It was cold out. Not to cold, and the jeans and combat boots i wore helped to keep me warm enough but i had that niggling feeling they werent going to in a moment.
Looking down into the turbid swirling water as i waited for strangers in dark clothes to arrive was well, a little nerve racking. Tonight was a meeting of a sydney based group that call themselves “urban explorers”. A few terse words would be exchanged before we split in half, half making their way up the line to enter through a man hole while the rest waded in.
Yes, i said man hole. And waded.
We were exploring an old stormwater tunnel that exist somewhere in sydney harbour and was made of old sandstone blocks hand carved by convicts a long while ago, in an attempt to feel closer to the city we inhabitted, exploring its forgotten nooks and spider web covered ruins. For me, it was an adventure.
But it wasnt a time to think about it deeply, a mad scramble better described as sliding on my but down a rock wall was awaiting me. One by one, i watched people enter the cold dark looking water and shriek or exclame.
It came my turn and i thought to myself, I really mustn’t shriek.
Then it hit me, like a jackhammer. The icy water on my legs. It was allright, endurable. I took another step and excalmed. I was in it now, the dirty water, Balls Deep.