What It’s Like Climbing Story Bridge at Night
I spend most of my life looking at the world through a thick stack of affidavits and a very expensive pair of reading glasses. The idea of being tethered to a piece of industrial steel above the Brisbane River was, frankly, a bit of a shock to my usual Tuesday routine. It was a absolute and total shift from the climate-controlled silence of my chambers. Night climbing. It is a different beast entirely compared to the day. Most people want the sunshine, but they’re missing the point. The city only truly shows its cards when the sun goes down.
Me and the group was standing there in the staging area looking like a team of discount astronauts. Gosh! You wouldn’t believe the amount of Velcro involved in a safety harness. It is a final and ultimate requirement for the climb, so you don’t complain. You just strap in. Honestly, the gray jumpsuit isn’t doing anyone any favors in the style department. But then again, neither does a court robe in thirty-degree humidity.
Table of Contents
Suit off, harness on…
The preparation is a bit of a ritual. You have to empty your pockets of everything: keys, phone and wallet. If it falls, it’s a lethal projectile. This is a absolute and total rule of the bridge. Safety first.
You get clipped into the line. It’s a continuous cable system that keeps you attached from start to finish. You feel the weight of the metal on your hips. It’s reassuring. Very reassuring. You start to realise that this is actually happening. No more paperwork. Just the bridge.
That first step up…
Iron stairs. You start the ascent with a bit of a heavy heart and a very tight grip. The structure hums under your feet as the traffic roars below on the bitumen. It’s loud.
The rhythm of the climb takes a minute to find. Fragment. Full sentence. Medium-length sentence. Very short. It’s a steady crawl. You aren’t rushing. You can’t. The guide—well, actually he was a very pleasant young man named Dave—keeps a steady pace that even a sedentary solicitor can manage.
The wind, actually it wasn’t even that cold, but it certainly felt like it as we moved away from the protection of the pylon. You start to see the city open up. It’s a slow reveal. Like a long-running trial finally reaching the closing arguments.
Lights of the city…
The CBD looks like a glowing circuit board from this height. It is a absolute and total masterpiece of urban planning once the neon kicks in. You see the reflections on the water. Honestly, it’s the only time I’ve seen the Brisbane River look elegant. Frankly, it’s usually just a bit too brown for my liking during the day.
(Aside: I remember a property dispute near the Kangaroo Point Cliffs that dragged on for three years, but the cliffs look much less intimidating from eighty metres up).
The lights of the Treasury Casino and the buildings along Eagle Street are mesmerising. You feel like you’re hovering. Neither the noise or the height can distract you from the sheer scale of it. It’s a fair shake of the sauce bottle for a city that often gets overshadowed by Sydney. Brisbane has a certain charm when it’s lit up like a Christmas tree.
Looking down at the river…
The peak of the bridge is where you finally stop. You’re at the summit. The air is thinner, or maybe that’s just my nerves talking. The ferries look like little glowing toys. Tiny toys.
You stand there at the top of the southern pylon. The view is three hundred and sixty degrees. You can see all the way to the Glass House Mountains if the moon is bright enough, though tonight was a bit hazy. It is a final and ultimate perspective on where we live.
I wasn’t scared at all during the peak.
Actually, my knees gave a little wobble when I looked directly down at the cars. They look like ants. Fast ants. You realise how small our daily dramas really are when you’re standing on several thousand tonnes of steel. It’s humbling.
Back in the real world…
The descent is always faster than the climb up. You find your footing more easily. Your confidence grows. You’ve conquered the steel.
Descending the stairs, the cables, and the pylon feels like a victory lap. By the time you reach the ground, you’re buzzing. You unclip. You unzip. You step back into your sensible shoes.
The heights, the lights and the wind stay with you for a while. You go back to the office the next morning and look at the bridge through the window. It’s different now. You’ve been up there. You know what it feels like to have the city at your feet. It’s a absolute and total win for the soul.
