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It was his 494th posting in two years at skyscrapercity.com, a Web site aimed at tower enthusiasts like him. That doesn't include his many related e-mail exchanges with Mayor Martin O'Malley, developers and architects.

The evening's posting was typical for Wyatt, who hopes a 600-foot high-rise - or even better, one closer to 1,000 feet - might yet rise in his beloved hometown, where the blocky 40-story Legg Mason building has long reigned at 538 feet.

"That would be so awesome," wrote Wyatt, 33. "I don't know how I'd react if that actually happened. ... Come on! It's been over 30 years since there has been a new tallest in Baltimore!! I think it's way past time for a new one!"

This from a man who last set foot in Baltimore eight years ago.

These days you can chat online about everything from avocados to zithers. Several sites are devoted just to skyscrapers, with forums for cities such as Baltimore.

It's there you'll often find Wyatt among a dozen local skyline aficionados. They are mostly 30-something men with handles like Baltimoreguy, jobs as engineers or lawn care experts, and spouses who seem amused and amazed by their obsession.

The building buffs share an almost childlike enthusiasm for the city and its buildings. Never mind that downtown has lots of empty office space and that recent towers, if that's the right word, have been in the 15- to 20-story range.

These guys are high on height, even with towers seen as potential targets in the wake of 9/11. Some forum members try to tamp down tower talk or stress the need to respect the skyline's present "composition."

But mostly they dream big and tall. A common view is that the city needs its own Sears Tower or Empire State Building, maybe with residences or hotel rooms instead of offices.

"A lot of us would love to see something gigantic go up that is really a brand name," said Jeffbaltimore, aka Jeffrey Ratnow, a 32-year-old civil engineer at Whitman Requardt and Associates. "So when you say 'Baltimore,' you don't think what most people think: Homicide, The Wire, crime."

Ratnow says his wife, a massage therapist, calls him an "engi-nerd." He's been into skyscrapers since age 6 or 7, when he mailed his resume to the Citibank tower in New York, seeking a job as a window washer.

Wyatt may be the most devoted local forum regular despite living 560 miles away. He posts five times a week on average. He e-mails O'Malley and others for project updates, uploads Baltimore photos and hunts for hints of the elusive "supertall."

"Who's this nut - that's probably what a lot of people think," Wyatt said by phone, his Southern twang showing how long he's been away. "They think it's some big hobby. But it's something more, it's a passion."

Actually, they don't think he's a nut at all.

"What that's an indication of is his interest in stand-out, great architecture," said Larry White, senior development director at Struever Bros. Eccles & Rouse.

To White, the city already has an iconic structure: the pyramidal National Aquarium. In a sense, he said, the Inner Harbor defines the city's image.

The city once seemed destined for a loftier profile. In 1929, when a 509-foot Art Deco gem opened at 10 Light St., it was taller than any other East Coast building outside New York. It's now known as the Bank of America tower. Then came the Depression, and 44 years passed before it was eclipsed, in 1973, by what is called the Legg Mason tower. (The William Donald Schaefer tower is said to go higher, thanks to its "mast.")

Since then a handful of towers have risen, some above 400 feet. Today, Baltimore boasts none of the 300 tallest towers in the world, and that seems unlikely to change soon.

Wyatt and the others are fond of the skyline; it's just that they think it needs a growth spurt. Some suggest a Seattle-style space needle as a cheaper alternative. Wyatt understands the economic challenge of building a supertall and believes that developers should set aside their egos and join forces.

Wyatt is polite but opinionated. In e-mail to O'Malley, he calls him "sir." But he did not hide his pique when a city agency chose a different (and shorter) convention center hotel plan from the one Wyatt likes.

"I'm not happy about it at all," he told O'Malley. City Hall replied: "Steve - thanks for your input on this - I appreciate it."

Yet, if pushed, Baltimore forum members will defend the city. When outsiders were asked to rate the skyline on a scale of 1 to 10, most judged it a bit above average. But some slammed it with lines such as, "Unfortunately, charming Baltimore has a weak skyline."

The breaking point came when someone posted serious fighting words: "Not bad for a suburb of Washington, D.C."

Willrusso, aka William Russell of Baltimore, testily replied, "Whatever man."

Russell blamed the city's short buildings on height limits, but conceded, "I think the skyline needs at least 1 or 2 really tall buildings to bring it out."

Wyatt once weighed in about whether Boston or Baltimore had the better skyline:

"I am biased for Baltimore because it's my hometown, but I know that Boston is bigger (skyline and people and image), and much more important world-wide than Baltimore. I like Boston, but I love Baltimore."

Wyatt's attachment is curiously strong for someone who moved away at age 4. He cannot explain the bond, except to say that Baltimore is his hometown.

Wyatt traces his fascination with skyscrapers to Baltimore's own World Trade Center, 423 feet tall. It was April 1984, and Wyatt was in town for a funeral. The day before the service, he went to the top and gazed at the city. He was hooked.

His father, a preacher, moved the family from Florida to Tennessee to Michigan to North Carolina. After high school, Wyatt helped an uncle install mirrors. They worked in South Florida, then in Chicago, sometimes in high-rises.

Thirteen years ago, Wyatt joined his parents in Newberry, where the tallest object is the 130-foot opera house tower. He found work at the lumber mill and married a neighbor, Karen.

"He puts his whole heart in anything he does," she said. "He gets on his computer, finds out things. He talks to the mayor and anybody under the sun."

In 1996, Wyatt took Karen and her son, Cory, to see Baltimore.

"I've been in major withdrawal ever since," Wyatt said. "Maybe one day we can get back there."

Until then, he'll always have the Web.