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In the pouring rain, with two on site seccas and enough people around to fuel the adrenaline fire we psyched up for the meanest cranes we'd ever seen. The seccas did proper rounds but hopefully the rain would mean hot chocolate, maybe some alcohol and of course the working mans' choice: Picture magazine. To keep it interesting the torrential downpour posed other problems. Footprints. You leave wet sneaker footprints in a construction site populated by steelcap boot wearers and Mr Tellychubby will likely guess someone is up to No Good.
We opted to scale the crane further from the hut, trading off the extra distance against the increased passing traffic visibility. Rain works wonders for visibility and peoples' actions. Nobody looks up, especially when it's pouring. Worst case scenario: Joe Sixpack's homeward stagger is interurupted by 2 ninjas. Having failed to pick up for the night and resigned to spending some quality time with Mrs Palmer his anger is potentially directed at the NIQs (Ninjas In Question). Cue fridge magnet paranoia and BAM, your gracious hosts for the evening are getting their tender nether regions probed by burly men enjoying their job far, far too much.
We climbed skywards for almost half an hour, encountering no signs of intelligent life or seccas. The rain and the exertion combined to make it unpleasant, but nice in that "I haven't fallen and died yet" kind of way. We found a tie (joining the crane and the building) wide enough to cross, and crawled into the building. Level 45 all the way baby! The rain accentuated the incredible view making every surface gleam under the thousands of city lights.
From ground level I'd always considered the surrounding buildings tall... not anymore. Tearing ourselves from the view We hit the stairs for another 5 levels, taking the last chickenrun to the summit of unfinished construction. Back onto the crane and up the ladders again. Finally we came to the trapdoor which leads to the drivers cabin. Unsurprisingly the trapdoor was locked. The normal procedure for this situation is to climb externally. It's usually fairly easy (and not too dangerous) to reach up and pull yourself around to the drivers cabin. Not dangerous in dry, calm conditions. I suspect that hooker mother nature hates me and being the sadist we all know and love she would delight in exacting her revenge 55 stories above the ground with an unexpected wind sheer. The summit had eluded us.
We carefully climbed back onto the building for the requisite gangster shots, someone has to represent. A portable toilet kept the cameras dry; we'd simply swivel it around as we needed to compose our photos. After much photographic goodahness we dried our shoes enough to hit the firestairs without leaving too much evidence of our passing. By the time we hit the sketchy levels (below 10ish) we'd be leaving no trail at all. Most of the floors were either apartments or offices, but we found plenty of maze like aircon plant rooms and button/switch/dial heaven substations scattered down the building. We left them alone, death sounds a little boring.
Thankfully we didn't encounter our good friends the Tellychubbies while we mad good our escape - no doubt they would have loooved to play with us. Soaked to the bone we booted outta dodge. We'd notched our belts nicely with 55 levels of freshness, taken some shots and enjoyed the spectacular views people will pay millions for. However below the surface elation, soaring egos and toothy smiles a nagging question remained: So what next?
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Be proud of your heritage son, mad monkey styles represent represent.
Rising above the lonely streets to overlook the entire city soars a monolith of human construction. Flanking this monster stand two latticework spires stretching above like two spindly reaching arms. Visible from from the city limits with its taunting gaze and mocking laugh, we knew deep down we could not resist. For months we'd watched and waited noting the slow progress skywards. All the notches on our well-worn belts faded before this opportunity.
In the pouring rain, with two on site seccas and enough people around to fuel the adrenaline fire we psyched up for the meanest cranes we'd ever seen. The seccas did proper rounds but hopefully the rain would mean hot chocolate, maybe some alcohol and of course the working mans' choice: Picture magazine. To keep it interesting the torrential downpour posed other problems. Footprints. You leave wet sneaker footprints in a construction site populated by steelcap boot wearers and Mr Tellychubby will likely guess someone is up to No Good.
We opted to scale the crane further from the hut, trading off the extra distance against the increased passing traffic visibility. Rain works wonders for visibility and peoples' actions. Nobody looks up, especially when it's pouring. Worst case scenario: Joe Sixpack's homeward stagger is interurupted by 2 ninjas. Having failed to pick up for the night and resigned to spending some quality time with Mrs Palmer his anger is potentially directed at the NIQs (Ninjas In Question). Cue fridge magnet paranoia and BAM, your gracious hosts for the evening are getting their tender nether regions probed by burly men enjoying their job far, far too much.
We climbed skywards for almost half an hour, encountering no signs of intelligent life or seccas. The rain and the exertion combined to make it unpleasant, but nice in that "I haven't fallen and died yet" kind of way. We found a tie (joining the crane and the building) wide enough to cross, and crawled into the building. Level 45 all the way baby! The rain accentuated the incredible view making every surface gleam under the thousands of city lights.
From ground level I'd always considered the surrounding buildings tall... not anymore. Tearing ourselves from the view We hit the stairs for another 5 levels, taking the last chickenrun to the summit of unfinished construction. Back onto the crane and up the ladders again. Finally we came to the trapdoor which leads to the drivers cabin. Unsurprisingly the trapdoor was locked. The normal procedure for this situation is to climb externally. It's usually fairly easy (and not too dangerous) to reach up and pull yourself around to the drivers cabin. Not dangerous in dry, calm conditions. I suspect that hooker mother nature hates me and being the sadist we all know and love she would delight in exacting her revenge 55 stories above the ground with an unexpected wind sheer. The summit had eluded us.
We carefully climbed back onto the building for the requisite gangster shots, someone has to represent. A portable toilet kept the cameras dry; we'd simply swivel it around as we needed to compose our photos. After much photographic goodahness we dried our shoes enough to hit the firestairs without leaving too much evidence of our passing. By the time we hit the sketchy levels (below 10ish) we'd be leaving no trail at all. Most of the floors were either apartments or offices, but we found plenty of maze like aircon plant rooms and button/switch/dial heaven substations scattered down the building. We left them alone, death sounds a little boring.
Thankfully we didn't encounter our good friends the Tellychubbies while we mad good our escape - no doubt they would have loooved to play with us. Soaked to the bone we booted outta dodge. We'd notched our belts nicely with 55 levels of freshness, taken some shots and enjoyed the spectacular views people will pay millions for. However below the surface elation, soaring egos and toothy smiles a nagging question remained: So what next?
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Comments on Climbing stuff
Dr Pepper
#1 - 2007-02-04 01:15 - Reply
gus1
#2 - 2008-04-24 00:10 - Reply
Dave-O
#3 - 2008-11-08 03:27 - Reply
dsankt
#4 - 2008-11-10 07:06 - Reply
Dooza
#5 - 2008-11-17 00:57 - Reply
dsankt
#6 - 2008-11-19 08:34 - Reply
Nerevarine
#7 - 2010-01-18 21:44 - Reply