A 5-minute exposure of the tunnel and stars, and even some of Duluth’s city lights bouncing off the clouds. A single off-camera flash in the tunnel gives the effect of an oncoming train.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
The railing were jealous of both the bricks and bits, and chose instead to dissolve like this.
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.
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.
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.
The front of the power plant (right), the distillery itself (center), and the regaling house (left).
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.
Halfway up the coal conveyor, covered in coal dust… black streaks of snot. Starting to get good.
On the ground floor of the main factory there seems to be only one chair left.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
This elevator came crashing down, perhaps from the topmost floor. I wonder what it sounded like.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
In the mine offices, hooks and a board with numbers was the system to keep track of who was in the mine and who was safe.
A steel powder keg serves as a door prop on the static-proof wood core floor. Note the ‘XXX’ marking to the left of the double door.
This is one of the modern nurse’s stations where the last inpatients lived in the mid-2000s. The windows are thick shatterproof plastic. I am unsure why the suspended ceiling is missing.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
San Luis may not be a ghost town, but it’s aspiring by all indications. Luckily, it’s close enough to Cuba, NM to hang onto life, unlike the other ghost towns down the road.
The Blacksmith Shop (right) was connected to the Bunk House (left) via this narrow walkway. This is likely due to the fire risk in each building. The left building had a cooking stove and furnace for heat and the right building had a small industrial furnace to repair mining equipment. A little walkway would mean that a fire on one side would be easier to fight from the other.
Harsh rail yard lighting throws shadows of broken windows against the line of boilers.
Where the approach meets the dock.
Some local kids were having a fire extinguisher fight when I walked into the lab one day.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
This room on the top floor of one of the oldest buildings has seemingly not changed since it was adapted for employee use. Some sections of the hospital were adapted for staff to live in. Paying Patient Ward–where capable patients were separated from wards of the state.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
A massive water tower easily tucks into the shadow of Blast Furnace #6.
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.
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 BOMARC launch buildings are spaced on a large concrete pad that looks like a parking lot. Out of view are underground pipes for fueling and cooling the rocket motors.
Point me to the blast furnace.
The roof had structures bigger than most buildings in South Bend.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
A burned and rusted control panel in the corner of the new hoist room.
The skyway in the bottom of the picture is now gone.
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 former BESCO building in the last light of day.
The playground used to be near the school which is now in ruins.
Solvent pumping buildings, designed to explode upwards rather than outwards in an emergency, are forgotten near the milkweed.
Imagine the voice of an entitled White suburban mother. She’s now talking about oral hygiene in the “urban” (Black) schools.
This is a room where the actual explosive elements were mixed. In the event of an accident, this glass wall would give way before the concrete and thus direct the flames and shockwave away from the rest of the building. In other words, the glass is not just to get a lot of wonderful natural light into the building.
In the brewhouse between the preheating tank and kettle room. The spiral staircase goes into a kettle annex where a few smaller stainless steel kettles hide. If you looked right from this frame you would see the bottom of one of the kettles like the bottom of a steel mixing bowl.
A sign of where man met machine.
The main buildings were mostly interconnected and in good condition. The dry air helps to preserve the wooden structures.
The people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
The top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.
The snowflake (?) patterns were hand-laid throughout the hospital. It is possible some or all of these tiles were laid by patients, as it is on record that they were used for simple tasks in the name of occupational therapy.
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.
ADM overshadows the Meal Elevator. The cleared area behind is now home to Surley Brewery.
All that’s left of the lost annex near Saskatchewan Wheat Pool #4 and #5. Arista 100.
Hunter climbing up to the coal tower.
The overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
Since this picture was taken, the roof has totally collapsed in this area.
Looking across at the Cargill elevator.
Grain is taken from the bottom of the silos through a conveyor in a tunnel. These blowers keep the air in the tunnel fresh.
Vines are finding their way into the roundhouse.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
An orphan culvert and camper, both tossed aside where nobody that will see will care.
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.
Below the historic National Guard Armory.
Looking out of the demolished skyway. Note the big hole in the floor. The lens is too wide to keep my foot out of it… I’m hanging in the superstructure that I climbed to make this photo.
A wide view of the poor house. Look at the smokestack and elevator shaft, which show the former roofline.
Looking through skylights of the payroll office toward the Cheratte No.1’s tower. This is where workers would wait in line to receive pay, surrounded by the mine workings.
The top floor of the condemned Russell Miller mill “B”, which would have housed sets of powerful electric motors to power the plant’s dust collectors and grain purifiers.
A look straight down into the chutes were taconite pellets would dump into the dock hoppers. Rebar was a safety measure to keep workers from being buried alive, were they to slip into the holes.
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…
Regauging is the process wherein barrels are opened and the whiskey is tested in various ways, especially in its alcohol content.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
When the Mitchell project is complete, I’ll miss the textures on the face of the boiler.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
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.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
The individual ovens are skinny to allow even and fast heating of the whole interior. Numbers are cut into signs because no paint could withstand the heat or corrosive emissions from the coking process.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
A windmill marks one corner of GOW.
Wagons and horses were kept in the building on the left, separate from the rest of the complex in case of fire. In the distance is the boiler house, separate for the same reason.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
Chester Creek takes many such sliding dives where it empties into Lake Superior.
The top floor of the Dominion Elevator. Acros 100 on 120.
Looking from the shaft room into the room where an electric hoist would be.
A late look at the brewhouse, long after the stainless steel tanks were scrapped.
An Old Crow warehouse, formerly federally controlled, near Old Taylor Distillery.
Beautiful belt wheels above the grain cribs. Getting to the spot where this was taken is now impossible, and I don’t know whether these remain or not anymore.
Park Insurance Agency is no longer in business, nor would you be able to dial that phone number.
The long control room overlooks giant caps where equipment was removed long ago.
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.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
This corner of the building was the coal room, used to feed the two big boilers inside. The steam equipment has been replaced with electric, so this section may not have changed much in the past decades.
Chutes connect the bottoms of the silos to a conveyor belt.
One thing that struck me as a midwesterner in the South was the vines. They seem to be able to completely cover a building when left alone for a few decades.
This rockhouse was added below the shaft to load Gilpin Tram cars.
This floor of the workhouse had corkscrew conveyors–big augers–in the floor to move material around. Most of the walls that were metal were missing, leaving the concrete structure and open doors.
I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
When block glass shatters, it looks like ice.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
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.
Cracked gauges have a certain quality that hearkens to movies, I think. One can imagine the gauges going off the scales before dramatically cracking, throwing glass right at the camera. This damage, however, is unfortunate vandalism.
The shed in the front was full of worker supplies–namely goggles and heavy leather gloves. Molten copper isn’t a friendly thing to handle.
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.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
A brewmaster’s desk leans beside a long-disused stainless steel kettle. The staircase above goes to another level of kettles, which are visibly older.
The boilers are gone, but round brick portals remain where they used to meet the walls of the boiler room. Behind it appears to be the coal bunker itself.
The most derelict of the old bonded warehouses. Note the barrel elevator on the side of it!
Instructional film strips on the floor of a second floor closer.
Between the repair shops and the stock department is this odd little structure. No, the walls are not level–it’s not your eyes. The shops slope left, the structure slopes right.
The turned rail was to prevent runaway cars from going over the end of the dock and into the lake.
Shells of mixing buildings.
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.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
A little catwalk gives access to the most important gauges in the building. Behind them are huge vents and fans. I bet it got steamy in here.
Another ruined spiral staircase in the mill.
Looking at the ghost sign from a rust-locked cement conveyor that linked the silos with a packing warehouse.
Furnace #6; its catwalk and tapway. Note the lever-operated gutter-blockers.
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.
“Five Roses” was the brand of flour that Lake of the Woods marketed. Later, this became another Manitoba Pool elevator. Notice the “POO” up top? It’s missing the ‘L’…
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.
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.
This section of the production floor was constantly dripping. Someone had laid down giant plastic sheeting to attempt to protect the lower floors, but it hasn’t worked.
Fake Fact: The term ‘stovetop hat’ was coined by Island Station’s architect while trying to explain why he wanted to put the steel chimney on the station. ‘Live Here’ was part of the advertising when the building was host to artist lofts. They weren’t kidding.
This building had no identity issues. My chief regret was not spending more time documenting the ghost signs around the complex.
A typical Chateau wall. Kodak Tri-X 400 in Leica M7.
The main rail artery for Thunder Bay passes Ogilvie’s.
Just a couple guys enjoying an industrial ruin.
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
One of my favorite photos of the ADM-Delmar #1 skyway, when it stood. Taken at sunset, with the reflection of the overcast sky in the remaining windows.
Shadows of the rusty trestle and cold control towers on the Barker. Workers are preparing to swing over the sides of the boat to help secure her to the Minnesota Power dock.
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.
Looking toward the power station at the edge of the explosives plant.
Let’s play a game called “FIND THE PIGEON”! There is one bird in this photo of dust collectors atop the King Elevator train shed.
Standing where the Standard Oil’s boiler used to sit; the coal room is on the right, and would have been filled from trackside.
Between the room with mold sand and the space where the car’s metal bits would be put together, a pillar is marked as structurally vital.
During the Cold War, the Air Force used the radar station to train bombardiers in radar-guided ordinance.
Looking out from my perch close to the Kam toward the Ogilvie head house. To the left is a newer concrete annex, probably built in the years it bore the name Saskatchewan Pool 8.
The small door leads to the offices, the large door leads to the shop. My back at this time is to the corrugated steel wall. At the time I wondered why there was just one steel wall, not knowing that 40 years before there was another spot for an engine here. This section of the roundhouse has become a sort of town dump–car seats, cans of paint and tires are piled into its corners.
Identical warehouses seem a little newer than the rest of the plant. I suspect these were added in the mid-1950s for the Korean War, during which about 200 buildings were added to the complex.
The old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
The pockmarked concrete sign of Substation #2 over the control room that faces the highway.
My guess is that the Capitol Hotel closed and Adler bought up some of their equipment.
A bank of vertical filing cabinets, probably dating to National Guard days.
These aluminum powder kegs were forgotten in storage.
Part of the grain dust venting system, dislodged from its place above the dumping hatches under the grain cribs.
A street side exposure of the original 1914 section of the orphanage. Turned into black and white to deemphasize all the graffiti across the front steps.
Gloves hang in the basement of the former quality assurance labs.
A wide view (15mm) of the shadow 4B is casting on 4A. Light leaks because of cheap camera.
I don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
This is the former air compressor house–one of them, at least–which turned steam power into air power to drive machinery across the production line.
Small rooms in the basement of the asylum were seemingly too tiny to be used, even for storage.
A typical hallway in the rocket assembly line.
In the steam plant, steam pipes bundled in canvas and asbestos criss-cross the walls.
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 wonder if these windows were bricked after the 1950 explosion with the hopes that, if another silos blew, the people in this office would be better protected.
It is unclear whether this area was for coal dumping or ore dumping, though the huge dents in the steel plating suggests the latter.
While the stokers are gone, the pipes bringing pulverized coal down were left.
Outbuildings near the perimeter fence. Beyond is all ranch land.
Taken from the most forward part of the windlass room to show how the front of the ship opens up from the front wedge. Note the giant anchor chains and foam strapped to the frontmost beam.
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.
Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.
In a now-demolished building, a skylight begins to separate.
Don’t know what’s heavier… the bricks or shadows.
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 typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
From the catwalks below the hoisting motor in Shaft No. 1.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
Frankie on the White Pine Mine vehicle access shaft. The mine was traditional inside… all room-and-pillar.
I’ve written it before, but I like observing the way buildings change in terms of new windows, bricked up doors, and so on, and thinking of how their forms change to reflect the work inside of them.
Hip bump girl.
A self portrait, from the early 2000s.
Looking out of the American diesel crane at the gantry crane that ran the length of the dock.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
A corner of the addition is lined with glass cabinets, formerly filled with beds.
A bird near the old schoolyard.
Note the large belt pulley in the center of the frame. Follow the axel it’s on and you’ll see several belts still attached to the drive, which was originally steam-driven.
There were three main stockhouses, two of which still exist, that are filled with tanks like these in addition to Fermentation. Each tank is the size of the city bus and few are left after the 2008-2009 scrapings.
Wide stairs between the ground, the mine shaft, and the dry house.
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
The roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
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.
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.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
A custom ladder to cross conveyor belts on the work floor.
A great lakes freighter slowly passes SK Wheat Pool 4 with ‘The Sleeping Giant’ in the background. Arista 100.
On the second floor of the kettle building where corn mash was boiled, holes where tanks once sat were everywhere.
What looks to be a skip for repairing the dock, in the concrete steeple.
Wood brick floors reduced noise and vibration, making the work environment safer and keeping the superstructure intact. Too bad people like to pile these up and set them on fire on the weekends. With 3.5 million sqft, though, it’s not exactly running out…
From inside a painting shed, where heatlamps and a vented roof made sure that the Caddy looked like it was worth the price tag.
One of the only extant assembly line tracks in the body painting department. No photographer leaves Fisher 21 without capturing some version of this spot; hope you like mine.
That floor isn’t dirt–it’s old rotting grain that’s formed into a sort of moldy mud.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
Looking through a launcher doorway at an outbuilding… the fire truck garage, if I recall correctly. Fomapan medium format in Pentax 67.