Quarry skinny-dipping

[talaiporos]

Your photos are amazing and much appreciated.

If the information given (names, classes taken etc) about the people photographed are real though, my opinion is you are revealing too much.

[Paradoxodarap]

Originally Posted by talaiporos

Your photos are amazing and much appreciated.

If the information given (names, classes taken etc) about the people photographed are real though, my opinion is you are revealing too much.

Thanks for your comments. I shot these photos using high speed Ektachrome. Some of the transparencies have faded over time, but fortunately, the ones of Kate remain as pristine as when new.

The second part of your comment; I respect your opinion but I don't agree with it. Some points:

A) Never have I, nor will I ever, post anyone's surname or intensely personal information.
B) The years someone attended the university, their major, honors received and degrees awarded are public record.

As to whether anyone might connect the information I posted, or public record data, with these photos . . .

C) People in public, clothed or nude, have no presumption of privacy.

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1&2 The western end of Sundown Quarry. The photos offer a perspective of the size; only ¼ of the quarry is visible. The western slag pile is in the background.

3&4 Sundown. This girl was an infrequent visitor. Perhaps she should have attended more often to put some color on her breasts.

5&6 Full moon. This girl's boyfriend was already in the water and he was cajoling her to jump off the ledge and join him. The drop was only 7 feet but she wouldn't jump. Instead, she went the long way and scrambled down a slag pile into the water.

7&8 Mill pond. Baby oil time.

[topspinner]

Thoroughly enjoying the posts. Even better than the South Yuba River in NorCal, although that place is safe from being closed off.

[Paradoxodarap]

With the blessing of the property owner, public nudity flourished for many years at the Packinghouse quarries. But the downside: private property is subject to the whims of the owner. When the elderly owner passed away, his son, the heir, shut the quarries down.

Around the Midwest, there are scant few natural water features on public land where one can enjoy a nude day under the sun without Ranger Rick telling him to cover up or risk prosecution. And, to date, there is absolutely no place that comes close to approximating the outstanding clothing optional experience like the quarries except for Mazo Beach in Wisconsin. But even there, bible-thumping zealots wage a constant battle to shut it down. Fortunately, the powers-that-be in Dane County government have parried every attempt.

Often, I envy those living in the American west where beaches go on forever, rivers run free and hot springs flow as they have for centuries while at the same time, enlightened governments at every level allow citizens to enjoy God's great wilderness the way nature intended.

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For those who didn't care to rub elbows with other nudists in the eastern slag pile but still wanted to be central to the action, this rock at Sundown Quarry was a prime spot. These two women were fortunate to claim it on that busy Sunday afternoon. The south shore trail ran right alongside and as you can see from the photos, not everyone came to Packinghouse to skinny-dip and sunbathe; some came to hike, motorbike and generally, gawk at the nudists.

No one knew his actual name, but one perennial voyeur was known to all long-time regulars as Catman. Thirtyish, wearing shorts, T-shirt and a floppy canvas hat, (the kind Bob Denver wore on Gilligan's Island ) catlike he prowled the grounds, his beady eyes gawking at naked women. A two-quart canteen on a leather strap slung over his shoulder allowed him to stay all day. Most of the time Catman kept his distance and women simply ignored him. But sometimes, his behavior became intrusive; he would sit on a rock immediately adjacent to where alluring young women lay nude sunbathing. Catman didn't stare but his repeated glancing and looming presence were unsettling for some. And more than once, some of the outspoken women gave Catman a piece of their minds. But he would counter, and justifiably so, that he had every right to be there. If he wouldn't leave, sometimes those disgruntled women moved to another rock or, disgusted, got dressed and called it a day.
In my experience, nude women at the quarries didn't mind when nude men checked them out because everyone was on equal footing. After all, looking, and being looked at, was why we were there. But a clothed male voyeur, and a jerk at that, was another matter altogether. In confronting Catman and/or leaving, women were making the statement: If you're not willing to get naked, I don't want you looking at me.

One time, voyeurs came from an unexpected quarter. One splendid September Saturday, the university of Iowa Hawkeyes came to town to take on the IU Hoosiers. Indianapolis television stations dispatched news crews to cover the home football opener, not for the play-by-play broadcast but to videotape scenes before, during and after the game for the evening sports report.
Those skinny-dippers, both students and townies, who were IU sports fans were faced with a quandary: either go to the game or enjoy the waning days of summer at the quarries. Most had their priorities straight: they went to the quarries and listened to the broadcast on the radio. There would be many more games to attend after the weather turned cold.

The game announcer's voice booming over several radios lent an extra measure of camaraderie to the shared social nudity experience. Whenever the Hoosiers made a good play, cheers went up from the quarry crowd. When they scored a touchdown, Melanie, on her feet having just climbed out of the water, jumped up and down for joy, making her ample breasts bounce. Melanie, late 20s, a natural blonde, was a former IU student who loved Bloomington so much that after graduating she stayed on. (Sorry, no photos. That's the case for many of my quarry acquaintances.)
IU football fans didn't have much to cheer about that day; only one touchdown did the team score and the Hawkeyes prevailed 16-7.

The TV stations sent satellite trucks and news helicopters to cover the game. After the game, a steady drone became louder and louder until, without warning, a chopper appeared at the eastern end of Sundown Quarry, flying just above the treetops at walking speed. ( I'll not say from which station so as not to indict the guilty; flying below minimums in unapproved areas is a violation of FAA rules.)
The quarries were 2 miles from the football stadium and not on the fight path the helicopter would have taken back to Indy. Packinghouse wasn't a place you just stumbled upon; whether by land or air, you had to know where you were going. Likely, someone on the helicopter crew was a former student/skinny-dipper who wanted to capture videotape scenes to relive his undergraduate years.

The helicopter made a low, slow pass along the north shore of Sundown Quarry. Clearly visible in the open window: a man with a large shoulder-held video camera. Another man looked out the same window; you could almost see the whites of his eyes. The intrusion was too much for a few women; they covered up with T-shirts or towels. But most of the women just carried on blithely and some of them even waved at the crew. The man not filming waved back. At the western end of the quarry the chopper turned around and made a second low, slow pass along the south shore. When it passed directly above the eastern slag pile, the rotor wash sent dust, leaves and towels flying. (And anything else that wasn't weighted down.) Those who didn't mind the voyeurism were now pissed; they had to chase down and retrieve magazines, water bottles and clothing items, some of which wound up in the water.

Total time over target: ninety seconds. The pilot advanced the rotor pitch and the chopper thundered away, quickly gaining distance and altitude as it headed north toward Indianapolis. The pilot didn't fly over any of the other quarry holes, lending credence to my theory that someone on board was familiar with the quarries and knew the best nudity could be found at Sundown.

The quarry footage didn't make it on the evening news, but I imagine many copies of it wound up in the private collections of TV station employees. I have searched without success. Someday, I would love to stumble across that video on the web.

[Paradoxodarap]

Pedestal rock, in the far southeastern corner of Sundown Quarry, was a place women could spread their towel and relax without being bothered by Catman. The rock wasn't private; it was visible from the eastern slag pile 80 feet away and from the clifftop trails, but it was physically isolated enough that if Catman had tried to wheedle his way close he would have looked like more of a jerk than he already was.

In the first photo, the girl on the pedestal is talking with a male friend barely visible on a rock below. In being a camera-wielding voyeur, I suppose some might lump me in with the likes of Catman -but with two significant differences: First, I plied my proclivity from a discreet distance and in all cases my subjects were completely unaware they were being captured on film. And second, my motive was pure: to preserve for posterity this era in quarry history. (Disclaimer: my pure motive didn't occur to me until years later.)

What a stark juxtaposition: soft curvaceous flesh set against hard angular stone.

[Paradoxodarap]

This girl's skin was so uniformly pale one could reasonably assume she had never sunbathed, neither swimsuit clad or naked. Was this her public nude sunbathing debut? Visible evidence pointed in that direction. She could have chosen a secluded rock in one of the dozens of slag piles scattered all over the property but instead she charged headlong into the heart of nudie country, Sundown Quarry. She may have feared being alone and isolated would have left her vulnerable so, for safety's sake, she spread her towel in view of others.

On that sultry Saturday morning in July, Sundown was sparsely peopled; a half-dozen reclined in the eastern slag pile and a twentysomething couple floated lazily on air mattresses. Walking past on the south shore trail, Catman stopped and, unbeknownst to the girl, gave her full-frontal nakedness a thorough ogling. He didn't intrude on her space; having visually consumed his fill, he turned and walked away. The day was young and he had many more quarry holes to inspect to see what sort of voyeur opportunities awaited.

Pale girl must have felt herself becoming sunburned; an hour after arriving, she got dressed and departed. Or maybe she left because more and more people kept arriving and she felt overly exposed.
After this one visit I never saw her again, not at Sundown or any of the other quarry holes. Perhaps she decided that public nudity wasn't her cup of tea.

The Budweiser bottles weren't discarded by pale girl; someone else dumped them. I never could understand why someone could carry in a heavy cooler full of beer (or whatever) and then, at the end of the day, not be able to carry out the lightweight empties. Trash was an ongoing issue at Packinghouse. I did my part by picking up and bagging trash in the immediate area where I was on any given day. And Mocha was always willing to transport the full bags to the dump in his van.

Others pitched in and helped with trash removal. The core user group at Sundown consisted of about 30 individuals who had a vested interest in keeping the quarry a clean, safe, civil place to hang out. Barbara was one of the long-time female core users. Her recipe of vegetarian diet, stress management, fresh air, yoga and full-body exposure to sunshine (in moderation) kept her physique youthful looking and her attitude on the positive side of the ledger. This petite brunette never divulged her exact age but I could estimate; once in a while she spoke of skinny-dipping in the quarries during her undergraduate years when LBJ was in the White House.

Barb always brought a sturdy, stiff-bristled push broom she used to sweep broken glass and detritus off the rocks where people spread their towels. And whenever needed, she swept broken glass off the south shore trail before anyone cut their bare feet. I can't speak for the other quarry holes, whether or not they had a dedicated patron like Barb. If they didn't, perhaps cleanliness was one of the reasons Sundown was so popular.

[Paradoxodarap]

Originally Posted by FKKFan

Paradox,

Your pictures and the location remind me of some scenes from the bicycle movie "Breaking Away." Any chance that was filmed there? Or are there a lot of quarries in and around Bloomington?

Breaking Away was indeed filmed in Bloomington. The quarry scenes were shot, not at Packinghouse but at the Sanders quarries south of town. When 20th Century Fox was scouting for quarry locations they considered Packinghouse but one major problem scuttled that plan; the producers wanted a dramatic cliff for the diving scene and they found it at Sanders: a 65 foot drop local daredevils call rooftop. Go to Youtube and search 'rooftop quarry.' Even to this day young men and a scant few women risk arrest for trespassing for a chance to test their bravado against the monster. And in the process, fatalities have occurred.
Another factor may have scuttled the possibility of having the Breaking Away quarry scenes filmed at Packinghouse: the movie was a family film and the producers didn't want a bunch of nudists running around in the background.

Indeed, there are many quarries around Bloomington. I have uploaded a Google Earth image of the major quarry complexes. Packinghouse is the letter A and the Sanders, the letter I.
Additionally, two small abandoned holes, D and K, are on private property. How lucky for those land owners to have the world's best swimming holes in their backyards.

I have also included a cover photo from NCAA Champion magazine taken at the Breaking Away quarry. This singular image celebrates the union between Bloomington and Indiana University and their shared quarry culture.

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The following is not a sexist statement but rather, the result of years of firsthand observation: college age women spend far more time sunbathing than their male peers.

After a long cold winter spent bundled in their overcoats and trudging through snowdrifts, the first blush of warm spring weather sent scores of IU co-eds flocking to the quarries to get a jump on their summer tans. April was a month that saw, not only large crowds at Packinghouse, but also female-to-male ratios in the ballpark of 2-to-1. For a guy like me who enjoyed showing off and perusing fine female flesh, those warm spring days spent socializing amid a predominately female crowd made for enormously pleasing afternoons.

Summer was high season at Packinghouse and peak numbers varied by time of day and day of week. When the spring semester at IU adjourned, the vast majority of college students left town but 5,000 or so remained for summer school. Most of the summer students, it seemed, took fewer credit hours than during the main academic year, leaving them plenty of time to hang out at the quarries. Any time of day, students could be found there.
On weekdays after work, townies came out to enjoy the long evenings and many stayed until dark. And on weekends, when students didn't have classes and townies didn't work, the 200 acres of Packinghouse played host to hundreds of people, virtually all of them free-spirited nudists.

Late August saw increasing attendance at Packinghouse as IU students made their annual migration back to Bloomington. And on the last weekend before the fall semester commenced, 40,000 students in the 18-22 demographic had nothing to do but cut loose and party. And for many, that meant skinny-dipping at the quarries. On that manic weekend, quarry first-timers experienced the same epiphany as I did at the beginning of my freshman year: here's a place you can run around naked in public and it's perfectly legal.

Quarry old-timers, as they approached Sundown on the trail from the parking lot, simply proceeded to their familiar favorite rock. But in late August I could spot first-timers a mile away. When the ocean of bare skin came into their field of view, without exception they stopped and looked around, sometimes for lengthy periods. That was the tell-tale giveaway. Only a handful turned around and departed; most, after reconnoitering, proceeded to an unoccupied rock. College students are adventurous souls who thirst to experience the new and exciting and social nudity fit that definition. Based on the number of first-time college guys and girls whose bodies sported tan lines, I can conclude that for most, if not all of them, being naked under the sun wasn't part of their recreational repertoire.

Such was the case for the three girls in the last 4 photos. On that final August weekend before classes began, down the trail they came from the parking lot and stopped at the junction of the south shore trail. Tell-tale. After a minute spent looking around and talking quietly among themselves, they proceeded to the western slag pile. There, they spent another minute trying to decide which rock would be suitable to spread their towels. Finding no rock to their liking, they reversed course and walked the short distance to the eastern slag pile. Another minute of looking didn't result in a consensus as to which rock would be suitable. They retreated up the trail toward the parking lot. I figured they had departed or were going to find a private rock in some isolated slag pile.

Ten minutes later, they appeared in the far southeastern corner of Sundown and made their way over the jumble of rocks, finally stopping at pedestal rock. There, on the pedestal and the flat rocks that formed its base, they spread their towels. For several minutes the remained clothed and then, as if daring each other, they slowly began removing articles of clothing until, bit by bit, all were naked. God! I love first time nudist college girls!

That first visit led to repeat visits by the trio, always on pedestal rock where they could be a part of the scene yet maintain a measure of separation from the others. Their weekend visits continued through September and early October until finally, cold weather brought an end to the season.

[barbossa]

Awesome posts!

[Paradoxodarap]

Originally Posted by barbossa

Awesome posts!

Stay tuned. I'm not done yet.

In the first photo, in the eastern slag pile at Sundown Quarry, Stephanie is talking with Bill, 35ish, lower right. Likely, he indulged his fetish for ladies undergarments at home and he also wore them at Packinghouse. He preferred white low-rise panties which, from a distance, passed for a speedo but up close, lacy frills sewn into the elastic waistband and leg openings were easily seen.
During late August, many first-time college girls glanced and grinned at this man who had the balls to wear panties in public. But wasn't his behavior less brazen than being naked? After all, he was covered. Based on the reactions to Bill that I witnessed, many first-time (and some regular) female attendees apparently felt that a man wearing panties was . . . unusual . . . but most seemed amused by his behavior: openly flaunting his fetish.

The cliff at Sundown was cut into the hillside in a zigzag pattern. The water was deep and the cliff jumpable along its entire length except in the far southeastern corner in the immediate vicinity of pedestal rock. In this series, Stephanie is scrambling over rock jumbles and navigating clifftop trails above pedestal rock on a mission to jump off the cliff which she did often. In photo six, she's standing 18 feet above the water on a point, one of the cliff zigs. Note the upturned faces in the eastern slag pile in the background. After jumping, she climbed out and sat on a rock for a short time, becoming acquainted with two suited newcomers.

[Paradoxodarap]

Bill wasn't the only one to swim in ladies underwear at Sundown Quarry. This girl wearing the white T-shirt didn't know the couple with the dog; she was just using their rock to exit the water. I had never seen underwear girl before this day when she came down the trail from the parking lot, looked around for a minute then made her way to water's edge. She removed her cut-off denim shorts, swam for five minutes then climbed out, pulled on her shorts and departed. I never saw her again -and I was there a lot.

Such was the case for some first-timers at Packinghouse; they came, they swam and they left. After coming out to see for themselves this hotbed of hedonism, for whatever reason they chose never to return. Their loss.

This couple sometimes spread their blanket at Mill pond where Fido could easily enter the quarry on the rock face that sloped gently into the water.