Just a guess, but Colliding Rivers viewpoint off the Rogue-Umpqua Scenic Byway in Oregon probably doesn't normally attract cliff-divers. Steep, dark granite cliffs intersect at two gorges: Little River and North Umpqua. A third unnamed stream flows into the area to create in spring melt from the southern Cascades a cauldron of white water. But when A. and I pulled in around noon mid-summer and began watching a group of cliff-divers heave themselves around 40 - 50 feet down into deep water there, it seemed like every car that pulled up was full of people who were going through the same debate A. and I were having. Would they jump too? The men I saw that day were suddenly consumed with desire to fling themselves off the cliffs into the river, whether they had been planning this or not. After all, a lone, quite cute young girl was down there doing it, too. If she could do it, well, they simply had to.
Being one of the individuals who stubbornly refused to even consider the opportunity suddenly being presented to me, ("Come on, Lizzie!" A. said to me as he tore through his own backpack), I had a bird's eye view of the whole thing. "I only have one extra pair of shorts in my suitcase," I said lamely, as though this explained my decision to not throw myself off a cliff into a river. "Riiiighttt," A. said. "I'll just watch you," I said, and I walked over to where another woman had taken up viewpoint. The following conversation ensued:
"Look at that," she said, pointing out the obvious--the obvious consisting of the cute blonde in the black bathing suit around 1/4 a mile below us, surrounded by six/seven guys jumping off her cliff, one of which I learned was my disgusted companion's fiance. I looked at her and nodded. "Men," we both said, simultaneously. At that moment, a mini-van pulled up. Out spilled what appeared to be 3 families, most of these also men, two of them female. The younger males, spotting the diver(s), whooped, began ripping clothes off themselves and headed down the cliffs. The older males began debating whether or not they should go, the females initiated scolding and clucking. After listening to the women for approximately--oh, a minute--even most of the older guys took off down the cliff, while the remaining family members drifted over to where I and the other woman stood. "Can you believe this?" one of the mothers grumped. It took a few moments, but by that time A. reached the summit of the cliff where the blonde was. He lingered a moment and then threw himself off a cliff while the blonde watched approvingly, and I peered down into the water to see if he'd killed himself. The women muttered to me, "Well, it looks like he made it." I nodded, chuckling.
There's no punch-line to this story, really, except that every car that pulled up while I was there the same thing happened. The men went, and the women waited. And whether or not the men who went knew it, the women who stayed behind were convinced the blonde was part of the reason their menfolk had to try and leap unexpectedly off a cliff when presented with the opportunity to do it. My one small moment of revenge for womenkind came when I told A. I didn't get a good picture. "You gotta do it again!" I yelled, while the women around me laughed. The pic was taken when A. was just reaching the rock where a smaller group stood. A moment later, he was in the water.
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