My partner Alice sent me a link to a news story the other day about nude backpackers in Switzerland. Apparently, German tourists (oh, those Germans!) have been taking to the highways and the byways of that pastoral country wearing nothing but the load, and when last year somebody decided to prosecute one flamboyant traveler, the authorities discovered there was no law against it.

Well, the situation has been corrected and the fate of the world is no longer threatened by naked German tourists in Switzerland. A warning has been issued in mid winter by Swiss authorities hoping to avoid some pointy confrontations in the coming hiking season.

I've been inspired to do some research on this interesting topic, and what I've discovered indicates they acted none too soon. Nude hiking in the snow has become popular with some hardy souls, although generally they don't go "all out" until the temperature rises above freezing. Switzerland acted just in time.

With respect to all parties in the conflict, I'm well aware that different rules apply to wilderness living, even if you are not a flagrant naturist. I grew up in the woods, read The Lord of the Flies at an early age, and was surprised that someone I'd never met knew me and the boys in my neighborhood that well. The farther into the wilds you go, even as an adult, the less the rules of civilization apply. There are practical concerns, and if you did drop me naked into the middle of a forest, the first thing I'd be doing is weaving myself a pair of pants out of cedar bark. Well, a loincloth is simpler, but a person needs some protection against thorns. Naturists, argue as you will that I'm wrong, I grew up in rough country and I know better.

On the trail after a few days I tend to get down to minimum levels, which to me is a shirt and a pair of pants. OK, a hat and a pair of boots, too. Ahem, I don't mean to be crude, but ultralighters pack only the essentials and after about three days the underwear needs to live in a plastic bag, so it does. Ventilation becomes important. I don't recall ever being anyplace in the world that wasn't swarming with mosquitoes, so in my case when I do stop and hold still for a moment I'm more concerned with putting things on than with taking things off.

After a few more days, however, another issue of some importance arises, and that is purely basic hygiene. The human male, well ventilated and exposed considerably to the sun, does reach a peak level of stank that does not exceed the aroma of ripe cheese, but even though it's not intolerable there is an instinctive urge to find a pool of water and turn it brown. Even in the wilderness, the privacy to do such a thing as bathe, in privacy while in the open air, is rare. Eventually you reach the breaking point and do it anyway.

Never does a wilderness lake become so busy as when you strip down to white skin and sunshine and step into cold water. Suddenly your remote campground becomes a magnet for low overflights by tourists' sightseeing planes and a waypoint for troops of Girl Scouts looking for merit badges in sexual education. The fact that I can think of a dozen funny stories about this just from my own personal experience indicates that the world is not a randomly generated event.

In reading about the adventures of other intrepid souls who actually intend to hike naked, I find that I'm not the only one with this animal magnetism. One fellow relates that he and his wife have become skilled trackers as a result of wilderness barepacking, noting whether spiderwebs hang over the trail or puddles of water have been muddied by the footsteps of the clothed. He mentions the wisdom of keeping an emergency pair of shorts in an easily accessible location, which certainly does seem reasonable.

This does bring to mind another story, from my years of wilderness travel with a friend I'll refer to here only as Joe. Many years ago Joe and his girlfriend Geneva often accompanied myself and my trail dog Chopper on our journeys, even though Joe was absolutely never prepared for any emergency and Geneva never quit talking. You tolerate those things in friends. They both took a hiking trip south one year to visit some hot springs in the remote canyon country of California, and about half a mile from their destination they noticed a couple of people had made it to the basins before them. As they got even closer they noticed the couple wasn't wearing clothing, and thought it would be polite to wait up the trail a ways until their private moment was finished. As they were sitting there they looked back down the trail to find the couple walking up to them in a very friendly way, still sans equipment, and since they were very nice and neither party wanted to interrupt the other's vacation plans, they all wound up in the hot spring together. Joe was very impressed, in fact he told me that the woman had the biggest pair of (wait for it, wait for it) buck teeth he'd ever seen. Wilderness travel is like that, always full of surprises.

I've known a few park rangers personally over the years, and none of them are surprised at anything that happens, but their encounters with the raw side of human life are generally more humorous and far less violent than the equivalent experience of an urban policeman. They treat the human condition with tolerance, knowing that life in the woods is not the same as life in the suburbs and most of those who visit are in a turmoil of social adjustment.

I do recall something else along that line, when I was hiking a very well traveled trail in the Central Cascades in the 70's, and had some internal rumblings that demanded immediate attention. I was hiking the edge of a watershed area where such activities were banned on penalty of death, or at least something equivalent, undefined but strongly implied by the signs that warned me away from the woods. Outdoor toilets were available at regular intervals and according to my map the next facility was only a mile away, so I held on, and when I finally rounded that last corner, with a rush of impending relief washing over me, I saw that the facilities, in a prominent location at a major crossroads of trails and visible literally for miles in several directions, had been blown away by a winter storm. The only thing remaining was a porcelain toilet standing alone on a bare concrete slab.

I looked at it sadly for a moment, turned around to check out the amazingly clear view, and decided it was not for me.

If you ever visit that part of the country, boil the drinking water.