Welcome to the Bridge.

Godamn he is...and Godamned he will be....

He gave up a life of controlled demolition for an easy life climbing bridges.

And that's be a silly sentence.

And he is here, always.

But in order to march further, he has had to step closer to the edge,
test his boundaries, and...

Terrified?

Sure.

No one has guided him,
or taught him how he should climb,
this liquid steel, undulating beast.

They just gave him the gear,
and set him out on his own.

His first climb up the bents was solo.
He was tested.
His first climb up the cable was solo.
He was tested.

They try to weed you out before you even tie in.

That is why they tested him to climb the outside first.

On the outside you can always look down,
and gauge or quantify,
the long way down.

Then,
if you show no fear,
they take you up through the bents.

Pitch Black.
Only the light on the hard hat,
to guide you up or down,
through brittle steel.

It is an unforgiving place.

Some days,
just to get to the climb,
requires scaling a thirty-foot ladder resting in a WWII landing craft at steady throttle,
pinned against the caisson.

Wait for the waves,
count them,
think you know what's coming next,
and then just go.

Up-ity, up.

It is pure insanity.

And he is home.

There are "Rescue Boats" in the water if you go over the side.
But they aren't there for rescue.
They are there for recovery.

There is a reason why the yard, the staging area is like Heller's "Catch 22"
The compound is lawless, and yet governed by a code that isn't.

It is a dropping off point, the pier,
where a boat ride out to hell is the best part of you day.

The sunrise is amazing.

And it is a fucking crazy thing,
to climb aboard one of the barges, landing crafts, PT boats,
and head out across the black water.

This alone should be enough.

But they climb and scale, and dangle and dance.

There are no sane souls here.

And he is home.