In my home state, Missouri, we have a few areas that are known locally as Shut-ins. These are streams running through rock that withstand the erosion caused by the water. This creates a dangerous but delightful playground for both young and old and I’m going to recount some of my tales of the most famous of them all Johnson Shut-Ins.
Trip 1969?
We’ll start with my first encounter of the J. Shut-Ins that occurred when I was a Boy Scout and we were doing the Taum Sauk Trail as a hiking expedition. This is a hike that goes through some of the highest spots in Missouri which isn’t really that high maxing out at 1,772 ft above sea level. But goddamn it, it’s our mountain so deal with it. Our first night was spent with our sleeping bags thrown in the, at the point, gravel parking lot of Elephant Rocks State Park.
This would have been in the last part of the 60s. There was no artificial light to to obscure the most excellent light show that was the Milky Way. Laying in our sleeping bags looking straight up to the sky it was quite a sight. All night as long as I stayed awake shooting stars could be seen at a rate of about 1 every 5 minutes or so.
In the morning the hike began and it was a difficult one. As someone mentioned in a trail guide, it is a hike that is like a stair step machine. But the scoutmaster who was one of the most gung-ho gregarious outdoorsmen I have ever met hitch hiked back to the car and picked us up at the half-way point so that we could camp over at the Shut-Ins. Nothing like spending time in the pools of rushing water after a long day hiking.
At the Shut-Ins there are a number of rocks and bluffs that people would climb and jump into the water. There were rocks of all sizes to jump into the water from. From a couple of feet to towering bluffs of 40 feet. As someone who was not far away from becoming a teen I picked what I thought was an appropriate height at around 8 feet. I waited my turn in the line to jump. When it was my turn I came up looked down and immediately was paralyzed by fear. My fellow scouts and our scout master were below in the water waiting for my jump. As I stood unmoving they shouted encouragement at me, to no avail.
I think I was at the point of rethinking the whole thing and taking the cowards way out. Alas, the top of the rock was very wet and very slippery. When I moved to back off the rock I slipped. Did I fall from the rock into the water? No dear reader I fell to the side of the rock. To my good fortune there was not soft gravel or sand to break my fall but another rock that was just a foot or so above the stream. I hit that rock with my butt, slid off that rock like it was a water slide and then I went into the stream. Down into the water I went. But some how the only thing that was hurt was my pride. So I began paddling my way up from the button of the stream when good fortune struck again.
The scoutmaster witnessing my very graceful dive thought for sure I would be in sad shape. He was a big burly manly man. His day gig was an armed guard on an armor truck so he got to run around town with an arsenal of weapons and as he would tell us… he liked it. He was also a good caring scoutmaster and was not about to lose one of his charges in such a shameful manner.
So there I am paddling my way up to the surface when all of a sudden I’m grabbed, in a way I can only imagine what a tackle by a pro football lineman but in the water. I haven’t been saved often but if this is the way it felt I think I’ll pass on future rescues. He drug me out of the water. I could see the relief in his face that I was going to make it. Then there was the laughter of my fellow scouts since tragedy was cheated humiliation would not be.
So that is my first story of the Shut-Ins.
Trip 1974?
Fast forward to my late teens. My friend Bill who was provided with the Golden Fleece of teen items, an International Harvester 4 wheel drive vehicle. This was in the first half of the 70s and it was not typical that many people living in the St. Louis area had 4 wheel drive vehicles. Keep in mind this was before the great snow of 1982 so not many people saw the purpose of owning one. Rarer still a teenager having one. Many of his friends and people I grew up with in South County were going to the Shut-Ins for Labor Day weekend. He asked if I wanted to go down with him and of course I jumped at the opportunity. On the way down we visited his folks at a campground and did some off roading. We were having a grand time.
Then we met up with the rest of the group. At this time I was transitioning from the KSHE rock ethos so prevalent in the St. Louis area. KSHE was a classic a AOR station but by this time they had moved from long hair rock towards a more redneck southern rock bias. My opinion of that style of music is that is intolerable to my ears and worse yet the crap now exists as modern country but mixed in with bad pop.
Anyway this group was hardcore KSHE at a time when I was into a different thing altogether. But as it was that part of the state where the Shut-Ins are located was not able to get nearly any St. Louis radio station signals. Even KSHE would play a song that I would like every other song but there was not music available to us… except for a stack of Willie Nelson 8 tracks. Now I know that now days everyone loves Willie Nelson. Heck I can tolerate him what with the brilliant songwriting he’s responsible for such as Crazy by Patsy Cline. But in my teenage years of this time with my current listening revolving around the Stones, Bowie, Reed, Iggy to be stuck only with Willie Nelson was a fate comparable to torture.
Oh well.
Then we could find no camping area for ourselves. The Shut-Ins long since having filled up we went from place to place looking for camping vacancies. We were able to find one and setup camp and listening to Willie. Ugh.
Going down to the Shut-Ins the next day I was astounded by the dirt bag nature of the people who were there. They had turned this beautiful natural environment into a waste basket of empty beer cans and bottles. Every Lynyrd Skynyrd fan from the state of Missouri seemed to be there with their hosier sensibilities. (Definition time: hosier is not a badge of pride in MO unlike Indiana. It is a derogatory term meaning someone who hasn’t evolved to the level of chimps much less humans)Oh my god it was disgusting. It made me glad that I did not feel part of this culture as if these simians could grasp the concept of culture to begin with. All I can say is that anyone attempting to make the argument on the superior status if the white race would be at a loss to explain away this congregation of Cro-Magnons.
But since I didn’t drive I was stuck until Bill wanted to head back and he really didn’t. So I was drowning my sorrows with copious amounts of beer. Remember those bluffs I was telling you about earlier? Well the one that I fell off of was just a trifle compared to the highest ones. As I was 4 sheets to the wind I went to investigate these higher perches. Taking no chances this time I was crawling along the edges to look over. On one of the bluffs there was a person having the internal debate that I once had about should I or shouldn’t I.
I crawled to the edge next to him and asked, “you going to jump from here?” I said it as someone would ask are you sure you want to die now? He looked at me. He looked at the water far below. Then he turned and said, “no.” Then he walked away from the edge. I like to think I saved his life that day.
Anyway as we were nearing the end of our beer supplies I was able to enlist one of our group to assist me and refilling the empty cooler with all the cans that were discarded by others. We crushed them to be able to take as many as we could out.
I was still young, but I could already sense that my world view was a separate thing from the KSHE cowboys and was glad of it. I also do not recall an instance where I was so happy for an adventure to end.
1978 Trip
Fast forward several years. Dave B. who had a van was up for a gang trip to the Shut-ins. The posse included Chuck DeClue, Ann (Blue) Friedel, Marg C. Becky B. Kevin B. Don H. and myself.
We left on a Friday and because we got a late start I suggest we spend the night at my parents lake lot at Lake Timberline. It was an unimproved lot with not much more than an old small camping trailer. We made it there and some decided to sleep in the van as opposed to setting up tents the rest of would sleep in the camper. The camper had a double and single bed setup. Marg and I came in first and we threw our sleeping bags next to each others on the double then walked out of the camper.
I came back later and lo and behold my sleeping bag was now on the single section and Don H’s was on the double. I shook my head in disbelief and bemusement. To tell you the truth I didn’t think Don had that much back-stabbing in him. Marg and I had been pretty good friends for many years by this time. I was frequently trying to up the ante on that but it wasn’t going to happen. Maybe a year or two earlier and I’d have pitched a bitch or moved bags again but by this time Marg and I have settled into a detente of just friends. So I took it in good humor – Don’s little subterfuge – and went on about my business of drinking beer, smoking pot and having a good time outside with the gang. Some of us were also indulging in psychedelics to insure a more technicolor evening.
Next up on the agenda… making a campfire. We gathered up what wood that could be found in the vicinity and placed it in the family fire area. Not having tinder or lighter fluid I used my woodsmen skill and doused it in gasoline. Maybe a bit more than I should have used. I lit a match and threw on the wood pile and was blown back to the ground a few feet away from the ignition of the flames. Everyone was pleased and amused by this entertaining display of pyrotechnics.
Now when you make a flame that large it tends to consume the fuel quickly. Since I had already risked life and limb lighting the fire it was Keven and Chuck’s duty to go find more firewood. Off they went. We could hear them in the distance for awhile talking a bit, then breaking out in laughter time and time again. After about an hour and a half they came back with fuel. Or not because what they came back with was a metal Property for Sale sign. Owing that this was my parents lake lot and it was undoubtedly taken from a neighboring lot I told them to put it back where they found it. This took them at least another 45 minutes. By this time the fire was extinguished for lack of fuel and those who hadn’t indulged in psychedelics went off to sleep and those of us who did enjoyed the light show that only we could see.
Then a storm came up. It was a mellow summer thunderstorm. So there was a light and sound show but not the fear of being blown away or flooded out. In my single bed I had a good view of the storm which was delightful. Marg came over from the double and we laid side by side holding hands and watching the storm. After a bit she gave me a little kiss and want back to the double bed where lay the treacherous Don. I remember it as a magical moment were we could both be affectionate friends and that being fine by me.
I’d like to say then I went to sleep and woke up but no. I didn’t sleep. I was up all night. But it was time to break camp and load into the van. As we were driving away I noticed that the For Sale sign that I had instructed Kevin and Chuck to put back where they found was now in front of my parents lake lot. I never found out if my parents got any offers on the property.
I’m not sure why it came up but it was asked how we get to the Shut-ins from Bonne Terre. Having just been there 2 or 3 years ago I explained that I knew how. Dear readers again I must remind you this was in the days before ubiquitous GPS on everyones phones. The way that I recalled going was a way to get there but it was not exactly the fastest route. However in subsequent years and now knowing the most direct route it was probably beneficial that we took the route we did. I suggested going down US 67 to Fredricktown then onto 72 into Ironton. The more direct way was an alphabet soup of state letter roads although as I look up in 2022 I see that it is now one road Highway 221.
As we’re leaving the lake property to go to 67 I break out a bottle of Jack Daniels and start swigging whiskey. Everyone is repulsed that I could do that first thing the morning and I had to explain that if you didn’t go to sleep the night before you’re really just carrying the party over to the next day so not technically drinking in the morning. This may have been the first of many uses of this logic to justify this behavior in my life.
About a quarter of the way in our journey and at least 45 minutes before we would have made it taking the more direct route I was bombarded with bitching about my wayward directions and how this was some crazy messed up way to get to the shut-ins.
I’ll let you dear reader decide if this was warranted for them to give me such a hard time or if they were making mountains out of mole hills.
As you can see it was around a 10 minute add on to go to the shut-ins via Fredericktown. Not seen in this is that 67 was a four lane highway with good site lines while the way through Farmington was nothing but two lane no shoulder blind curves all the way. Getting behind one person driving a farm machine on the road which was a not uncommon occurrence would have negated any time advantage.
So too my camping buddies across time alive and dead… my way wasn’t the disaster you were making it out to be, bitches. I’m mostly looking at you Dave. As you’re the one that led the bitching.
We made it to the shut-ins setup camp and frolicked in the clear waters of the shut-ins enjoying life and the natural beauty that could be found in Missouri. A striking thing from the previous time I was at the shut-ins. There were now all kinds of rules. Based on my previous experience they were good rules. No liquor allowed in the shut-ins. This meant that we didn’t have to step over beer cans and get our feet cut on bottles as we enjoyed nature.
We headed back to the campsite for lunch and to hang. While not having beer at the shut-ins was a positive we were still young people and we had a large supply at camp. Our picnic table was full of beer cans from the lunch repast. Not empty ones, ones still in use. Then the park ranger stopped by to check IDs.
At this time Chuck and I were the only ones of legal age in Missouri. All of a sudden we became loathsome alcoholics each of us lunching with 3 beers apiece as he checked that we were indeed legal. You could tell he wasn’t buying our unquenchable thirst but I suppose because we weren’t making trouble in any other way and because our hair was much shorter because we were already going with the shorter punk style that we might almost pass as respectable youths as it was too warm for us to have on our black leather jackets he didn’t attempt to make too large of an issue on this. He did let us know he’d be watching us.
I remember that for this trip we seemed to have a slim supply of music to play as well. Dave did have Get Your Ya-Ya’s out on cassette. Again radio was a non-starter in this area. So I think I may have played that over and over again. We also had a High Times magazine for reading pleasure. I remember it distinctly as there was a concert by concert play by play of the Sex Pistols US Tour. This would have put our camping expedition as the Summer of 1978.
As we settled in for the night Blue and Becky saw a copperhead snake near the tent we were using at which point all manner of noise and ruckus ensued. This had the effect of drawing a nearby camper to our site to see what the fuss was about. This enquiring mind turned out to be an english teacher from Roosevelt High School that several of the camp crew had courses with.
He shook his head understanding that his initial assessments was correct that these ex students would not amount too much in real life and be an annoyance to society.
As the copper head was never corralled we turned in for the evening, each of us sleeping with one eye opened.
If anything else of humor or depravity occurred on this trip I cannot recall it now so my stories of the Johnson Shut-ins comes to and end.