An open mine cars waits to be lowered back into Eagle Mine in front of the rust-locked modern mine shaft in the middle of Gilman.
One of the few artifacts left in the chapel section is this old floor buffing machine.
One of the hundreds of wells across the depot, as seen through an open rail door. In the distance, the radome.
A look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
The top of the grain handler of Ogilvie’s. The flagpole serves as a lightning rod. In fact, I would not be surprised if that was its primary purpose.
Old parts catalogs litter the floor. The office overlooks empty shelves. Graffiti glue peeling paint in place.
Only two machines sit on the rails in the roundhouse, both oil cars. It’s not clear whether there’s anything inside either, but they have to have been placed here before 1970, when the turntable outside these numbered doors was removed.
A sign of where man met machine.
Frankie and Quarantine pictured.
A classroom, perhaps from the days when the city owned the building.
An orphan culvert and camper, both tossed aside where nobody that will see will care.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
In the nitrating house.
We mark our world in unexpected ways… this is how patient possessions would be stored during their stay in the old asylum wards. It’s about the size of a shoebox, and this particular drawer has a name where the others do not. Its place reminded me of the hospital cemetery where more than 3,000 are buried and less than 1% of whom are recorded by stone or plaque in their resting place.
The people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
One of the few doors.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the room.
Note the tiled floor between the bucket conveyors and an old mill.
A little cloud passes over the Five-Stack powerplant ruins, like a puff of smoke.
Between two brick buildings is a metal one with many windows set into it. Having been in many mills of similar design, I conjecture that this was the milling building, where machines ground the corn before it was boiled.
The last of four radar domes on the base.
Looking out of the boarded windows in the Great Western Sugar office.
I like to imagine this as fountain.
Not a part of the Foundry, but the Enclosed Body Building. The rebar welded over the windows and the rust patterns with the lighting makes this geometric photos one of my favorites from the year.
A windmill marks one corner of GOW.
Outbuildings near the perimeter fence. Beyond is all ranch land.
Aluminum spools replaced their wooden counterparts, later in the factory’s history.
Near the base of the mesa is a modern house, which seems to be a ranch of some sort. What a fantastic spot to live, but for the fact every rainstorm floods the arryos, muddy ditches at the bottom of gullies, making it impossible to travel.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
Lost words over the auditorium entrance.
Where workers’ pay would be doled out and collected.
The old crane swung on windier days over the Worthington Steam Pump. This is probably last used to disassemble the antique generators, which are all now gone.
Looking at the last wall of the hotel from the banks of the river.
The roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
I wonder if these handcarts will become decoration for the hotel being building next to the silos.
I’ve been in a lot of different mines. Some on tours, some not. If you pass through Howardsville, Colorado without going on the Old Hundred Mine Tour, you’re missing out. This is what Santiago Tunnel looked like in the 1940s when it was near the end of its life.
While the stokers are gone, the pipes bringing pulverized coal down were left.
It was obvious which parts of the hospital were the newest, by their relative utter self destruction. It’s comforting to the Cubical Dwellers, I think, to know that as soon as the power and plumbing are disconnected that all hell will break loose and dismantle their suspended ceilings, drywall boxes and fluorescent suns in no time at all.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
Cauterized wounds on the factory floor, where the middle of the newer mill opens up to allow massive equipment. Now the pipes are cut and the equipment is gone.
This peak is a little over 7,000 feet high and is a popular hiking spot. As a bulky Minnesotan who is better built for an arctic expedition, I stuck to the mesa.
A photo from the early 2000s before the conveyors were scrapped.
The belts on these mills have long ben missing.
The railing were jealous of both the bricks and bits, and chose instead to dissolve like this.
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
The barracks are being reclaimed by nature.
Two steel hoppers supported by counterweights and springs, which were used to weigh incoming grain loads before being deposited in the silos beneath this floor. Garner is another way to say “big measuring tank”, if you were wondering. I fell in love with all the tubes and chutes on this floor.
The Peavey logo, before it rusted off and the offices were demolished.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
The pipes above sprayed water onto the hot coke.
“This way,” then, “No, that way!”
Where the approach meets the dock.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
When block glass shatters, it looks like ice.
An arrangement of brick graffiti on the old boiler house building near the railroad tracks.
Ringling, MT is spread thin across the grassy land.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
After demolition in the mid 2000s, this interior door became exterior. I remember walking through the car shed as a teenager. It was a shortcut, if I didn’t get caught.
A self portrait, from the early 2000s.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
The skyway in the bottom of the picture is now gone.
The Atlas D command building. As Brutalist as it gets.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
The metallic arms of the missile erector, which would stand rockets over the blast pit in the launch position. Medium Format film–cheap but excellent Fomapan 100 in a Pentax 67.
Broken skyways in the sand casting house, where everything was utterly fire-resistant.
A huge vent looks like it built in a hurry. There was actually very little in the way of bits of machinery left over… I am guessing almost anything of value was scrapped in the 1990s.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
I am sure even the workers had trouble remembering which pillar hid the phone. Note the “ON” written on the electrical socket, too.
Two of the remaining four towers in the projects. Throughout our time there we saw and heard squatters inside and chose not to go in. What do you call a smart choice made in the midst of a dumb choice? There should be a word for that.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
Archeologists believe the great house on the mesa was rebuilt shortly before it was abandoned in the 13th Century AD. Tri-X 400 Film, haphazardly self developed.
David Aho, the owner of Mitchell Engine House, poses beside the boiler.
A heavy steel rail door to help funnel explosions upward, rather than outward.
When the ship loaders were added, a doorway was cut through the metal silo to make a room for the grain handling equipment. Note the dust sensor in the corner of the torch-cut archway.
The old men’s ward is an example of what the hospital resembled before part of the complex was modernized. Small rooms, light switches outside the door, small observation windows set into heavy wood. If you ask me, though, the tile work across the floors is the most spectacular.
From the street, it’s clear that almost every window and door had boards over it, but not every building had a roof. Silly priorities.
A typical dwelling in San Luis. I could not tell if it was occupied, but most of the town is abandoned.
I don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
Kat’s pretty cool.
The newer tunnels were fitted with these fluorescent lights, although some skylights (block glass embedded in skywalks) let in some natural light during the day.
A small bunker and blast wall between shell-loading buildings would have provided shelter during disasters, such as tornados, accidental explosions, and perhaps even enemy attacks.
The Western Elevator’s old moniker looks over Fort William (the neighborhood). Snow falls over Mount McKay in the background. This elevator is still active… the only active elevator in Fort William proper.
When the Mitchell project is complete, I’ll miss the textures on the face of the boiler.
Scanned after being recovered from the bottom of an old wooden box for a few years. Circa 2005.
My first picture at Nopeming, sometime around 2004. The same year that the county stopped mowing the lawn.
The whole smelter ran on gravity… elevating the various raw materials and working with them until at the bottom of the furnace, copper poured out.
I believe these hooks were meant for hanging filters to dry.
Trees by the beautiful Nurse’s Cottage above and behind the Kirkbride. One side looks out over farmland while the other faces the back of the hospital grounds. As of 2014, the city is allowing artists to rent spaces inside.
Chutes connect the bottoms of the silos to a conveyor belt.
A massive water tower easily tucks into the shadow of Blast Furnace #6.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
Old conveyor belts are draped over the sides of the ore chutes to cut down on the noise and wear of the dumping trains.
The pockmarked concrete sign of Substation #2 over the control room that faces the highway.
The basement of the asylum was a strange place. Take, this fireplace, for instance, in an otherwise barren room. Random cinderblock (left) has created a little room behind the fireplace. To round out the strangeness, a toilet was plumbed into the middle of the space. Note the stone foundations.
Miners at the turn of the century had better taste in typography than the average person does today.
Hip bump girl.
Small rooms in the basement of the asylum were seemingly too tiny to be used, even for storage.
All of the bucket conveyors crashed on this work floor when their casings were scrapped. Note all of the valves to open the grain flow.
David Aho pictured.
The top floor of the Dominion Elevator. Acros 100 on 120.
I love the ghost sign across these two elevators, originally built as Superior Elevator. It’s looking pretty rough.
The smokestack for the sintering plant included a big blower room, to launch the fumes into the atmosphere and away from the town. What could go wrong?
Designed by Taylor himself, the spring house was the site of many parties in its day. You can imagine sipping fresh-tapped whiskey here with your Sunday clothes with soft music and the sounds of the river mixing in the background. Note the key-hole-shaped spring hole.
Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7. The office (first floor), laboratory (second floor) and mill behind it. Everything was clean and pristine.
Looking at the boarded exterior of the newer area of the orphanage from its 1914 section.
The overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
Watching the comings and goings of doctors, nurses and new patients was a mainstay of asylum routine; one can find it easy to imagine pale faces pressed against the block glass windows, staring out at the world moving past them.
My first night on Minneapolis’ Lighthouse–now an old picture and distant memory… I still remember the exhilaration and the view of the city off one edge of the roof and the Mississippi River over the other.
On the ground floor of the main factory there seems to be only one chair left.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
The city has taken steps to prevent the curious and the desperate from going into the elevators, including piling rocks against the doors and windows.
Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.
Generations of Two Harbors teens smoked their first weed in this abandoned building, in my estimation. Comment if I’m right!
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
Rivets are sexy, and this old machine has more than a fair share.
Someone had helped themselves to one of the safety posters before my visit.
A truck loading dock for raw materials. Looking at the concrete, you can sort of tell where the rails used to run.
There are 700 of these storage bunkers. Their design was to funnel explosions upward, rather than toward other buildings, to minimize secondary explosions.
This is a great example of a combination rock house; the silos below used to fill trains with ore dropped from mine cars pulled to the top of the structure.
The Tilston School,built in the late 1960s. In front of it is a memorial and model to the first schoolhouse. This building, however, has been turned into a kind of town dump. The classrooms are filled with mattresses and discarded tires and trash.
A storm passes over BOMARC’s center row of launch buildings. You can clearly see the tracks on which the roof would retract for launch.
Between the ice chute and the back of the north section of the cellars, a little pillar shows where a room used to be. The ceiling’s disintegration has since filled the space, which seems to be the last point of expansion in the cave–this was last carved in the mid-1840s.
An alarm panel in the powerpplant, now demolished.
In an old ward, two men would have shared this room.
I like to think of this as a giant straw, through which the factory is slowly draining the earth, leaving nothing but reinforced concrete below…
While it looks like ground level, everything here is one story above the actual earth.
Grain is taken from the bottom of the silos through a conveyor in a tunnel. These blowers keep the air in the tunnel fresh.
Looking from the shaft room into the room where an electric hoist would be.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.
Molten copper pouring being a very dangerous thing to do by hand, this scale measured the load for the “Auto Caster” that actually formed the cooling copper in its molds.
I wish I had the equipment then that I have now… I look back at these 10-year-old pictures and can’t ignore all the grain.
The concrete walls, heavy steel blast doors, and plastic roof tell me that this was one of the shell loading buildings.
Don’t know what’s heavier… the bricks or shadows.
The only good shot I have of the top of Battery A, in the upper left. Though it seemed to have been disused before its neighbor it had a lot less growth on it.
Looking out of the American diesel crane at the gantry crane that ran the length of the dock.
Little crosses on the side of the church, near a broken window.
A mix of brick and stone construction where the stock house meets the cellars. The caves brought well water to the brewery and drained the refuse away, and the various sewer connections are visible here and tell the story of the company’s expansion above.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
A side view of the oven pusher from the ground. The tallest coal bunker looks tiny in the distance, though on the scale of the factory it’s practically on top of me as I’m taking the picture.
Graffiti by a crew member of the Algolake.
A jankey ladder leads to a platform over a wooden tank. Here’s hoping my usage contributes to jankey being accepted into the dictionary! Thanks, lexicographers.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
There’s no way an explorer, much less a choir, could stand here now. Since this picture was taken the roof has collapsed onto the loft.
The Sun Rooms, or Common Rooms, reminded me of the Panopitcon turned inside-out.
Bits of pulp hang from a rough grate on the first floor of the plant, which was dark because all of the equipment blocked the light. This is a grate picture.
The moon highlights the contrails over the engine house in the middle of the night. Foreground light painted.
“Ballistite is a smokeless propellant made from two high explosives, nitrocellulose and nitroglycerine. It was developed and patented by Alfred Nobel in the late 19th century.” -Wikipedia.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
The oldest part of this mill had a wooden roof that rotted away long ago. Slowly, rust is dulling the edge on every cog left behind.
There are a few campers parked in the abandoned buildings around the NAD. I am guessing that they were once a more secure place to store such things OR they have always been wide open, and this was a quick and free way to dump unwanted toys.
A wide view of the poor house. Look at the smokestack and elevator shaft, which show the former roofline.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
A typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
The steel awning and its elegant staircase are one of my favorite features near the old carpentry shop. The gymnasium-theater is in the background.
Taken from under the headframe.
Thick glass windows allow workers to check the beet juice levels in this steel tank. You can tell by the reinforcement that it had a lot of liquid and had to hold against immense pressure. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7.
The turned rail was to prevent runaway cars from going over the end of the dock and into the lake.
Windows provided the 250-some workers with fresh air and light, and helped to keep flour dust from building up in the air, helping to prevent explosions. Today, machines control air flow better without windows, so they were bricked.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
A warped mirror in the rock crusher at the rear of the complex.
Ringling’s church was built in 1914 and sits on a hill over the town.
Redlining is the practice of shutting certain races out of neighborhoods, and it is still a big problem today. Such behaviors were a big factor in creating the need for these projects.
The third floor corridor is not so welcoming, as it requires visitors to walk along the support breams without the luxury of a floor. I didn’t mind, but I can’t see the family with young children that was also exploring Noisy doing the same.
The building behind Daisy was demolished, leaving these tanks and a pointless conveyorway. Now it’s bricked (see over door near right corner of mill) and the tanks are exposed to the elements. There are a few holes in the area that have a healthy drop, so you should avoid the area.
Fall in line, act skinny, watch out for low hanging pipes. Don’t ask me where in the maze this was… 90% of the plant looked like this; vast rooms and catwalks with crisscrossing pipes and valves.
A bank of vertical filing cabinets, probably dating to National Guard days.
Looking to the chapel addition from the Chateau.
This elevator was built in 1922 and was used until the passing rails were removed in the mid-1970s.
The top floor of the apartment seemed so empty without the furniture that once adorned it. Instead, my eyes were drawn to the worn paths in the floor between the rooms.
A ruined platform on the railyard platform side of the warehouse.
A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
A cottage for masons infected with TB to live together.
In the distance, the San Haven Sanatorium water tower.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
Soft rain on Vulcan’s ashy pyre… Both of these peaks are dead volcanos, too hard to be totally washed away by storms. As a result, they seem to rise dramatically from the flat valley.
Go on and jump in, if you want, there’s even a ladder to climb out.
An article from Minnpost describes this design as “marital”, and I could not agree more.
What I make out to be the dining room or great hall of the castle, as seen through of the side rooms, which appeared to be a very ruined library. Teenager graffiti looks cooler in French.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
Some sort of materials handling building, judging by the construction.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
“Paint the fence,” they said, but I don’t feel like it… who cares, anyway.
This building seemed like a pump house or compressor house. It was full of empty concrete mounts.
A heavy steel device locks the anchor up.
A machine to cast copper billets.
The top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.
Part of the decommissioned plant was used by the Air Force for virtual bombing runs. This is the guard shack for the radar station.
I had to climb into the roof of the half-demolished skyway to see through to the other side of the train shed. That’s my foot in the corner.
The main rail artery for Thunder Bay passes Ogilvie’s.