It was a clear, dark night here in Toronto. The city's lights were all that illuminated the streets – there was a new moon party going on over in High Park (or, so the facebook invites said). The sky was inky black, the stars blotted out by the city lights.
After a few days spending my nights at home, spot suggested that we get together and do an explore. Nothing major, he assured me: we both work on weekends.
On my way into work that morning I scoped out our target: a cathedral (one of many) undergoing renovations. Certainly, I reasoned, there must be a way in?
I met Spot for pints immediately after work. The pub was a cool one, sort of old and British-styled (the library-tavern at Dundas square, if you must know). So we drank, we talked – as I recall, I talked too much (but then, memory is hazy from the concussion). We ate chips & vinegar over our pint. It was a comfortable time.
Then we set out: the target was in sight, and we spent some time watching it. Cameras everywhere, but that was no problem for us (masked). We circled the target, looking for our way in, and decided to climb the chain-link fence in the dark alley.
This was a good idea for two reasons: it was easier to climb chain-link than wrought-iron, and the seclusion of the alley would keep us from being seen.
As usual, I went first. My size and weight (combined with decent agility) makes me a good tester for all manner of questionable activities, from unsafe flooring to scaling insecure structures.
I made it up no problem. It was a standard 10-or-12-foot chain-link with the standard barbs at the top. I'd done this countless times, as have most of the people on this board (I'm guessing). I straddled the top and began poking with my foot for the right hold. Secure in its little spot, I eased my weight down -
then the thing happened.
My foot slipped. The foothold which had felt so secure gave way, and I fell – crashed, really.
My body (or, parts of it) grated along the fence and crashed on the ground. My left hand caught in the barbs at the top and fore from the wrist to the first knuckle; my right was split between the forefinger and middle finger. My face grated along the fence and bloodied on the chin. Something in my knee gave, and somewhere between up and down I hit my head hard enough for a concussion to linger even as I'm writing this.
Props to Spot: he carries a first-aid kit. There are no infections.
Bandaged up, we decided to press on. After all, we were over: why not!?
We climbed another fence, the one separating the schoolyard from the administrative building. We grabbed a ladder to face the next obstacle, and upon reaching the top I was confronted with the reality: I couldn't jump down. I couldn't jump down from there and expect to be okay.
We turned back.
Undeterred, we found another way in. I went over the wrought-iron fence, while Spot went under.
We climbed: we naively expected there to be an entry point behind at least one of the tarps covering the renovation work. There certainly is an entry point, though while I could squeeze into that gap my companion would be left behind.
All in all, the night was a failure and a farce. It's not my first, it won't be my last, but it is memorable in that there was a witness.
So I turn to you, UER: how do you confront your failed expeditions, what do you learn from them, and how do you adapt?
1. This is mostly what we were up to.
2. Here's the only nice shot of the night: enjoy glass-jesus.
3. The view wasn't even worth it.
4. Fuck it, I should've climbed another skyscraper or something.