It's a wrap for a rustic, remote nudist refuge

After spending most of her adult life buffing up the image of nudists, the owner of Orange County's only nudist resort and one of the longest-running such refuges in the West is calling it quits.

"It's time to move on," Nilson said. "For 53 years, it was quite a religious experience, chasing sunshine and health. Now it's over, and it's not easy."

For nearly three-quarters of a century, Mystic Oaks, formerly known as McConville, has nestled among towering oak, sycamore and pine trees off winding Ortega Highway between San Juan Capistrano and Lake Elsinore. Accessible only by an unmarked dirt road behind a padlocked gate, it is 2,500 feet up in the Cleveland National Forest.

For generations, nudists have gathered here year-round, playing tennis, shuffleboard and volleyball; hiking; sunning and lounging around the pool. Hundreds have roughed it overnight in tiny, rustic cabins with no electricity.

The nudist camp, a peaceful, uninhibited setting, enabled the few hundred dues-paying members to relax with nature au naturel. Nudists paid annual fees of $400 to $600.

But lately things have changed, Nilson said. "Most members were happy with our rustic retreat, but newer members wanted to change it into a country club-type setting. People don't enjoy camping out like they used to. They want all the amenities."

But after a long-drawn-out divorce, Nilson had no deep pockets with which to upgrade the site. Declining financial circumstances, coupled with dropping membership, caused her to give up the 129-acre property. The sale is pending.

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In 1933, nudist camps were becoming popular in the United States. Psychotherapist Hobart Glassey, his wife, Lura, and a former New York grocer, Peter Joseph McConville, leased a piece of forested land they called Elysia. The next year, they bought 330 acres three miles uphill from the initial site and named it Olympic Fields.

Here, astride the border of Riverside and Orange counties, the founders battled neighbors and county officials. Peeping Toms and trespassers climbed the gate. Sometimes, 100 members fought off raids by sheriff's deputies bent on breaking up their naked volleyball games and barbecues, according to Times articles of the era.