I waited till dark, then crawled under a chainlink fence and into the the vast, empty golf course. The full moon was like a spotlight on me; I trod softly. Beyond the silvery fairways, the evergreens loomed as black, still, and hulking as skyscrapers. My shadow, lying so dark upon the bright turf, seemed to possess a halo. My phone’s camera could, of course, capture nothing. I followed the paved cart tracks from hole to hole. I pissed beside the pond, where a cacophonous crowd of frogs croaked. I padded past a lighted, windowless outbuilding—bathrooms. I followed almost blindly a trail through the trees, and emerged onto another stadium-sized fairway—a gently undulating carpet longer than shouting distance and wider than throwing distance. The only visible light was the sky’s, but the drone of distant, speeding traffic never waned. Returning in the direction of my point of entry, I willed myself to skirt the clubhouse, reasoning that even if there was someone on the grounds at this hour, they would be cozily indoors and self-involved, with light-adapted eyes. But when I passed in full moonlit view of what appeared to be a living room’s picture window, I ducked back into the shadows. As I approached the exit, I saw, through a wide gap in the perimeter foliage, just beyond the perimeter fence, a person walking a dog. Holding my breath, I put a tree between them and myself. The person, seeming to pause, said, “Hey! Listen!”—to a companion? or to the dog? Eventually they continued down the sidewalk, around a corner, and out of sight. I scurried under the fence, dusted myself off, and reassumed an air of innocuous normalcy.

View of Port Mann Bridge from Fraserview Golf Course at night

Two days later, cycling past the golf course, I saw that it is, in fact, at one of its entrances, wide open to the public at any time of day.

On a visit to Victoria, I naturally checked out the hotels.

A view from the rooftop of the Cht Vctr:

The comfy, completely accessible guests' terrace at the Dlt has one of the finest views of the inner harbor (why didn't I photograph that?):

And in the attic of the Mprss I found this employees' toilet!:

Couldn't get into a single hotel pool, though.

Out biking along the south edge of Vancouver on a Sunday afternoon in June, an open fence and no one around brought me to this rooftop, where I ate a sandwich.

And just recently, returning from the ferry in Tsawwassen, I stopped in Central Surrey, where I found the fence and a stairwell door to this brand-new condo sitting wide open. All the interior doors were considerately taped unclosable, too.

The photos begin to all look much the same; but that moment of first climbing out of a drab, dusty, airless, anonymous stairwell you've been trudging up for ten minutes, onto a breezy rooftop at sunset, with a view for miles around, is always magical.

There are days when I feel like a wimp: passing by an open door, unlocked gate, or unsecure fence, telling myself that, if the door is open, it must mean there's someone nearby.

Then there are days, like a Monday evening last May in 'Rotown, when, amazed and grateful, I stroll right in to that condominium construction site through a welcoming gap in its fencing -- expecting at any moment to be shouted at, but hearing nothing but the sounds of my own footsteps up the forty-plus flights of stairs to the rooftop. 

I've been inside the new Brtnwd Twn Cntr, and up the first of its towers, three times.



Twice I entered through unlocked doors in the service corridors of the old mall (including a door directly adjacent to the mall's security office), and once, legitimately, I visited with a friend working on-site (I didn't mention to him my other visits).

My last visit was in November.

The times I dropped by self-invited, it was late afternoon Sunday, and there was no one around.

 

Well, I did spot this security guard, sitting vigilant at his window:

See him?

The views from the top were pretty extraordinary.

And zoomed in: