It had been just another great day on the French River until I decided to take my clothes off.
I had snuck down to the water for a skinny dip out of sight of my canoeing buddy Ashley and the group of women camped across the river. As far as I’m concerned, swimming in a bathing suit on a canoe trip is like wearing underwear in the shower. It’s invigorating to swim naked, and it’s hard to argue with the nudist belief that if we were meant to be clothed, we would have been born that way. Besides, it’s more practical. I swim naked to keep my clothes dry.
Ashley doesn’t share either rationale, and I wasn’t about to ask our neighbours what they thought. With Ashley suiting up on the point, I found a nearby spot to slip in under cover. I was almost to my waist when my foot slipped off a rock and a sharp pain made me scream like a…like a naked guy with a broken foot. Ashley looked over, and so did the women. I dropped into the water and waved—so much for my secret swim. Ashley switched into rescue mode, compelled by the duties of a canoe-buddy. I would have been glad for his help, but there was a little—shall I say skimpy?—problem: He was wearing a leopard-print Speedo.
I couldn’t stop laughing when Ashley first appeared in a Speedo earlier in the trip. He defended it, telling me that an Australian company came up with the infamous banana-hammock a century ago to minimize drag on a swimmer by mimicking a naked body. I told him that was why it was funny. But now I wasn’t laughing, I was caught naked and struggling waist-deep on slippery rocks with a broken foot and no help available but a hairy, middle-aged, wannabe Olympic swimmer.
I ran through my options. Ashley might grab me and toss my nude body over his shoulder fireman-style; he might hold me by the waist so I could put my arm around him—naked hip against spandex waist- band—and shimmy me up the slippery riverbank; or I could tough it out on my own. By now our female neighbours had gathered on the opposite shore.
My foot is approaching the size and colour of a football. I think I probably hurt it more trying to get out on my own.
Skinny dipping is about the only topic not covered in Kevin Callan’s new book The Happy Camper, An Essential Guide to Life Outdoors.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
