  I changed into shorts and a TopRope Magazine T-shirt (only $10) and was off to Oklahoma -
Land of granite trad climbing. We made some pretty good time after sitting in traffic in Waco,
going north from Austin. We got into oak country and the temperature seemed a little lower than
what I had anticipated. On the way up, Suzanne spied a bank clock/thermometer that stated that
the temp was 41 degrees which I knew had to be wrong because the one near my apartment is
always a good forty degrees and twenty minutes off, and they are all related, right? Well it was
cold up in the Wichita Wildlife Refuge and windy too. Steven left the light on for us, the lantern
blasting candle units down by the lakeside, and as we unpacked a pang of nervousness that I may
have forgotten the tent swept over my spine and innards, but was quickly alleviated, (I frequently
forget the tent) as I grabbed it, a new pang entered the scenario, as I could not locate Suzanne’s
borrowed sleeping bag, and only one thermarest. Oh shit!Well it was cold, but not really that cold; we both shared ten inches of the thermarest and laid the bag out like a blanket. We soon froze our asses off. Our core temperatures never recovered the next day despite the onslaught of hot campresso our bodies received. Now, I have never been windsurfing and it would seem weird to be into a sport that was so condition-specific, but if I were a windsurfer in Austin, I would be headed to the Wichita Wildlife Refuge every other weekend. The wind delivered consistent blasts in between gusts and gales. We drove to the narrows and after a 20-minute hike and three or four river crossings, we spotted a couple climbers cleaning a route on the wall we coveted. We hiked up a steep hill to get to the climb; some crack in the dihedral that was like a 7 or an eight. Pretty straight forward, and many spots where you could use two hands to place gear. That is cool with me for my first trad climb of the day. Suzanne did a bang up job cleaning her first trad route, leaving only one or two pieces.  Steven lead up the Crazy Alice without a hitch placing as much gear as was
necessary. It’s funny because I used to have a neighbor named Alice who was crazy as a loon. It
is this arcing crack with a crux at the apex of the arc where you have just placed your most
bomber protection. My hands were low and I was trying this funked out traverse and
“Take!” I was testing that number two friend, which did the trick, I was hanging at my first
piece working my way back up to the place I had fallen, and it was remarkably easy hitting it
from a lower vantage point. Boom! I was out of there, climbing and placing gear when Steven
would remind me.
“Ok, Paul, go ahead and put something in now.” “Well it’s just a scramble,” I would think to myself, “But ok,” as I placed and moved on to the anchors. Classic climbs: They don’t have to be hard or tricky, maybe they just protect well and have good features. Richard Pryor something or other. Steven was all over the beginning - “Sure I’ll give you a spot.” Overhanging features on a 5.8? The area was soon occupied. Steven was off on a terrifying trail of confusing choices. Suzanne was trying to direct from the guide at the base and Steven finally made a decision and stuck to it. He eventually got it and scrambled to some anchors before belaying Suzanne from the top of the climb. Suzanne reported never having been on such a wild climb. “It was really cool.” Steven simply reported that it was not a “classic”. “Did it suck?”  “Yeah it sucked, I didn’t know which way to go, you saw me.” Well my whiney ass had an aching elbow and I had picked up most of our gear while Suzanne was hammering away at the climb and throwing gear to the deck. The Old Plantation Restaurant, Medicine Park, OK The food sucks, the service sucks, and the resplendent ambience harkens back to when Medicine Park was a getaway for the high society. Yeah right. The ghost story book written by “Grandma” is not half as scary as the tale Suzanne told after sharing restroom quarters with the unabashed “Grandma”. “I haven’t ever even seen my own grandma naked.” Lest I forget this is a climbing story, and lest you, the reader forget that night was falling as was the mercury and our partially sated heroes were in for another bitter cold evening, and the clock was ticking ever closer to 9 p.m. - the witching hour where all of Lawton shuts down except the lone titty bar featuring the same lone dancer and the same lone patron for the past 17 years. Shopping: Lawton Style “Wal-Mart” is the All-American store and has a resounding brand recognition for anyone wanting, needing or finding almost anything at a bargain price. “Gibson’s” is the same thing, only it is in Lawton and they serve giant pickles wrapped in wax paper to hungry shoppers. “Bakers” is the same thing as HEB, but it smells like they mop the floor with warm vomit instead of chicken grease. And while you ought not to not use your debit card unless it is a credit card at the check out, you can use the ATM machine without a fee because the Lawtonites do not have that particular bank yet, if you don’t understand, dear reader, neither did I, but I did get my $40 out with a pulse card. Needless to say, we found everything we needed: a sleeping bag, a foam mat, jiffy pop, non-stick spray and Gatorade at these two convenient stops. And back we ventured to our trusty campsite. Lower Mount Scott Lower Mount Scott is where we spent the next day. Several classics existed on this 80-yard wide rock band. I was a trad-leading fool, hanging on gear on the first climb over an intimidating little roof of this crack climb at a dihedral. Next were some sweet crack seams where hand jams were somewhat necessary. Some well protectable climbing, and we soon had some company of Christian rappellers. There was one perfect crack that was in varying girth, but straight as an arrow. I overcammed Steve’s big black and grey cam where I was gonna keep on climbing. However, he halted my progress and suggested that I place this pretty piece. Sorry, Steve, looks like you are going to grab that ‘un. I lowered off the climb and Suzanne sucked it up and pink pointed this awesome line. She got scared, she got the cotton mouth, but no Christian, muslim or hindu was the wiser. Not even atheists could tell this girl had a drop of fear in her blood. Speaking of our Christ-like brethren, I was on this chaucy section getting a softball calf cramp in my left leg and was pumping out on my forearm cam while one girl was pointing out my lead fall potential of decking while I was fishing out the right size cam from the overstocked rack I was lugging up 50 vertical feet. “and even if that piece stays in, he still may hit the ground with 
the rope stretch and all, blah blah blah” Maybe their matching wiTness T-shirts with a crucifix
for a T, was just some euphemistic cover up for a sadistic group that got kicks out of posing as
Christians, yeah, and they would psyche people out of their leads so they would deck in front of
them where they could delight in the gruesome compound fractures I had sustained above each
ankle. Probably not, but didn’t this girl have any clue that if I were a less sound climber, she could have been fucking with my head. “Ok, I got this piece set,” said by moi, if only to shut this girl up; also enough psychological edge to stand up to what looks like a solid ledge. No, it doesn’t bother me when someone is critiquing my climbing, not until the point where I weight the anchored rope and three out of five pieces pop at the tension of the rope straightening out. Sheesh. It could get worse, and it did. This last face climb could hardly be protected. There were times where I was slotting nuts sideways. I would place a cam under a flake that would slightly give when I jerked on the cam sling. The youths for littering crags for Christ had departed by this time, so they could not wiTness my sweating ass freaking out when I committed to a left hand ledge that offered right hand match that was even slopier and shittier. Finally I noticed that there was a nice ledge for my foot so that I would not have to keep all my movements so calculated, slow and intimate with the face of this wall. The climbing got better and the protection stayed poor. Well, this was the last climb of the day, but let me back up to some classicness. There was a climb around the corner which looked unprotectable until a grave commitment had been made, yet it only looked like this was the case. Easy, smooth climbing. Solid, hearty protection. It was a joy in each sense of the word. By the end of the day, we were good and cashed, or is it cached. But did the death 5.6 solo out to the top o’ the crag. Sunset was a couple hours away, but we packed into our vehicles, did a quick turn at the top of this mountainous vantage point, and hit the road with walkies rasping back and forth, vehicle to vehicle back to the big D. Check it out Six hours from Austin, three hours from Dallas. The lush and rugged landscape lends itself, in my mind, to be a great getaway from central Texas heat in mid August. From what I gather, the climbing areas are all spread out and may require a lot of driving and/or hiking. It is worth checking out for anyone living in Dallas, Austin or Oklahoma City.
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