Our large weekend multi-day climbing group, which had been in separate smaller teams during the day, returned at the end of a long Smith Rock climbing day to the picnic tables near the parking lot, and we all began unloading from our vehicles, all the various food delicacies, pans, utensils and lounge chairs that will be needed for this evenings meal preparations. The items all got heaped around one main wooden picnic table as the late evening sunlight cut a low angled brilliant hot shaft of sunlight across the green lawn. It was a hot calm late evening day in the month of August, and the day's rock climbing session had been sweaty, busy, and exciting.
One of our friend's, whose name was Adrian, brought out his music jam-box, and set it on the table, then plunks a CD into the player and presses the start button. The sound of Big Band 1930's style of music hits the speakers and broadcasts its odd betwixt melody to all the ears near our picnic table. Various climbing friends' heads turn upon hearing the odd strange music of yester-yore, tunes that virtually zero rock climbers ever bother to listen to these days, and upon hearing that odd ancient music drift across that green lawn around us, several quirky smiles erupt on our friends' faces, followed by several spicy comments that get flicked back and forth amongst the group. I doubt five minutes went by before it was changed to something else.
Yeah, I guess even I'd find it a bit pressing to listen to 1930s Big Band music at anytime, anywhere — whether at Smith Rock, or elsewhere.
