Liverpool, England //
Above us only sky
Climbing Liverpool's Metropolitan Cathedral of ol' mate Christ the King
Date May 2009
Posted November 2011
Posted November 2011
As a general rule it seems that most people avoid dangerous situations not necessarily because they're risky or illegal but instead simply because 'everyone else' avoids them. Consider driving too fast and smoking - countless times we're warned about the dangers of these activities, but still we persist. We crane our necks and peer around, for somewhere out there lies our reassurance that it's ok if we all just do the same. Why make your own decisions when you can let someone else make them for you? Why tread a unique path when you can follow the signposts they want you to follow?
This inherent trait of our species is, on the face of it, a little disappointing. So much imagination, so much potential, so much wastage. We should be going freestyle and carving the place up with an audacious display of acrobatics, artwork and invention. Instead we're clogging up Primark clutching those stupid paper bags, all bunched-up like some damn herd animals, looking to the next person to tell us what to wear, what to like, what to listen to, what to do with our Saturday night.
Beyond the boring uniformity of our society there is an advantage to all this. Not for them, but for me, and maybe for you if you're so inclined. You see, if you're not 'supposed' to do something, quite often nobody ever even considers that it might be tried, and least of all going to any length to prevent it. In the case of Liverpool's Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King such protection extended to a scattering of cctv cameras. The rest, we can presume, was left to the structure itself, which was apparently unclimbable. I'd found this out the hard way by climbing halfway up one of the flying butresses, or 'legs' as we called them, before running out of steam. Arms pumped I fought for grip as I began to slide back down, a descent which seemed to take forever.
My accomplice in this midnight buffoonery was climbing friend and adventurer northcave. I seem to remember that after failing to climb up onto the structure we went to a bar to drink instead. Over coming months, which turned to years, various ideas were pushed back and forth: different shoes, giant prussik loops, more fishing line and bows and arrows. Ultimately it boiled down to kitting up, donning our tried and tested invisibility cloaks and returning to the cathedral one warm summer night. It was midnight, some time in May 2009.
It so happened that both of us were about due to check-out of Liverpool. The roof of the Metropolitan Cathedral remained a shared nemesis, a last hit. The rest had been done: friends made and some forgotten, houses and flats lived in and vacated, girls loved and lost, ideas and plans made, adventures and escpades endured and in my case the survival of a moderate beating in a fast food restaurant. For us both, our work here was done. Except for this. In years past I'd stood atop plenty others in this city, from skyscrapers and old shipping headquarters to giant warehouses and stadiums. But here, on top of the hill, this one would indeed be king.
The cathedral itself is a worthy opponent for anyone wishing to climb it. We stood, approximately 6ft tall apiece, measuring ourselves up against this colossal structure, standing as it did with about 200 ft on us. On this night northcave reached within a meter of the top of one leg but could go no further, and then suddenly he began to slip back down, gathering speed before crashing into stepping lightly who did his best to cushion the fall. I think we were all a bit shaken by that. As we wondered whether or not to just bin off the whole silly idea, stepping lightly quietly took to the buttress and began his own ascent, a length of paracord tied around his waist. He reached the top, secured the line, and we could breath again. Using this rope it was easier for us to follow, clambering up the incline using two hands to haul oneself. And like this we were away, finally making progress towards the roof.
As the photo shows we made it to that so rarely visited rooftop despite fears of alarms, additional cctv or indeed the hand of God himself. One can only assume that he approves of this kind of free-spirited adventure.
If though you find this whole endeavour disrespectful to the church then so be it. I don't feel overly obliged to justify such activities as these other than to say that now each time I visit the city I can't help but smile with satisfaction when that impending robot head climbs into view upon the horizon. Big thanks to all those in Liverpool who've felt able to leave behind the chains of our humdrum 21st century society, to avoid the comforting warm hand of a tour guide and instead raid the plate for the choicest cuts. Theirs alone are the rooftops, crypts, tunnels, the views, the adventures and the satisfaction of deriving a wholly unique experience for oneself. Still, if you're not feeling up to it yourself then I hear that down the road you can toss a few quid in a box and take an elevator to the top of Liverpool's other cathedral. But where would the fun be in that?
This inherent trait of our species is, on the face of it, a little disappointing. So much imagination, so much potential, so much wastage. We should be going freestyle and carving the place up with an audacious display of acrobatics, artwork and invention. Instead we're clogging up Primark clutching those stupid paper bags, all bunched-up like some damn herd animals, looking to the next person to tell us what to wear, what to like, what to listen to, what to do with our Saturday night.
Beyond the boring uniformity of our society there is an advantage to all this. Not for them, but for me, and maybe for you if you're so inclined. You see, if you're not 'supposed' to do something, quite often nobody ever even considers that it might be tried, and least of all going to any length to prevent it. In the case of Liverpool's Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King such protection extended to a scattering of cctv cameras. The rest, we can presume, was left to the structure itself, which was apparently unclimbable. I'd found this out the hard way by climbing halfway up one of the flying butresses, or 'legs' as we called them, before running out of steam. Arms pumped I fought for grip as I began to slide back down, a descent which seemed to take forever.
My accomplice in this midnight buffoonery was climbing friend and adventurer northcave. I seem to remember that after failing to climb up onto the structure we went to a bar to drink instead. Over coming months, which turned to years, various ideas were pushed back and forth: different shoes, giant prussik loops, more fishing line and bows and arrows. Ultimately it boiled down to kitting up, donning our tried and tested invisibility cloaks and returning to the cathedral one warm summer night. It was midnight, some time in May 2009.
It so happened that both of us were about due to check-out of Liverpool. The roof of the Metropolitan Cathedral remained a shared nemesis, a last hit. The rest had been done: friends made and some forgotten, houses and flats lived in and vacated, girls loved and lost, ideas and plans made, adventures and escpades endured and in my case the survival of a moderate beating in a fast food restaurant. For us both, our work here was done. Except for this. In years past I'd stood atop plenty others in this city, from skyscrapers and old shipping headquarters to giant warehouses and stadiums. But here, on top of the hill, this one would indeed be king.
The cathedral itself is a worthy opponent for anyone wishing to climb it. We stood, approximately 6ft tall apiece, measuring ourselves up against this colossal structure, standing as it did with about 200 ft on us. On this night northcave reached within a meter of the top of one leg but could go no further, and then suddenly he began to slip back down, gathering speed before crashing into stepping lightly who did his best to cushion the fall. I think we were all a bit shaken by that. As we wondered whether or not to just bin off the whole silly idea, stepping lightly quietly took to the buttress and began his own ascent, a length of paracord tied around his waist. He reached the top, secured the line, and we could breath again. Using this rope it was easier for us to follow, clambering up the incline using two hands to haul oneself. And like this we were away, finally making progress towards the roof.
As the photo shows we made it to that so rarely visited rooftop despite fears of alarms, additional cctv or indeed the hand of God himself. One can only assume that he approves of this kind of free-spirited adventure.
If though you find this whole endeavour disrespectful to the church then so be it. I don't feel overly obliged to justify such activities as these other than to say that now each time I visit the city I can't help but smile with satisfaction when that impending robot head climbs into view upon the horizon. Big thanks to all those in Liverpool who've felt able to leave behind the chains of our humdrum 21st century society, to avoid the comforting warm hand of a tour guide and instead raid the plate for the choicest cuts. Theirs alone are the rooftops, crypts, tunnels, the views, the adventures and the satisfaction of deriving a wholly unique experience for oneself. Still, if you're not feeling up to it yourself then I hear that down the road you can toss a few quid in a box and take an elevator to the top of Liverpool's other cathedral. But where would the fun be in that?
