Editor's note: Jezy J. Gray got a lot more than he bargained for when he first researched a weekend camping trip to eastern Oklahoma's Robbers Cave State Park. What he found—an annual get-together of social outcasts who dress as animals—turned out to be much wilder, woolier and more tender than he could've ever imagined. This story was first published in This Land, Vol. 5, Issue 17.
The rock formations that spill out from the wooded foothills of the Sans Bois Mountains in southeastern Oklahoma were once a draw for outlaws and outcasts. Legend has it that these rocky cliffs and canyons served as a refuge for a number of personae non gratae, from Civil War deserters to infamous outlaws like Jesse James, Belle Starr, and the Dalton Gang. The area was incorporated in 1933 by the Civilian Conservation Corps, and four years later it was named Robbers Cave State Park—a nod to its history as a hideout.
Each spring for the past five years, though, Robbers Cave has been a sanctuary for outcasts of a different stripe.
It’s 8 a.m. on a Saturday, and after navigating a winding dirt road marked “private,” I pull in to Group Camp #2. Parking is scarce at the top of the hill, but I find a spot next to a late-‘80s Buick LeSabre whose rear dash is stacked to the ceiling with plush foxes. Idling across the way is a muscular blue Dodge Ram pickup with shoe polish paw prints splashed across the back windows. Beneath that, in block letters: “Wild Nights 2014! Honk 4 Furries!”
For the uninitiated, “furry” is shorthand for an enthusiast of the anthropomorphic arts. This is often—but not always—expressed by wearing a “fursuit” depicting a unique animal character, or “fursona,” dreamed up by the wearer. The Missouri Exotic Species Arts Association (MESA) held its first annual outdoor furry fandom convention at Robbers Cave in 2009.
It’s day three of this year’s convention—“the day,” MESA President Joel Ricketts assured me—and the campsite feels lived in. Tents crouch haphazardly around the perimeter, surrounded by a fortress of slim, towering pine trees. A trailhead on the north end leads past the group cabins and up to Robbers Cave, where tonight’s hike will take place. The late-April sky is clear and brilliant, showing no evidence of the severe weather expected overnight.
Despite the relatively early hour, the southern end of the camp is buzzing with activity. I take notice of license plates as I walk toward the crowd. Some are from as far away as California and Maine, but most have come from Oklahoma, Texas, Missouri, Kansas, and Arkansas.
I stop to marvel at a massive and expensive-looking RV wrapped in elaborate wolf-themed artwork. A neon green fursuit hangs from the cab’s extended canopy, turning languidly in the morning breeze. Next is a red Ford Ranger with a matching red bumper sticker emphatically announcing that the driver is “NOT A LIBERAL.”