Freehiking through a watched world

Exploring the quiet movement of freehiking as a path to freedom in a hyper-connected world

Rick McCharles | Flickr | Creative Commons 2.0

There is, in freehiking—a niche, largely invisible practice—a quiet contradiction: the pursuit of naked freedom in the very era most tangled up in appearances and constant surveillance. One might be forgiven for assuming bare hiking is a quaint or arcane pursuit, a relic of a more libertine age, more fitting to old-world naturist movements than to our present world. Yet, freehiking as it exists today is, in fact, a product of our modern anxieties: a defiance against industrialized norms, a celebration of the body’s place in nature, and a small act of rebellion for...well, for whatever reason you need to rebel from: disillusionment with the mechanized demands of contemporary life, boredom of cable TV, your 9-5 gig, your many gigs, or maybe you just want to take it all off and walk the world the way nature intended.

The roots of a modern rebellion

The recent history of freehiking—or “bare hiking,” as some charmingly call it—begins in the early 20th century, with Europe’s peculiar fascination with naturism. German youth movements of the 1920s, disillusioned with the nation’s militaristic, morally rigid structures, introduced nudity in nature as a counterpoint to the age’s buttoned-up ideals. Here, for the first time in modern history, nakedness became a symbolic gesture: a way to reconnect with the idealized purity of humanity unspoiled by industrial civilization. One imagines these groups wandering through the Black Forest or bathing in the Danube, divested not only of clothing but of societal expectations, feeling at once unbound and rooted in nature’s unadulterated truth.

Yet these early naturists were not merely seeking to shock polite society; they were engaged in a genuine revolt against the anxieties and artificiality of the modern world. Clothing was not merely a physical covering, they argued; it was a burden, a mark of social conformity. To walk naked in nature was, for them, an act of independence, of liberation from the trappings of the industrialized world, a way of stripping themselves of the rigid structures that bound their lives. To undress was to seek out something elemental, timeless, a protest against a world spinning towards chaos. And many ways it had not only spun out of control over WWI but was slipping back into catastrophe.

Despite American puritanical traditions still rooted deeply in society, as this European naturist trend crossed the Atlantic, it was met with both suspicion and gradual adaptation. In the America of the 1930s and 40s, naturist ideas simmered under the surface, taking softer forms in sunbathing culture, nudist resorts, and outdoor leisure. By mid-century, the 1960s counterculture picked up the threads of European naturism, folding nudity into the era’s broader ideals of “liberation.” In the East Coast this sense of liberation and protest expressed itself through art and literature. In the West Coast, where countercultural fervor reached its peak, nudity in nature began to signal something more—a rejection of social and aesthetic constraints, a dismantling of boundaries imposed by the “establishment.” Those who roamed the coastlines and mountains of California in bare skin were embracing a freedom from not just the city’s demands but also societies. For a moment, nakedness became a movement unto itself: a claim on one’s identity that was neither mediated nor commodified. In nature, undressed, one could, in theory, simply be.

Freehiking finds its own path

And yet, the emergence of “bare hiking” as we know it—a form of freehiking often practiced alone or in small, devoted groups—took longer to develop. It wasn’t until the 1980s and 90s, as urban life grew more alienating and cities more frenetic, that hiking itself surged as a pastime for Americans looking to escape the pressures of work and technology. The embrace of hiking (clothed or not) as a countermeasure to the city’s psychic and physical congestion reflected a growing desire for reprieve—a thirst for “the real” as a salve for urbanization’s alienating effects. As life became increasingly mediated, digitized, and competitive, the act of walking alone in the wilderness, with no obligation to perform or to project, became a sacred ritual for some. And for a niche group within this broader hiking resurgence, clothing was simply one more encumbrance to be shed.

Photo by the author

In the decades that followed, freehiking began to organize itself around a new kind of digital community. Through niche forums, social media groups, and hiking blogs, this unclad pursuit gained visibility, albeit quietly. Groups formed to plan outings, “bare-friendly” trails were shared and marked, discussions on legal issues and safety measures were held. Here was the irony: a movement founded on detachment from societal norms now relied, in part, on the connective tissue of technology—the very network it was, on some level, rebelling against. Yet even as online platforms allowed these communities to flourish, freehikers sought something distinctly beyond the reach of algorithms: an authentic, immersive connection to nature that didn’t involve tracking, tagging, or filters.

A return to nature

To feel the sun’s warmth directly on one’s skin, the cool brush of breeze and shadow on bare shoulders, is, for freehikers, more than mere sensation—it is communion. In that connection lies the essence of freehiking: not an act of exhibitionism, but an immersion into nature itself. Freehikers speak of feeling elemental, vulnerable yet free, in this sunlit exposure. Freed from the boundaries of clothing, one is, for a time, beyond presentation, beyond any identity save the immediate, tactile sense of being present. It is, one might argue, an experience of freedom in its most primal form.

Of course, with increased visibility comes the specter of public scrutiny. For the freehiker, there is always the tension of legality, the occasional question of decency. Yet freehikers tend to be some of the least invasive of nature enthusiasts. They do not seek to disturb or to draw attention. Unlike the majority of social-media-minded hikers who travel in clumps, seeking out photogenic scenes to advertise themselves against, the freehiker’s presence is nearly invisible. Their bare skin, after all, is not for the eyes of others but for the brush of sun, for the prickling of wild grass and the cool shadows beneath the trees.

The motivations for freehiking today, while perhaps less overtly political than those of the German naturists or Californian counterculturalists, echo those earlier ideals of independence and authenticity. In an era dominated by image and appearances, to hike nude is, in a sense, to reclaim a part of the self untouched by the expectations and artifice of modern life. By stripping away not only clothing but also the burdens of presentation, the freehiker slips into a world where the self is briefly indistinguishable from the landscape. Walking through mountain and forest, with nothing but skin and shadow, there is the sense of one’s own ephemeral insignificance in the face of the vastness of nature.

As for the future of freehiking, perhaps it will remain a small, quiet rebellion—a natural antidote to the over-curated, hyper-monitored culture that surrounds it. Freehiking’s curious modern history is less a testament to nudity than to humanity’s relentless search for freedom in an increasingly confined and commodified world. To hike naked, then, is to seek liberation not through rebellion against society, but through a kind of submission to the natural world, a reminder that freedom might still be found in something as simple and as timeless as a trail, a patch of sunlight, and the unadorned beauty of one’s own skin. 🪐