I accidentally stumbled upon a massive nudist beach with my family – and lived to tell the tale

“Why do they always hang out at the edges of the beach? It’s like they want everyone to see them

After walking about 6 miles on the Tomaree Beach Walk, a 14-mile walk in Port Stephens, on the East Coast of Australia, we hit an impasse. And my mom was not impressed.

After fighting our way over hills, coarse sand and fire-ravaged bush, we had arrived at a pantsless stretch of sand called Samurai Nudist Beach.

One Mile Beach, and beyond it, our final destination, Anna Bay, lay beyond, protected – like an old castle – not by a moat, but by an army of nudists.

There was no way beyond it, no way around it, no way under it. We had to go through it.

As my mother pointed out, nudists had gathered in heaps at both ends of the beach, as if hoping to scare the innocent hikers as much as possible.

Staring out over the sea of ​​4WDs with tents, caravans with sunbeds, surfers, elderly people and families, I noticed that “as always on nudist beaches” there was a man walking along the sand with his arms behind his back and his “samurai sword” waving proudly in front.

As he reached the rocks at the bottom of the beach and finished his “patrol” of the area, I begged Mom not to look down.

“You never told me there was a nudist beach,” Mom said.

Another old man was wading naked in the water with a body board, while “in our immediate vicinity” a family was playing in front of their caravan and several couples were sunbathing at the back of the beach.

To make matters worse, every few minutes that passed, as we awkwardly ate our lunch, another vehicle plowed up the dunes, adding to the Samurai sword army.

There were young people too, but they were mostly surfers and mostly wearing their wetsuits. They were in the middle of the beach.

Everyone was very polite and respectful of each other (and to be fair, we were warned with some signs). But still: to our sheltered, prejudiced eyes, it was a bit of an insult. A pale and wrinkled inferno was permanently embedded in our brains.

I left my mom and brother (it was supposed to be a fun family outing) eating jelly snakes and trail mix and went swimming with my partner. I thought this would break the ice with the nudist colony, but it only made things worse. Glimpses (imaginary or not) in my board shorts beat my back.

I’ve never felt so judged for not doing something (even if no one actually judged me: maybe I was judging myself).

We took some photos (of ourselves, not nudists) on the rock to remember this weird moment and got some funny looks from one guy. This was another trick – never take pictures on a nudist beach, or – quite rightly – people will get upset.

Dropping the phone, we packed up our gear and continued walking. We thought we were in the clear, but then at the other end, a middle-aged couple, as casual as you like, waded past us in the water, fools beaming with pride.

Here, there was also another guy chilling naked on a lounger next to his truck. Beauty.

At the end of the day we decided it was worth the trip, having discovered a hidden coastal paradise just as beautiful as Seal Rocks and its neighboring beaches, except less crowded and closer to Sydney.

Likewise, after visiting The Shoal Bay Country Club, where you can score $23 pitchers of cocktails and hear a DJ remix Fred Again and the Red Hot Chili Peppers AND easily get a table without a reservation, I decided: this is it. As long as you don’t mind the odd cutlass bobbing on some of its remote beaches, Port Stephens is the new Byron Bay. No, screw it. It’s better than Byron.

Maybe next time I’ll take off my bathing suit.