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edge of doom

It was such a beautiful afternoon, a slight breeze, blue sky like you only get in Australia, the sun was in the north and moving down towards the horizon, casting its warmth along the railway bridge in East St Kilda.

This is my favourite place to climb in the city. Next to a park, and on a commmon route for local people to walk to the shops a couple of streets up. They are used to the sight of people hanging off the bluestone walls of the bridge, but still find it alien enough to cross the road early, stare, or occasionally tell me not to fall off.

Today my fingers were sore from working a problem along the other bridge; I’d eliminated all the holds larger than this. Maybe mindless perversity, but for me there is nothing more real in climbing than edges shrinking towards nothing. A blank wall, the features sharpened by the late afternoon sun, the sound of the wind, it feels like floating on an endless sea.