I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
For reasons unknown, this building’s concrete was designed a little thinly. It reminds me of a Chicago, IL building constructed during WWI when concrete and steel were strictly rationed and many buildings went up with insufficient superstructures. I do not have a build date for this one yet.
The powerhouse had two elevated tracks behind it, one for coal and one for deliveries.
Looking at the last wall of the hotel from the banks of the river.
Pipes to channel nitrose (think nitro glycerine) infused acid through the building.
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 typical shower in the old section of the hospital. It looks a little horrifying in the harsh light of a camera flash on the thousands of little white tiles. One soap holder hadn’t been stolen yet.
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.
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.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
These pools looked into the cribbing below the concrete.
What you see is not a crack in the floor, but a long vine extending ten feet onto the shop floor, as if reaching in to escape the wind and rain.
A ruined platform on the railyard platform side of the warehouse.
A look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
A huge steam pipe snakes between catwalks, through the floors, and toward the condensers, so the water could be recovered and reused.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
Indianapolis’ beautiful downtown is in the distance, past the gas storage tank.
Considering the side of Boiler #3’s firebox, where it meets the boiler (between the cylinders). The top piece is where the exhaust is sucked into the chimney, one chimney for each pair of boilers.
Chester Creek takes many such sliding dives where it empties into Lake Superior.
When it was convenient, the sugar company would pull equipment, even pipes, from one mill for another.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
Harsh rail yard lighting throws shadows of broken windows against the line of boilers.
In most places, it may seem off for there to be a tunnel door on the top floor of a building, but Ford was that kind of place. This door from the steam plant led into a skyway and tunnel that connected to the main assembly floor.
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.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
The tower of Dominion certainly dominates the elevator row.
Regauging is the process wherein barrels are opened and the whiskey is tested in various ways, especially in its alcohol content.
One of the hundreds of wells across the depot, as seen through an open rail door. In the distance, the radome.
An orphan culvert and camper, both tossed aside where nobody that will see will care.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
A closeup of the now-scrapped steel chute.
Pozo Mine, the most menacing mine building I’ve ever seen. Black and white film, shot with the Fuji GX680, a beast of a camera.
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.
Solvent pumping buildings, designed to explode upwards rather than outwards in an emergency, are forgotten near the milkweed.
The entry point for the painting shed on the top floor. Cars would have a few feet in between them before they entered. Separate sheds would prime and add color.
Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
These aluminum powder kegs were forgotten in storage.
A misnomer that stuck.
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
“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.
This view of BCT shows the portico where the main entrance is at the base of the office tower, and the clock.
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.
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.
Looking at the rear of the mill, through dead vines and barbed wire.
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.
The railing were jealous of both the bricks and bits, and chose instead to dissolve like this.
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.
A sign of where man met machine.
The building on the right was where parts not assembled onto vehicles would be set in crates for shipment.
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.
Storms and waves, focused by the Port of Wisconsin entry have focused the faces to tear-up these boards below.
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.
A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
In a now-demolished building, a skylight begins to separate.
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.
One boat comes into port while three wait. The birds, fat from spilled grain, circle overhead. Arista 100.
Chutes connect the bottoms of the silos to a conveyor belt.
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.
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.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
Steam pipes snake up the walls like vines, but with asbestos.
A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
Looking out of the boarded windows in the Great Western Sugar office.
My guess is that the Capitol Hotel closed and Adler bought up some of their equipment.
Outside the Chateau, where the fuel oil tank blocks the chapel.
A bank of vertical filing cabinets, probably dating to National Guard days.
A late look at the brewhouse, long after the stainless steel tanks were scrapped.
Wind-battered catwalk lights between the shaft house and headframe/rockhouse building.
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.
Lost words over the auditorium entrance.
A me-sized hole in the half-demolished skyway looks about a story down to the ground. Step lightly. Arista 100.
Grain is taken from the bottom of the silos through a conveyor in a tunnel. These blowers keep the air in the tunnel fresh.
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.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
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.
On the top floor of the former casket building is the finishing line for the coating section; on this section the final spray of plastic would hit the wood before a small furnace would seal the plastic permanently to the surface, making it more resilient, I assume.
An article from Minnpost describes this design as “marital”, and I could not agree more.
Almost all of the doors and windows on the ground floor have been boarded, leaving the ground level very dark.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
While it looks like ground level, everything here is one story above the actual earth.
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.
All that’s left of the lost annex near Saskatchewan Wheat Pool #4 and #5. Arista 100.
A classroom, perhaps from the days when the city owned the building.
On the second floor of the kettle building where corn mash was boiled, holes where tanks once sat were everywhere.
One of my favorite shots from that year, conveyor line parts stacked and hung with Postal Service bins from decades ago.
Graffiti by a crew member of the Algolake.
The gothic landing between balcony and classroom level and the ground floor.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
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.
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.
“Paint the fence,” they said, but I don’t feel like it… who cares, anyway.
One of the few artifacts left in the chapel section is this old floor buffing machine.
Generations of Two Harbors teens smoked their first weed in this abandoned building, in my estimation. Comment if I’m right!
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
The end of Dock 5 is warped and bent from a rail accident that left some ore cars swinging like a stringy wrecking ball into the end of the superstructure and accompanying stair. The stairs are still navigable, but it wasn’t recommended by the CN workers that were with me.
Note the tiled floor between the bucket conveyors and an old mill.
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.
The roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
Looking at ADM-1 from beside ADM-4, back when ADM-4 had a train shed and ADM-1 had a skyway. In the thick woods beneath the skyway was a long time homeless camp… most of its residents were very friendly.
Go on and jump in, if you want, there’s even a ladder to climb out.
Kat’s pretty cool.
A broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
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.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
A burned and rusted control panel in the corner of the new hoist room.
The power pulley that ran air compressors straight off of the steam plant’s axel.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
An elevator is reflected in the flooded footprint of Spencer & Kellogg. These trains are in storage for the winter.
Tarpaper telling time-
Wood wittling weather-
Rust rot ruins.
The generator hall of the last power station, as seen from the gantryway.
The Atlas D command building. As Brutalist as it gets.
Kodak Tri-X 400, Leica M7. Serious enough to write across the side of the tank, but not serious enough to have a sign made.
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.
Little crosses on the side of the church, near a broken window.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
Near Howardsville, Colorado, the Animas River gets quite wide. This is near the Little Nation Mill, which is worth a stop if you’re traveling north from SIlverton. It’s also near the former Gold King Mine, which “blew” in 2015 and flooded the Animas River with toxic mine water.
“Daisy”… probably for the mill, as it was unusual for women to work at Daisy.
Frankie and Quarantine pictured.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
Water vapor was collected and condensed to be reused in other processes. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7
These Twin Cities kisses
Sound like clicks and hisses.
We all tumbled down and
Drowned in the Mississippi River. -The Hold Steady
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
At the end of a conveyor belt and poised over a loading station, it’s easy to image the tinny sound of chicken feed sliding across the metal. Like sand on the old-fashioned stainless steel playground slides.
She’s a charmer.
Point me to the blast furnace.
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.
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.
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.
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.
A photo from the early 2000s before the conveyors were scrapped.
On the ground floor of the main factory there seems to be only one chair left.
If there was a problem with the conveyor belt, the grain would go out these chutes.
Part of the plant has been reused as a scrap metal yard.
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.
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.
Below the historic National Guard Armory.
Before it was demolished, there was one good staircase the led to the middle of the dock. Trees grew from it.
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
A machine to cast copper billets.
An arrangement of brick graffiti on the old boiler house building near the railroad tracks.
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.
Scanned after being recovered from the bottom of an old wooden box for a few years. Circa 2005.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
The end of the heating line allowed glass to cool slowly, and thus be stronger.
I am sure even the workers had trouble remembering which pillar hid the phone. Note the “ON” written on the electrical socket, too.
Camera: Voigtlander Bessa
Film: Acros 100
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
This rockhouse was added below the shaft to load Gilpin Tram cars.
ADM overshadows the Meal Elevator. The cleared area behind is now home to Surley Brewery.
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.
Workers would undoubtedly prefer to use the belt manlift on the right.
Rivets are sexy, and this old machine has more than a fair share.
Zachary Taylor’s very own Scottish castle, spring-side in the Kentucky backcountry. Boarded and waiting, but in surprisingly good condition, considering the decades. I especially love the tower on the right side of the frame.
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.
This building looked like some sort of office.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
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.
Looking to the chapel addition from the Chateau.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
The sexiest feature of Kurth is this steel arch over the silos on its south side. The manholes in the floor open to the silos directly, and flimsy grates might catch a hurried worker. Grates were removable so that workers could descend into the concrete tubes, so a few are missing today.
During the Cold War, the Air Force used the radar station to train bombardiers in radar-guided ordinance.
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.
The barracks are being reclaimed by nature.
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.
The people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
Part of the grain dust venting system, dislodged from its place above the dumping hatches under the grain cribs.
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.
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 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.
Glowing observation windows–and someone forgot to lock a patient’s door…
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.
The machine shop today.
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.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
A side view showing the extreme structural damage to what I believe is the Masonic Cottage. I honestly cannot unravel how some of this was done, unless the local armory is missing a 4″ canon and some cartridge shot.
Looking up to the second floor of the Nitrating House, where cotton would be soaked in nitric acid. These brought cotton into the building.
Although it’s difficult to spot at first, there is a traveling mini crane down the way about the three windows. This was installed to service all of the fabrication machines that would be in this section.
In the distance, the San Haven Sanatorium water tower.
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.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
Gloves hang in the basement of the former quality assurance labs.
2005. This is very likely the oldest image I have on the website; I took this in the early 2000s with my first camera when I was new to the hobby. I still like it quite a lot.
The top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.