I went back to this highrise the other night. I'd been meaning to for a while, because the penthouses look finished, and I figured the total absence of security measures could not last forever.

My old POE was blocked with new fencing. But, to my delight and amazement, one of the sections of perimeter fencing (on busy Kingsway) was sitting ajar. So I just strolled in like I worked there, feeling lucky and blessed.

I climbed 45 storeys without much dilly-dallying, admired the views from the skeletal penthouse apartments' balconies, and climbed back down, perhaps forty-five minutes to an hour after going in.

The fence had been closed again. I was trapped inside! I felt unlucky and cursed, and very bewildered.

That fencing is heavier than it looks. I finally managed to rip one up off its peg, but then couldn't get it back in place from the outside. I did my best and casually skedaddled.

Had an employee without keys entered the site briefly? Had a thief, or a fellow explorer, been there? But if they took the trouble to reconnect the fence after leaving, why hadn't they bothered to do so while inside? Had a security patrol come by and finally noticed a gap that had been in the fence all evening? Mysterious.

I like condo presentation centers and display suites for themselves, but they also provide superb credibility props for further exploration -- like this brochure for prospective buyers.

They call the spanning structure the Skybridge because, unlike ordinary bridges (?), this one passes through the sky(?).

"Oh, hello. I'm thinking of buying one of these units, and couldn't resist giving myself a little tour of the rooftop garden."

I didn't have to say this to anyone, because I didn't run into anyone. It was late in the day on a weekend. The security fencing had many gaps, doors were unlocked, and there was no sign of any construction workers or tradespeople. I heard a saw somewhere in the building, but that was all.

Armed with my brochure, I felt pretty invincible.

When completed, the building will glow with a soft, golden, holy light.

I drank a beer for courage and headed over to the construction site. It was approaching one a.m. on a weeknight.

The future condo was currently little more than a big two- to three-storey pit with three vertical sides -- impossible to climb down, even without the security fencing. The fourth side was a steep slope of dirt with one switchback road, above which sat various trailers, thrumming generators, vehicles, equipment, and the presentation / sales center. Several after-hours reconnaissances had revealed no sign of human activity, and, delightfully, a two-foot-gap between the perimeter fence and sales building.

My goal, the crane, was located in the corner opposite the trailers and machinery. Though it stood about five meters from a major thoroughfare, its small size, and its slanted, staggered ladders -- not to mention its wide-open accessibility -- made it an appealing choice for an acrophobic novice such as myself.

I was able to pass through the gap and into the site with this clever maneuver: I removed my backpack, and turned my body sideways.

The switchback road felt too exposed, so I partly clambered, partly slid down the dirt slope, which became wet sand halfway. (My imagination thought an avalanche was likely.) I had worn a nice black shirt and nice dark blue pants in case of a human encounter; but any credibility my neat appearance may have given me was now lost, because I was filthy.

I skirted huge concrete blocks, piles of rebar, mud puddles, and trenches, and reached the base of the crane. It surprised me a little that it was not easier to get inside -- as if they had forgotten to include a door in the design. I put on gloves and started climbing.

Each ladder section had about 24 rungs, extending the height of about two storeys. I had to pause after the first section and ask myself if I really wanted to do this. At this point, I was still in the shade of the pit, and pretty invisible to the street or anyone who might be in any of those trailers across the site. After another ladder or two, I would be bathed in streetlight and almost directly in the headlights of cars travelling down the near side of the road. Traffic was light, but there was still enough of it.

While maintaining three points of contact, I unzipped and took a nervous piss off the side. Then I continued up.

I paused again at the next platform, just below street level now, and reassured myself that it was almost impossible to fall to my death from this thing. Nevertheless my imagination kept throwing me off the ladders and through the gaps and down onto protruding rebar spine-first. I told my imagination to shut up and leave me alone.

It was not hard work, but my forearms were soon shaking from nerves. I moved slowly, even when climbing through the most visible section. Most of the time, I put both feet on the same rung. Getting on or off a ladder, I must have looked like a decrepit nonswimmer entering a cold pool.

I paused at nearly every level, telling myself that I was okay, that there was nothing to it, that I just had to take it one ladder at a time. While climbing, I tried to concentrate on the rungs, but my mind and my eyes kept darting around. Was that a police car down there? What was that sound? Can those people see me? (Having stared hard at the crane from the street myself, I knew that beyond a certain point I was practically invisible, especially when not moving, but it was hard to remember that.) When my brain wouldn't cooperate, I assured myself that I didn't need my brain anyway -- my body could climb a ladder perfectly well all by itself.

At one point, a door slammed across the street. It was a security guard, doing his perimeter check of the neighboring office tower. Had he seen me? I stood motionless behind a strut, and waited. When I looked again, he was not in sight.

Once I passed the fifth or sixth platform, I rose above the adjacent building, and suddenly felt very exposed and precarious -- as if a support had been taken away from me.

On one platform, the grated flooring was a little springy, which worried me and made me move even more slowly.

I paused again and looked around, and began to enjoy the view.

There were perhaps eight ladder sections altogether, bringing me about sixteen floors from the crane base. Anyway, I was about level with the thirteenth floor of the office tower across the street.

I was almost at the top, but now I encountered something new. The next short ladder was not slanted, but vertical. Also, it was flush with the "wall" of the crane mast, whereas all the other ladders had been in the middle, leaning over the hole to the level below, and thus providing a sort of safety barrier. Also, all the previous ladders had been caged. Not this one. I climbed it extra carefully, my imagination repeatedly tossing me down the hole behind me.

I poked my head up into a small, round chamber (the turntable?) and tried to figure out how to proceed. The platform I needed to get onto was covered in a nest of big thick electrical cables, which I did not like (my imagination was busy electrocuting and tripping me simultaneously). Also, the ladder I was on only extended one measly rung above the platform, which was going to make getting up there tricky. I was about to climb as high as I could, then perch my ass on the edge of the platform and carefully get to my feet, when it occurred to me how much more difficult this operation was going to be in reverse. I also didn't like how low and narrow the interior of the turntable section was.

So I said fuck it, and climbed back down.

I had a camera and tripod in my backpack, but I didn't take any pictures before descending. It would have been like lighting a cigarette while crossing a highway. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I also had a victory beer that I didn't drink.

Even as I was climbing down, I kept shooting glances over at the site-office trailer. As if there was anything I could do at this point if I was spotted!

When I was about two storeys above street level, a couple of chatting guys began walking in my direction down my side of the street. I waited for them to pass by, not even looking at them -- just in case people actually can sense when they are being watched.

I was retracing my steps towards the dirt slope when I looked up and saw, on top of a pole at the back of the site, flashing red and blue lights. Oh, fuck.

"You are under video surveillance," a pre-recorded announcement informed me. "The police have been notified. Please evacuate the site immediately." This was repeated two more times, then an alarm began to shriek.

I waved and saluted respectfully in the direction of the flashing lights, and walked "calmly" up the switchback road and out the gap in the fence. The alarm stopped shrieking. I kept walking.

Three blocks away, I dusted myself off, sat down on the curb, shook out my sandy socks, and had a swig of my victory beer. Had I set off a motion detector, or had somebody finally spotted me on camera? I still didn't think anyone had been on site, or they would have come out to say hello. I didn't entirely believe that the police were on their way, either -- the alarm seemed like more bark than bite -- but I didn't linger. I circled back the long way, and headed home. My wife was still awake, and seemed pleased, on the whole, that I wasn't dead.