are about 1600 members belonging to the clubs and two other naturist groups.
"There are probably many more who are home naturists; they don't cover up between the bedroom and the shower and they might enjoy the backyard without clothes.
"To me naturism is just enjoying your daily life where possible without clothes.
"As a child you run around without clothes on so to be able to do that as an adult is just so freeing, and it feels great."
Miller says going naked liberates us "from things that society puts on us that we all buy into. I'm taking those stresses off and I'm just being me."
She says that some people can't understand that naturist clubs are not sexual, or a haven for swinging.
"When you are there you know it's not, you are with people of like mind and you are being respected for who you are. You are being looked in the eyes, not looked up and down. It's probably one of the most open and honest forums there are."
