Photo Credit For All Photos:: Karen Ghiselli and James Crump Collection

​Texas Radio is one of those thin edging routes with either long moves between features or complex sequential moves connecting features - sprays of knobby feldspar crystals, mixed with some quartz edges, and smears, lots of smears. Oh, and it’s steep...
 
It's 1981 and I have been eyeballing this section of slab to the left of the infamous route Real Gravy (5.11, 180 feet) - the itch to climb it has been growing and now it's time to scratch that itch.
 
I study the first 20-feet, look ahead to plan some moves, and then turn my attention back to the start. Lichen and tree branches add "dimension" to the beginning - if you can call it that - along with a cave-deep opening for pro that protects from a grounder. I place a piece, make some moves across the slab and then shift into a big, overlap-stem move, which goes to a good stance. Looking down a ways at my last piece of pro, this seems like a good spot for a first bolt. I get out my hand drill, tapping and turning until the hole is deep enough to insert a 1/4-inch expansion bolt.

The author, James Crump, on the opening moves of "Texas Radio" during the first ascent.

Now this thing starts to turn steep with ever-decreasing features. Crystals guide me up and left with twenty-feet of moves leading to a thin smeary-gritty stance of lichen covered virgin black-streak granite. Suddenly I realize I am far enough above an overlap to fall over it. A fall would be ugly and there's no backing down.

Terror now enters the equation.
 
Over and over again I pad my feet against the rock, pawing clean the crusty lichen-covered smears. Grit and panic.
 
Out comes the hand drill and hammer. Panic versus calm. Drill, hammer, swing, tap and drill, pawing feet and hammering, a three-hit rhythm to the terror. My mind thinks of the beat-chanting roars of a stadium - “Block that kick! Block that kick!” Paw, drill, hammer, paw, drill, hammer. My calves are burning like a finite resource.
 
The old and used 1/4-inch Rawl bit is becoming dull. Shit. My three-beat "block-that-kick" is becoming a creed of burning calves and crying toes. I am nearing my limits, then, finally, the bolt is set. Totally spent, I clip in and yell to my belayer “Dirt me!”

ABOVE: Click on photos to enlarge and see captions

Physically expended and nerve-shattered, I retreat and runaway home. Runaway is not a euphemism - I literally mean run - and I'm surprised I can do it, as my calves are completely blown. Two bolts on Texas Radio is enough of a day. Not only was I at my physical end, the bit was too. Plus, I had been pinging steel on steel on granite for more than an hour, which is loud and is a sound that travels. You see, drilling bolts at ERock is illegal and the previous ranger threatened a $500 per bolt fine. Yes, drilling bolts, ground up on steep granite has more risks than just a fall.
 
This next weekend - after I can actually walk right again - us rogues are back at it. After determining the coast is clear, I repeat the opening stem-crank sequence through to the second bolt. The rock straight up above me steepens again and is blank except for some micros. To my left, is the route Real Gravy, and I can see the ledge and bolt 30 feet away. Although tempting, that's not where I'm headed. My goal is the beckoning knob, high up and right below a bulge of steepening granite. This knob is big enough you can grab it and stand on it. A beautiful sight for sore calves.

​I look longingly at this big knob, but it's like a crocodile-filled moat before the castle - featureless, lichen-covered granite ready to rip off my flesh should I fail. With a hammerhead, heavily-bristled denture toothbrush in hand and secured on a leash around my neck, I search and sample, scrubbing off the lichen and looking for a sequence that might lead to that knob.
 
Several smearfests trying the direct approach fail and I'm back at the clipping stance for the second bolt, recovering. While giving my body a break, I eyeball a spray of thin crystals and edges that start left of the knob and go down and right. This might be an option.
 
Finally recovered from my previous direct runs, I sniff out the moves to the right.

​Soon I am far enough right that a fall would be a big swing. With each step up, I generate in the back of my mind the neurosis of peril. 
 
Up and up, inch by slabby inch, I am perched high and right, excitingly within range of the blessed knob. I see three tiny crystals, possibilities for my toes. As I play this out move-by-move, to reach the knob, my right toe must be on the left crystal below me. Unfortunately, right now my right toe is on that micro-crystal.
 
I envision a dance, where I delicately switch my toes - step in, step behind, step through. I play it enough times in my mind that I could put music to the dance. It is the only way I can push the peril of my circumstance away. Then, amazingly, I do it and reach to the left, extending my finger tips just barely to the knob, careful not to lean too far and throw off the delicate balance that keeps me adhered to the wall.
 
Then, wholly fuck! I got the knob! Now, what do I do with it?

Past the 2nd bolt is a complicated three-move sequence to try to get to a knob. James moves to the right of the 2nd bolt to find any tiny crystals to hold onto and inch his way up to the knob.

ABOVE: Click on photos to enlarge and see captions

I pump up onto my palm, rest on my straight arm and marginal feet. I look up and around, probing with my left hand for a hold to enable me to stand up. Alas, I have only a palm full of on knob of granite in the middle of a granite sheet of despair. There is now a lot of air between me and that lonely little bolt, down and far to my left.
 
My three tiny micros are now far below too - there is no escape. If only they had a few little sisters up above - where are their little sisters when you need them?!

​I am now forced to do a mantle move - one of the most challenging moves in steep face climbing - putting a foot where my hand is and standing up!
 
After deep breathing and panic management, I drop back off my straight-arm palm-rest, lower into a crouch and look for the best position for my foot to try to stand up on the knob.
 
The knowledge of a a fall on a swing brings panic to a precipitous edge. I try a left-handed mantle and almost pop off. Shit! Panic begins to cascade off that internal edge and reverberate through my body. I have to regain control quickly before shaking muscles cause the very thing I fear. I reestablish my right mantle rest and as my right arm vibrates with stress. My brain squirms like a toad and I am fading fast. I can’t continue to play.
 
With my left hand, I dig a Chouinard Skyhook out of my bolt bag, clip it to a carabiner on my rack, take it off my rack, and clip it into my harness. Next, I place the hook onto the knob. Still in terror, I slowly and gently lower my weight off my right arm and onto the hook. Time stands still as my avoidance of flesh removal, broken bones, or death succeeds. My mind takes over and says, "Drill baby drill! Block that kick!"
 
I drill the third bolt at the same height as my hook, next to the knob. I retreat and pull my rope.
 
My vision was to do the three micro-chip toe-dance, reach, match hands and clip, then do the still unaccomplished mantle move. Then I would drill again for a fourth bolt.
 
I return to work the mantle sequence for a couple of hours, wanting to finally stand on the knob. But, success is not happening. So, even after setting a bolt at the knob, the mantle is still unachieved. I run away again.
 
This next week is hard, with distractions of student life getting in the way of climbing. I have physics and vector calculus exams on Monday - inconveniently intruding into the weekend climb-time. But the knob sequence never leaves my mind, becoming an obsession. How can I micro and match to where I stand on my hand hold?
 
Since Enchanted Rock is hours away from Austin where I was going to school, I look around for someplace to practice that has a vaguely similar knob surrounded by nothingness. I found something close enough at Bull Creek on Mount Little Wimpy. Although it was limestone and not granite, I am able to think about and practice how I can microstep to where I could stand on my hand. 
 
After some experimenting I have the insight - the revelation - that I can’t hog the whole knob with my hand like I had with my straight arm rest and my previous attempts. I need to leave room for my toe! So, I practice prepositioning my palm on the hold to share with my toe. I notice that this adjustment of position also changes and slightly rotates my arm and shoulders, affecting balance. I rehearse the moves and carefully work out how I can carefully shift my weight. 
 
Equipped with this insight I convince myself that I am now going to climb Texas Radio. with exams out of the way, I scrub my Brand X-soled EBs, priming maximum stickiness in my boots. I hang them from the side mirror of my 1964 F-85 Oldsmobile - a high speed galactic cruiser with 230 watts of Visonic/Nakamichi stereo and a big sub-woofer playing Genesis’s Foxtrot loud!
 
I talk Karen, my fiancé and aspiring photographer, to jug and take pictures. I call my friends Davy Head and Mike Lewis. Then, I eagerly drive out at 6:00 a.m. to ERock at 90 miles per hour, with Karen riding shot gun, Davy and Mike in the back seat, and Captain Romex the Wonder Dog sitting contentedly in my lap.
 
Then Wham! We almost take a buzzard in our laps. The buzzard had been chowing down on some road kill and was disturbed by our passage. At first he flew away, then suddenly, smashes into the driver side pillar and shatters our windshield!
 
Whoa! We assess the situation and see that we are still alive. We can even still see through the windshield, so, with climbing on the horizon, we continue, shedding buzzard guts as we go.
 
We pull into the new Texas Parks and Wildlife Department entrance to the park. I hop out and bravely go into the temporary hut that is serving as the park's headquarters - I say bravely because it’s been two years since I walked into the Ranger station. I had heard we have a new park superintendent, and I figured he wouldn’t know me. I open the door and walk in, then he smiles and says...
 
“So you’re James Crump?” 
 
I smile and shake his hand. He comments, “I hear you are drilling bolts on the back side?" Shit, I think to myself. Not sure if he is asking or telling, I shake my head and say no - with uncertainty - towards his assertions. I am now totally afraid he's about to bust me. To me, Warren Watson is no longer Enchanted Rock's new Superintendent; He is the Iron Hand of Texas Justice, the Law!
 
I exit the headquarter trailer very disoriented. My brain was already spinning with my angst about the mantle, then the splattered buzzard, and now this. I begin to calculate he number of bolts I've placed on the backside of ERock, multiplying that by $500 x ...  Before I could get pulled too deeply into a pit of despair regarding how much money I don't have in the bank, my friends, the Horton's, drive up. Bill sticks his head out the window and asks if we had seen the buzzard carcass, describing the carnage... I just pointed at my windshield.
 
I have to put the distractions aside, though. I came here for a purpose - I think I figured out that mantle move to get above the knob and I am here to nab the first ascent of Texas Radio

​The day is a blue-bird sky with bluebonnet flowers sprinkled across the landscape. When we arrive on the other side of the huge granite monolith, I set Karen up to jug and photograph. When I stand at the base of the climb, the rest of the bullshit of the day disappears. It's just me, the rock, and my determination to nail this thing. Since I've done the early sequences numerous times, I flash it to the three micro-crystal sequence before the knob. This time I know how to set up my feet to smoothly to fire-off the tip-toe-switch dance.

I reach for the knob, and then practice what I had done out at Bull Creek. My muscle memory switches on - palm with enough room for the toes then slowly shift my weight. Step up. Fire the leg muscles. Then Bam! I send it! I'm so freaking excited, I burst into a grin that spans from El Paso to Houston.
 
Now, standing on the mantle, I whip out my hand drill. I have a new bit and eagerly drill and set the 4th bolt.

ABOVE: Click on photos to enlarge and see captions

The hand foot match! James searched hard and found a place near Austin (where he was going to school) where he could practice this move. During the FA, he nails it.

ABOVE: Click on photos to enlarge and see captions

Supercharged by my form so far, I work the next crux, turning the bulge and climbing an amazingly steep sequence of crystals to a big stance. I drill the 5th bolt and exultingly climb to the Real Gravy belay station on Rites of Spring. I bring up Dave Head and Mike Lewis. We now have officially done Texas Radio. I feel accomplished and elated!
 
Dave, Mike, and I discuss the route, comparing it to its neighbor Real Gravy, which is a 5.11, and we decide to rate Texas Radio 5.11c R.
 
Two Years Later...
 
Enchanted Rock park has been closed for far too long for improvements - roads, trails, fences, bathrooms, campsites, parking lots, and ranger stations. Texas Parks and Wildlife deemed that no public should be admitted into the park, but during the battle for access, the climbing community found their feet and a real unlikely ally.
 
A group of us climbers did some research following the money trail of construction overages and delays. We found enough dirt that we actually leveraged Texas Parks and Wildlife to allow a limited numbers of our rock climbing club affiliates to climb at ERock - if we shut up. We had limited private access and, as a result, we found that we had a political voice too. It was glorious!
 
During the closure of ERock, a revolution had occurred in climbing with the introduction of sticky Spanish rubber in the form of the Borel Firé (pronounced Fee-Ray) climbing boot! I had a pair and was dying to introduce them to ERock slab. With our newly found access to the closed park, my friends and I head to ERock. I fire off Clockwerk Orange, all the triple cracks, and Stranger Than Friction. I am flashing and sending strong and I feel super human in my new boots!

We are ready for the second ascent of Texas Radio.
 
Davy and Mike follow me on Texas Radio. When Mike arrives at the fourth bolt it comes out in his hands! Shit! A complete, un-weighted bolt failure. This is the thing nightmares are made of. Now, here I am hanging on a bolted anchor - older than that bolt Mike pulled out - and I'm bringing up more weight - great.  And, while literally hanging almost 200 feet (55m) above the ground, it's impossible to not think about what I avoided to this point - what if I had slipped before the fifth bolt and that fourth failed? I would have hopfefully been caught by the 3rd bolt at the mantle, but that's almost too late to keep me off the deck... not good.
 
Bolt failures have been a topic in the climbing news lately, with stories of catastrophic bolt failures in Yosemite Valley, like the tragic story of Anchors Away on the Hall of Mirrors.
 
Awareness was starting to become borderline panic regarding the bolt issues. First it was the SMC hanger with its metal-brittleness failures. Then it was issues with the split-rivet bolt itself, which is a compression bolt, getting its bite and holding power from having its “split” compressed as it was hammered into the hole. The stress of compression, we've since learned, causes metal fatigue, so split-rivet bolts are like ticking time bombs waiting to fail. To compound the issue, the bit I used to drill the fourth bolt was slightly smaller than my normal 1/4-inch bit, it was metric. The smaller bit meant a tighter hole and more stress on the split in the rivet. When the split snapped the bolt had essentially became a loose nail in the hole with a hanger on it.
 
Here we were, at the start of a new day of growing relations with the Texas Parks and Wildlife and I don't know if this budding relationship can survive bolt-failure accidents. Since all the bolts at ERock are 1/4-inch split rivets, I quickly realized they all needed to be replaced. I have no choice but to bring up the issue with Warren, the Enchanted Rock Superintendent. Now I had a new fear!
 
I rappel safely back to the ground and decide to deal with this issue right away. I walk back to the shack that's housing the park's temporary headquarters and find Warren. Naturally I'm nervous because all those bolts are, well, illegal - and I had put in a significant number of them. So, how the hell is he going to respond to the news that we have a ticking time-bomb of death on that rock right now?
 
Fortunately, time and a growing group of climbers has been on my side - and maybe a little bit of dredged up dirt - and that, along with the seriousness of the issue, is giving me courage. We sit down and have a long talk.
 
I am surprised by Warren’s sympathetic view, which has evolved from his first impressions and transferred prejudice of the previous superintendent, who hated climbers -- especially me. Warren initially had visions that a bolt was like some huge rebar eyesore that had no place in a natural area. But, he also apparently has an open mind and, I learned, he had been educating himself on climbing and bolts. Clearly, Warren was cut from different cloth. 
 
I learn that he had talked to other ERock climbers, my peers, and rivals, and they shared with him a much different view of my bolting and route development. It seems that even my rivals liked my routes, and the fact that I used the minimal number of bolts on a route.
 
Then Warren does something that absolutely blows my mind. He suggests the concept of an elected committee of climbers as an advisory to Texas Parks and Wildlife on climbing issues. He suggests that all our clubs should unite and forge an agreement with the park and organization, and a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) should be created as a vehicle for the state to recognize climbing as a legitimate activity and to provide a mechanism for management of bolt placement and replacement.

I don't think I've been this excited since sending Texas Radio!
 
Over the next year, I work with other climbers and we build an alliance of the Central Texas Mountaineers, the Alamo City Climbing Club, the Texas Mountaineers (Dallas-Fort Worth), and Houston’s two clubs, the Wall Crawlers and the Texas Mountain Raiders, to elect a seven member committee to negotiate with the Texas Parks and Wildlife and create this new understanding. We call this alliance the Central Texas Climbing Committee, the CTCC.

We forge the MOU and, with it signed, begin the process of park-wide bolt replacement with urgency. We also set out to bolt many of the easier routes in the park, which had never been bolted, only solo-ed. We bring routes like Mark of the Beast (5.8+), Hartford (5.8), Walk in the High Country (5.8, PG-13), Prok (5.7+, X), and Deep Prok (5.8) into the bolted-climbing realm. It's a glorious year and the fourth bolt of Texas Radio ended up saving my ass - again.
 
Epilogue
 
We now have more than three decades of bolt management, as well as a comprehensive state-approved climbing management plan, at Enchanted Rock State Park. All of this is due to the great open-mindedness of Warren Watson, who himself became an accomplished climber and a member of our climbing family. Now forty years later, Warren and his wife Susan are close dear friends.
 
There is a reason why our climbing guidebook, The Dome Drivers Manual: Climbers Guide to Enchanted Rock is dedicated to Warren Watson. All climbers owe him a huge debt of gratitude. The Warren Watson model for climbing-land owner management has become widely adopted across the United States, promoted by such groups as the Access Fund and others.
 
Ours, from deep in the heart of Texas, was the first.

Warren Watson, former super of Enchanted Rock State Park leading Stranger than Friction (5.10b R). (Photo Credit: Robert Price.)

The Dome Drivers Manual: Climbers Guide to Enchanted Rock can be found at the Enchanted Rock State park and local climbing stores and gyms. 
​Proceeds from sales benefit Enchanted Rock State Natural Area through the Friends of Enchanted Rock, a 501(c)(3) charity.