Naked truth about Doe Bay: The views are unobstructed

I admit it: I went to Doe Bay Resort because it has hot tubs where people go naked.

Sure, there are other reasons to go to this secluded Orcas Island cove. I could say it was because Doe Bay has a century of history. Or because it's a good place to watch eagles and otters. Or that I was making arrangements at the last minute and didn't want to attempt to find a bed-and-breakfast on a summer weekend. Or that it's one of the cheapest great San Juan views around.

But the truth is, I was attracted by Doe Bay's reputation as a hippie hangout. In former incarnations it was an artist's colony and a "human potential center." It has a cafe and grocery store featuring international natural foods.

And clothing-optional hot tubs.

I was playing tour guide for a friend from my ancient past and his 8-year-old son, so I wasn't planning to get naked. But I figured maybe the kind of people who would go to Doe Bay would be more interesting than the usual tourist crowd. And maybe the bohemian-Seattleite part of me wanted to tweak Paul and Tommy's white-bread, suburban Maryland sensibilities.

When we arrived, though, I wasn't sure that I'd left my own small-town Midwest upbringing far enough behind. The two front-desk clerks in the grungy reception building smiled easily, but I blew my cover with an uptight question about the credit-card receipt.

I did not gawk when we passed the cavorting sounds floating from the hot-tub entrance.

We trudged down a winding path through the woods and did a few circles before we could figure out which dirt spot was Lone Pine, our campsite. As one clerk had warned us, "The sign's kind of not right at the site," and some young campers in tie-dye were kind of standing right on the site.

Feeling like capitalist pig invaders, we dropped our gear around them and said cheerfully, "Guess this is our campsite!" They mumbled agreeably into their dreadlocks and drifted away.

I noticed that sound carried amazingly well, and tensed at the thought of being kept awake into the wee hours by guitars and partying. Whatever had once been the Lone Pine was now a stump, and our treeless site jutted out over the water into the scorching July sun. Not cool.

The view, though, was far out. Its half-circle took in Mount Baker to the east, the San Juan Islands to the south and the hills of Orcas and cabins of Doe Bay to the west.

Once I took some deep tokes of that ambience, I could get into the '60s state of mind and trip on how spectacular the exposure really was. I didn't even mind when some new campers ambled down to check out the scenery.

When I announced I was going to the hot tub, only Tommy wanted to join me. I was holding my breath when we got there. But the four people soaking were fully bathing-suited - a middle-aged couple and two teenage boys.

They all seemed friendly, so I jumped right in with the question: "Anybody take off their clothes yet?"

"All the naked people left when we came," one of the boys told me, then imitated their disdain: " `Eewwww! Clothed people!' "

We laughed and chatted as we plopped in and out of the two hot sections, then flopped into the cold plunge. We sneaked glances when a man wearing only a beard came out of the sauna to shower alongside the hot tubs, repeatedly and in full view of us.

Just before 6 o'clock, a staff member came by to announce that minors had to leave in 10 minutes. As we left, Tommy looked back toward the nude sauna-goer and exclaimed, "That was freaky!"

"Well, it's just natural, really," I said.

When we returned after driving into town for dinner, it was too late to go back to the hot tub, which closed early that night.

Instead, I sat down at Lone Pine and sank into a quiet pool of bared beauty.

A full moon, in pale electric yellow-orange, threw a long bright line straight across the water to me. The glow made the thick spider's webbing draped on the thistle bushes look like sheets over furniture in an abandoned house.

A log drifted slowly through the scene, and I imagined it was a sea lion come to summon me out for a swim. Five kayakers on a moonlight paddle slipped past, their wake reshaping the reflected beam into a rippling, seductive curve. Laughter from the beach wafted up like an echo from younger days.

I wrapped myself in sky, sea, islands, all muted and still, smooth as a baby's skin.

Lisa Schnellinger is a free-lance writer and editor in Seattle. Her e-mail address is Lisa@EditingInternational.com.

If you go: Doe Bay Resort has 45 acres of waterfront on Orcas Island, including a private beach. Hostel beds are $16, campsites $20 to $24, RV sites $18 to $22, yurts and geodesic domes $49 to $59, and cabins $49 to $109. All cabins have heat and electricity; some have kitchens, half- or full baths, or woodstoves. All include passes to the hot tub and sauna. Overflow camping without hot-tub access is $12. Off-season rates have variable discounts. Massages are available by appointment. Phone 360-376-2291; Web site: www.doebay.com.

The cafe is open 8 a.m. to noon and 6 to 9 p.m. The Olga Cafe is four miles down the road, open for lunch only; other restaurants are in Eastsound, 12 miles away.

Guided kayak tours are available through Shearwater Kayaking: 360-376-4699.