During the summers, instead of taking off for parts unknown like many college students, I remained in town to work and help pay for school. For those 3 months, in essence, I became a townie. Weather permitting, weekdays after work I pedaled out to Packinghouse and enjoyed tranquil evenings with my growing circle of acquaintances. It was during those times I came to understand how Sundown Quarry got its name.
As the sun sank low and kissed the horizon, radiance reflecting off the long fetch of water painted the cliffs with shimmering patterns, ebbing, flowing, morphing through deepening shades of rose, mauve and magenta until, at last, when the final glimmer of twilight had vanished in the west, starlight alone shined down on the ancient stone.
I didn't spend all my time skulking in the woods with my Minolta SLR; most of the time my bare butt was parked on the rocks with my fellow skinny-dippers. Oh sure, in doing so I missed hundreds of photo opportunities but I didn't care. Capturing candid images of human wildlife in its natural habitat was pleasing but I derived far greater gratification from schmoozing with the ladies up-close-and-personal.
The crowd at Packinghouse was a microcosm of society; all personality types were represented; those who preferred peace and quiet and solitude, 420-friendly party animals and everything in between. Those who sought to put the 'social' in social nudity gathered in the eastern slag pile at Sundown. On sultry summer weekends, scores of nudists spread their towels and shoehorned themselves onto every available rock. Because of the helter-skelter arrangement of rocks, people sat and reclined at odd angles and at different elevations. And if you were lucky, you were treated to a view ordinarily reserved for gynecologists.
Acquaintances galore I made during my years at Packinghouse -students, townies, men, women- but true friends I could count on one hand. Kate, a student, spent her summers in town, attending summer school and hanging out at the quarries. And by the end of each season she wore a seamless tan of rich dark chocolate. Had she not been romantically involved, very easily I could have fallen for Kate; she was the kind of girl any man would covet; intelligent, witty, sensitive, spontaneous, playful, and, to top it off, very easy on the eyes.
Second semester of my sophomore year I had a class with Kate, journalism 212. Course requirements included writing assignments and photographic projects. Her forte was English composition and mine, black & white photo processing. That first week of class after New Year's we forged a partnership; we agreed to help each other strengthen our weak points. During group study evenings, Kate was brutally honest in critiquing my writing and diligently edited my mistakes. From her, I learned much. And I gave her the benefit of my years of darkroom experience, demonstrating the myriad techniques one could employ to transform marginal negatives into prints worthy of framing. The result of our academic mutual aid: we aced our midterms.
As winter melted into spring and opening day at the quarries drew near, I asked Kate if she would pose nude for my final photographic project. Over lunch one Friday at the student union building, I outlined my vision: a photo documentary of Packinghouse, featuring her smiling face and lean tanned body reclining on the rocks, walking through the woods, diving off the cliff and swimming in the deep clear waters, things I'd had the pleasure of watching her do countless times. I was stoked at the prospect of taking up-close photos (and lots of them) of this girl with the baddest tan in all of quarryland.
However, she declined my request and her reason was valid; photo projects were always placed on exhibit in Ernie Pyle Hall, the journalism building. She wasn't squeamish about public nudity by any means but she drew the line at having her personal and academic lives intersect; she didn't want her classmates and professors to see her naked.
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That was then and this is now. Kate with her friend, Julie, in the eastern slag pile, Sundown Quarry.
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