Gunnison Beach will always have a special place in my heart. It’s the first place I was ever nude in public—a moment that completely shifted how I saw myself, my body, and other people.

For years, I had struggled with body image issues. I’d heard about a nude beach in New Jersey—just whispers, little mentions online—and I was curious. But curiosity isn’t the same as courage. The summer before my first visit, I even tried to find it. I drove up and down Sandy Hook, looping in and out of parking lots, but eventually gave up. Truthfully, I think I wasn’t ready.
The next summer, I was ready.
This time, I went with a plan. I wore a long, flowy maxi dress—no swimsuit underneath—so that when I got there, I’d have no choice but to take it off. Gunnison is part of the National Park Service, so you pay a gate fee and drive past several clothed beaches—ocean side on one side, bay side on the other. With each beach I passed, my heart beat faster. My hands were sweaty on the steering wheel. It felt like I was about to meet a version of myself I’d never known.
When I parked, I realized how little I had brought: a towel, a bottle of water, sunscreen, and a book. And then came the walk—a solid 15 minutes from the lot to the water. I kept telling myself, *If I chicken out, I can always turn around.*
I even set up near the boardwalk mat so that if after five minutes I panicked, I could make a quick escape.
But the opposite happened.

That First Glimpse

The dunes opened up, and there it was—an endless stretch of soft sand and rolling waves, dotted with people as far as I could see. All shapes. All sizes. All ages. Together, comfortable, and free. There’s a magic in that moment when you realize no one is looking at you with judgment—they’re just… living.

I slipped off my dress, sat down on my towel, and something inside me relaxed. The tension I’d carried for years melted away. I wasn’t thinking about what my body looked like. I wasn’t sucking in my stomach. I wasn’t covering my thighs. I was just there.

The People of Gunnison

The beach is huge, and over time I’ve learned it has its own unofficial “neighborhoods.”

All the way to the right, you’ll find the gay men’s section—a lively, colorful, music-filled party zone.
To the left of the mat, it’s quieter. This is where you’ll see a lot of newbies, couples looking for a laid-back day, and people who just want to read a book and listen to the waves.
The middle is a mix of everyone—singles, couples, long-time regulars, and visiting families.

Driftwood sculpture known as “Woodhenge” at Gunnison Beach, standing in the sand at sunrise with a soft orange and pink sky in the background. — This blend is what makes Gunnison so unique. I’ve met retirees who have been coming for decades, families building sandcastles, and first-timers who instantly “get” why naturism is so freeing. I’ve talked with artists who turn driftwood into sculptures and seaglass into jewelry—I have two necklaces made from pieces found here.

And it’s not just friendly—it’s protective. As a single woman, you do need to be mindful, especially on a public nude beach. Once, I was napping and a woman woke me up to tell me that a few single men were setting up around me. She and her partner invited me to move my things near theirs so they could keep an eye out while I rested. That’s the kind of quiet, watchful community Gunnison fosters.

Respecting the Space

Gunnison may be clothing-optional, but it’s a family-friendly environment. Public sexual behavior isn’t tolerated. Rangers patrol the beach to make sure everyone follows the rules and keeps the atmosphere safe for all ages.

And while most visitors are respectful, occasionally you’ll see someone who lingers clothed or hovers with their phone. Regulars are quick to step in—whether to explain the etiquette to a shy newcomer or to encourage a true creeper to move along.

The Downsides (That Don’t Outweigh the Magic)

I won’t sugarcoat it—Gunnison has its quirks, and you should know about them before you go.

The walk from the parking lot? Long. A solid 15 minutes if you’re carrying only the basics, and much longer if you’re hauling chairs, umbrellas, or a cooler. By the time you get there, you’ll know exactly why regulars swear by bringing a beach cart.

The bathrooms and showers? They’re inconveniently placed all the way back at the entrance. That means if you need to use the restroom, you’ll have to get dressed, make the trek back, and lose your perfect sandy spot. And those outdoor showers? They only rinse what a swimsuit would cover, so if you’ve got sand hiding in less public places… you’re taking some of the beach home with you.

And yes—it’s a public space. That means anyone can show up. Most people are respectful, but occasionally you’ll notice someone who lingers clothed, stands a little too close, or pulls out their phone. It’s rare, but it happens.

But here’s the thing—Gunnison isn’t just a patch of sand and surf. It’s a living, breathing community. And the people here have a way of making the inconveniences fade into the background.

Magic Hours

Nude woman standing on the sand at Gunnison Beach, facing the ocean during moonrise, with the moon’s reflection shimmering across the water under a deep blue evening sky. — If I could bottle the feeling of my favorite Gunnison moments, I would.
Sunrise is my absolute favorite time of day here. The air is still cool, the light is soft and golden, and the waves sound different somehow—gentler, like they’re still waking up too. There’s something about standing at the water’s edge, the sun slowly climbing over the horizon, that makes you feel small in the best possible way.

Sunset is a close second. The sand takes on a warm glow, the sky shifts into pinks and purples, and the whole beach seems to exhale. People wrap themselves in towels, couples walk along the shoreline, and the conversations get quieter, softer, like the day is winding down with you.
And then there was the moonrise.
One night, I stayed late, sitting cross-legged on my towel as the sky darkened. I watched the moon climb over the ocean, casting a shimmering silver path across the water. Behind me, the NYC skyline twinkled in the distance, and above me, the stars filled the sky. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more at peace. The sound of the waves, the hum of quiet conversations, and the cool night air made it feel like the world had slowed down just for us. That night refreshed my soul in a way I didn’t know I needed.

Why I Keep Coming Back

Maybe it’s because Gunnison was my first naturist experience. Maybe it’s because of the people—the strangers who quickly become friends, the regulars who keep an eye out for each other, the way someone will make room on their towel for you if you need company.

Like the woman who woke me from a nap once to tell me a few men were hovering nearby and invited me to move my things next to her and her partner so I could rest without worry. That kind of quiet kindness is what makes Gunnison special.

It’s also a place that balances freedom with respect. The rangers who patrol aren’t there to kill the vibe—they’re there to make sure everyone follows the rules, keeps it family-friendly, and understands that public sexual behavior simply isn’t welcome.

Gunnison isn’t perfect. It’s sandy in all the wrong places, it can be a workout just getting there, and you’ll probably leave with wind-tangled hair and salt-dried skin. But you’ll also leave lighter—like you’ve set down something heavy you didn’t realize you were carrying.

For me, it’s not just a beach. It’s my reset button. My happy place. The stretch of sand where I learned what freedom really feels like.

Gunnison Beach – Where My Naturist Journey Began