What to Know Before Visiting New Jersey’s Nude Beach

What to expect at Gunnison Beach, what to bring, how to behave, and why taking your clothes off may be the easiest part of the day.

I first visited Gunnison Beach as a teenager, although “visited” may be too generous a word for what happened.

At my high school, walking to the nude beach at Sandy Hook was treated as a kind of rite of passage. One chilly Ascension Thursday, or Beach Day as it was colloquially known in my school, a group of older students announced that it was time for me to become a man. They then led me on an endless walk down the sand toward Gunnison.

One of them cut his foot along the way. The weather was terrible. When we finally arrived, the entire beach was empty except for two nude men.

Thanks, guys. I definitely felt transformed.

Decades later, I had my first real experience at a clothing-optional beach while visiting Kehena Beach on the Big Island of Hawaii. After finding a place to settle in, I announced, “Well, here we go,” and took off my clothes. My companion was delightfully caught off guard and burst out laughing. She eventually joined me, and we had an incredible day.

Returning to New Jersey afterward, the obvious question was why we would fly eleven hours to recreate an experience available a short drive from home.

Gunnison is one of the few legal clothing-optional beaches in the United States, and the only one in New Jersey. It is also far less dramatic than most first-time visitors imagine.

It may feel like a spectacle at first, but that sensation fades quickly. It is not a fashion show. It is not an invitation to abandon every boundary simply because everyone has abandoned their bathing suits.

It is a beach with an unusually clear social contract, an exceptionally long walk from the parking lot, and hundreds of people enjoying what may be the most liberating beach day available on the Jersey Shore.

The Strange Part Lasts About Five Minutes

My routine at Gunnison is the same as it is at any other beach. First, I set everything up.

The umbrella goes into the sand. The chairs come out. The towels, cooler, sunscreen, and whatever else survived the journey from the parking lot are put in place.

Then comes the moment.

“Well, here we go.”

The clothes come off, the strange feeling lasts for a few minutes, and then it disappears. You sit down. You look at the ocean. You put on sunscreen. Someone nearby opens a book. A couple walks toward the water. A group of regulars remains deep in a conversation that clearly began three summers ago.

Very quickly, the nudity stops being the central fact of the experience.

This may be the biggest thing first-time visitors misunderstand. They imagine that everyone will be watching when they undress, judging their body, or waiting to see how they react.

Nobody is.

Most people at Gunnison are busy managing their own beach day. They are fighting with umbrellas, reapplying sunscreen, keeping food away from gulls, checking the tide, or repositioning their chair for maximum sunlight.

The first time you remove your clothes may feel like stepping off a high diving board. Within a minute, you realize that nobody even looked up.

Clothing-Optional Really Does Mean Optional

Despite Gunnison’s reputation as one of America’s few legal nude beaches, nudity is not mandatory.

You will see people in every possible state of dress. Some wear traditional swimsuits. Others keep on shirts or rash guards for sun protection. Some wrap themselves in sarongs. A few remain fully clothed while their companions participate.

Others are entirely nude except for wide-brimmed hats and their bodies adorned with elaborate body jewelry glinting in the sunlight.

There is no pressure to undress. Nobody will approach you and ask you to remove anything, offer unsolicited commentary, or make you feel unwelcome for easing into the experience slowly.

Many first-time visitors arrive fully dressed, sit down, and observe for a while. Eventually, they notice that being clothed can make them feel more conspicuous than joining everyone else would.

Then the shirt comes off. Maybe the swimsuit follows later. Or maybe it does not.

That choice remains yours.

What draws suspicion is not clothing itself, but behavior. Someone wandering slowly through the crowd fully dressed, staring at sunbathers, or carrying a phone with its camera visibly pointed outward will attract attention quickly.

People at Gunnison are unusually alert to anyone who appears to be conspicuously observing rather than participating in the ordinary life of the beach.

Nudity Is Not the Same Thing as Sexuality

This distinction is the foundation of Gunnison’s culture. Nudity is a state of dress. Sexuality is behavior.

At Gunnison, people remove their clothes to swim, sunbathe, avoid wet fabric, eliminate tan lines, or simply enjoy the physical freedom of being outside without anything wrapped around them.

That freedom is not an invitation.

The overwhelming majority of a summer day at Gunnison feels remarkably ordinary. People talk, nap, swim, read, eat lunch, and complain about the walk back to the bathrooms or the bites from greenhead flies.

Couples may hold hands or exchange a quick kiss. Friends gather beneath umbrellas. Solo visitors sit quietly for hours without anyone bothering them.

The same standards of consent, personal space, and public behavior that apply elsewhere still apply here. Federal law does not evaporate with your swimsuit.

There are occasionally people who arrive at Gunnison with a more sexualized understanding of the beach, and adult social groups do sometimes organize gatherings there. Boundary-pushing behavior can occur, particularly when the beach is less crowded, and ranger presence is reduced after Labor Day.

That is not the culture most visitors encounter during a typical summer day, nor is it behavior accepted by the wider community.

The beach remains clothing-optional. It is never consequence-optional.

The Etiquette Is Mostly Common Sense

Gunnison feels safe because visitors follow a strict, largely unwritten set of rules.

The most important is simple: do not photograph people.

Avoid pointing your phone toward the crowd, even when you are only checking a message or taking a photograph of the ocean. Keep the screen angled downward and be aware of how the device appears to those around you.

At a conventional beach, someone holding a phone vertically may barely register. At Gunnison, it immediately raises questions.

The same awareness applies to staring.

Of course people look. Thousands of naked strangers do not suddenly become invisible because everyone has agreed to behave politely. Human curiosity still exists, particularly among first-time visitors whose brains are trying to process an unfamiliar environment.

The difference lies in duration and intent. A brief glance is normal. Tracking someone across the sand, repeatedly scanning their body, turning a chair to maintain a better view, or refusing to look away after eye contact crosses the line.

Sunglasses help preserve the polite fiction that everyone is minding their own business. Gunnison relies on that fiction.

Give people the courtesy of space when choosing where to set up. Walk near the water when moving along the beach rather than weaving through blankets and chairs. Don’t interrupt someone who is reading, sleeping, or wearing headphones.

Never comment on a stranger’s body. Tattoos and jewelry may naturally begin a conversation, but even then, read the room.

And always sit on a towel or chair. Clothing may be optional. The barrier between your bare body and shared surfaces is not.

Getting There Is Half the Adventure

Gunnison is part of the Sandy Hook unit of Gateway National Recreation Area, a federally managed park.

At the entrance, you will pay $20 for parking during the summer season, between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Season parking passes are available.

After passing through the entrance, it is roughly a five-mile drive to Gunnison’s Lot G. Speed limits are strictly enforced, so resist the temptation to treat the road as the final stage of your beach-day qualifying lap.

Arriving early matters. Lot G holds hundreds of vehicles, but it regularly fills by 11 a.m. during peak summer weekends. Sandy Hook itself can also reach capacity, at which point additional cars will be held at the entrance until room becomes available.

Once parked in Lot G, visitors follow a wooden path through protected marshland toward a central facilities plaza. This area contains restrooms, changing areas, outdoor rinse-off showers, drinking-water stations, chair and umbrella rentals, and seasonal food trucks.

It is also where park rangers may inspect coolers. Alcohol and glass containers are prohibited, and if they are found in your cooler, they will be confiscated. Refusing to allow a cooler search will result in refused entry to the beach.

Once you are past the facilities plaza, the real walk begins.

From the facilities, the shoreline can be another quarter mile or more across open sand, depending on where you decide to set up. During the summer season, portable accessibility mats make part of the trip easier for carts and wagons.

Regulars call the remaining journey “Crossing the Sahara.” The name is not entirely hyperbolic.

Before upgrading my beach cart with wide balloon-style sand wheels, I occasionally had to stop and catch my breath while dragging everything toward the ocean. Narrow wagon wheels bury themselves in loose sand almost immediately, transforming a cheerful beach arrival into unplanned high-intensity resistance training.

The reward is a broad stretch of Atlantic shoreline with plenty of room, rolling surf, distant views of the New York City skyline and Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, and a complete absence of the need for clothing.

The price of admission for that exceptionally unique experience is the walk.

Bring Less Than an Expedition, but More Than a Towel

Gunnison is not the place to arrive carrying three loose bags, a hard-sided cooler, and a folding chair under each arm.

A capable beach wagon is enormously helpful, particularly one with wheels designed for soft sand. Sturdy sandals or slides are also essential. The sand can become painfully hot, and flimsy flip-flops are not ideal for the long trek.

It is wise to bring more water than you think you will need. The walk, open sun, and lack of nearby facilities make dehydration a real risk. Do not deliberately drink less because you want to avoid the bathroom journey.

Sunscreen deserves even more attention than it does on a conventional beach. Parts of your body that rarely see direct sunlight will suddenly be negotiating with the midday sun without prior experience. Apply carefully. Reapply often. Future you will be grateful.

A two-towel system is useful. Keep one towel dedicated to sitting on or covering your chair and another clean towel for drying off.

Water shoes can make entering the surf more comfortable as the shoreline is rocky and littered with coarse shells. Insect repellent also earns its place when the biting flies are active.

Bring trash bags. Gunnison follows a carry-in, carry-out policy, and everything you bring onto the beach needs to leave with you.

As for shade, check the current National Park Service rules before packing. Beach fences, tents, canopies, tarps, and the towering flagpoles once associated with Gunnison’s regular groups have been prohibited. Standard beach umbrellas remain the practical option. Umbrellas must consist of a single central support and be less than 8 feet in diameter.

The rules do change. I have gear that was commonly found at Gunnison for years that is now prohibited.

The Bathrooms Are Not Nearby

The central bathhouse is convenient when you arrive. Once you have made the full journey to the water, however, it feels located in another municipality.

A bathroom trip can require a lengthy round-trip walk through deep sand. You will also need to put your clothes back on before entering the facilities plaza.

That makes a lightweight cover-up, loose shirt, shorts, or sarong especially useful.

Experienced visitors often use the bathroom upon arrival, before beginning the long walk to the shoreline. They also save their final shower and change of clothes for the end of the day, after packing everything and returning to the facilities.

The important thing is not to let inconvenience override common sense. Keep drinking water to stay hydrated and take the walk when you need to.

Nobody wants the most memorable part of their first clothing-optional beach day to involve heat exhaustion.

It Can Be Social or Completely Private

Gunnison has a strong regular community. Groups return to the same general areas week after week. They celebrate birthdays, share food, watch one another’s belongings, and continue friendships formed entirely on the sand.

Strangers also talk more easily than they sometimes do at conventional beaches.

Without clothing, logos, uniforms, or fashion signaling status, many of the usual social barriers disappear. A person’s profession, income, and preferred clothing brands become irrelevant.

That does not mean you must participate in the social side.

Gunnison can be remarkably private for a crowded public beach. Open a book, put on headphones, face your chair toward the ocean, and people will generally leave you alone.

The central area near the main access path tends to be busier and more social. Walking farther along the shoreline usually provides more space and quiet.

The beach gives you room to choose your own level of connection.

Real Bodies Change the Way You See Your Own

Anyone expecting a beach filled with sculpted influencers will be disappointed.

Gunnison looks like humanity.

There are bodies of every age, size, shape, color, and level of physical ability. There are scars, wrinkles, stretch marks, tattoos, piercings, surgical histories, and decades of ordinary living written across the skin.

That visual reality can be unexpectedly comforting.

At many conventional beaches, people perform a version of themselves through swimwear, posture, grooming, and deliberate presentation. Gunnison removes much of that performance.

Nobody becomes physically perfect after taking off their bathing suit. They simply become less hidden.

Seeing so many unedited bodies in one place can recalibrate your idea of what a normal body looks like, including your own.

Who Will Enjoy Gunnison?

People who love Gunnison usually value freedom more than convenience.

They enjoy swimming without a bathing suit, dislike the curated energy of fashionable beach scenes, or appreciate spending a day somewhere status feels temporarily irrelevant.

They are also willing to tolerate the logistics.

The long walk, distant bathrooms, limited amenities, strict privacy etiquette, and carry-in, carry-out rules are not incidental details. They shape the entire experience.

Someone whose perfect beach day requires a nearby boardwalk, restaurants, cocktails, lockers, shopping, and effortless access may find Gunnison unnecessarily difficult.

People who remain intensely anxious about being seen may also struggle to relax, even after discovering that nobody is particularly interested in them.

Open-mindedness helps, but temperament matters more.

You need to be comfortable with ordinary human bodies, respectful of firm boundaries, and willing to drag your own equipment across what feels like several acres of loose sugar.

The Joy of Being Among People

One of my strongest memories of Gunnison comes from the summer of 2020.

It was among the first public places we visited after months of pandemic isolation. Social distancing was still being enforced. We wore masks during the long walk toward the beach and kept our setup separated from everyone around us.

Once everything was unpacked and set up, I removed my clothes, settled into my chair, and looked around.

The joy was startling.

It was not merely the pleasure of being nude beside the ocean. It was the simple fact of being among people again.

All around us were strangers enjoying the sun, the water, and one another’s company. Even with all the uncertainty of the pandemic still shaping daily life, the beach was filled with people having what felt like the best day they had experienced in months.

It reminded me what everyone had been fighting to preserve. Human connection. Shared space. Summer. Laughter. Music. Freedom.

And, in this particular case, an astonishing amount of nudity.

Before You Turn Around, Give It an Hour

Someone visiting Gunnison for the first time may reach Lot G, turn off the engine, and suddenly question every decision that led them there.

That hesitation is normal.

You do not have to commit to anything while sitting in the car. You do not have to remove a single piece of clothing when you reach the sand.

Grab your bag. Walk down the path. See the beach for yourself.

Stay dressed while you find a place to sit. Give the environment time to become ordinary. Watch how other people behave. Notice how little attention anyone gives you.

Then decide.

You may discover that Gunnison is not for you. That is perfectly fine. But driving away without taking the walk will leave you wondering what waited at the end of it.

The thing nobody tells you about Gunnison Beach is that the hardest part is not taking your clothes off in front of a thousand naked strangers.

That part becomes easy because the beach is filled with people in their happy place, having an exceptionally good day.

The hard part comes later.

It is packing the wagon, beginning the exhausting journey back to Lot G, and realizing that before you leave, you have to put your stupid clothes back on.

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