Geological Gems
July 2019
Our family loved our autumn weekend at Sam A. Baker State Park, snuggled into rugged foothills of the St. Francois Mountains. The park—situated along Big Creek where it empties into the St. Francois River—is one of the oldest jewels in Missouri’s state parks system. Most of the cabins were built of native stone and timber by those venerable Depression-era lifelines, the Civilian Conservation Corps and the Works Progress Administration. The lodge is a classic, serving up meals to reload your energy level for more exploring on foot, on horseback or in a kayak.
But it was time to go back home.
Our family packed the van and drove home through the Arcadia Valley, budgeting enough time to stop for boulderous adventures at that pair of guaranteed kid pleasers, Johnson’s Shut-Ins and Elephant Rocks State Parks.
Back on the road home, along Highway 32 between Farmington and Sainte Genevieve, we spied a small brown sign pointing to Pickle Springs Natural Area. In my mental rolodex, Pickle Springs (a national natural landmark) was a blank page.
We took the bait.
We parked next to the only other vehicle in the lot and walked a few yards toward the trail, bending an ear toward the woods, listening for the owners of the pickup parked next to our van. In the October crisp, there was no sound.
Immediately we reached a loop trail and took the path to the right, stopping every few yards to peer into the wilderness. Within seconds, steep walls of a box canyon enveloped us. Sandstone boulders the age of Pluto towered over our heads, spring water seeped beneath. Intrigued, our family caravan walked single file down the path, powered by this unfolding carnival for the eye. With perfect theatrical timing, mother nature arranged her priceless sculptures before us.
Headwall Falls. Rockpile Canyon. Pickle Springs.
I wondered if John Muir or National Geographic ever visited this spot, with its collection of weather-beaten sandstone shapes, creations that Bryce Canyon would be proud to display.
Dome Rock. Owl’s Den Bluff. Mossy Falls.
A part of me wants to keep these charms secret. They’re rewards for observant visitors who’ve done their research. Another part of me shouts to the contrails that crisscross the heavens, punctuated by gleaming silver dots that carry passengers to LA and New York. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
We greeted two backpackers as they approached. These were the guys from the pickup truck, parked in the lot. Father and son, by the looks of them. They told us they were hiking this trail and other nearby geological gems tucked into the St. Francois Mountains, the oldest mountains in North America. Hawn State Park. Buford Mountain. Ketcherside Mountain. Royal Gorge Natural Area. Iron Mountain Lake. Millstream Gardens. Bismarck Conservation Area.
The backpackers foreshadowed what would unfold on the rest of our two-mile trek along the Pickle Springs trail. We marveled at the stunning beauty of this place.
Terrapin Rock. The Keyhole. Cauliflower Rocks.
The discord of world events seemed a billion miles away. Far away, too, seemed the violent Civil War death of William Pickles, for whom this spot is named. And even though home was calling, we completed this tranquil trail in the time it takes to watch an episode of Game of Thrones.
Visit JohnDrakeRobinson.com to read more about John’s travels.