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.
Some local kids were having a fire extinguisher fight when I walked into the lab one day.
The huge snowfalls of 2011 brought new collapses across the buildings.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
A wide view of the poor house. Look at the smokestack and elevator shaft, which show the former roofline.
During the Cold War, the Air Force used the radar station to train bombardiers in radar-guided ordinance.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
The Peavey logo, before it rusted off and the offices were demolished.
I am sure even the workers had trouble remembering which pillar hid the phone. Note the “ON” written on the electrical socket, too.
A bird near the old schoolyard.
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…
These Twin Cities kisses
Sound like clicks and hisses.
We all tumbled down and
Drowned in the Mississippi River. -The Hold Steady
A hydraulic ‘bridge’ couple lower onto the tracks to bring mine cars into the shaft house, presumably for repair. I haven’t found this system anywhere else, but it makes a lot of sense.
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.
Part of the grain dust venting system, dislodged from its place above the dumping hatches under the grain cribs.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
Looking up from the industrial courtyard.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
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.
Wind-battered catwalk lights between the shaft house and headframe/rockhouse building.
Go on and jump in, if you want, there’s even a ladder to climb out.
Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.
Camera: Voigtlander Bessa
Film: Acros 100
Looking up to the second floor of the Nitrating House, where cotton would be soaked in nitric acid. These brought cotton into the building.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
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.
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 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.
Chester Creek takes many such sliding dives where it empties into Lake Superior.
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.
My guess is that the Capitol Hotel closed and Adler bought up some of their equipment.
Looking toward the power station at the edge of the explosives plant.
Since this picture was taken, the roof has totally collapsed in this area.
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.
A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
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.
One of the few doors.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
The turned rail was to prevent runaway cars from going over the end of the dock and into the lake.
A simple porcelain fountain in the original brewhouse. The water fountain, no doubt, is not original.
Hip bump girl.
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.
In the quality assurance labs there is a old safe.
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.
The main rail artery for Thunder Bay passes Ogilvie’s.
A misnomer that stuck.
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
A typical Chateau wall. Kodak Tri-X 400 in Leica M7.
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.
The rumors were true. Success is sweet.
Between all of the buildings was dense growth, especially vines.
A photo from the early 2000s before the conveyors were scrapped.
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.
Many outdoor areas of the plant have become unofficial city dumps. The skeleton doesn’t care.
That floor isn’t dirt–it’s old rotting grain that’s formed into a sort of moldy mud.
A truck loading dock for raw materials. Looking at the concrete, you can sort of tell where the rails used to run.
Without their walls these Solvent Recovery Line buildings look like blast walls. Their concrete inner structures were part of the design so if there was an explosion inside it would ‘blow out’ with a puff instead of a bang. Now most of these are demolished or overgrown.
Vines are finding their way into the roundhouse.
Wide stairs between the ground, the mine shaft, and the dry house.
Taken from under the headframe.
Looking at the casting floor from the roof. In the distance are the copulas where molten metal was poured.
Just a couple guys enjoying an industrial ruin.
The top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.
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 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.
David Aho, the owner of Mitchell Engine House, poses beside the boiler.
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
The gulls wait to eat the next load of spilled grain. Arista 100.
A typical hallway in the rocket assembly line.
Broken skyways in the sand casting house, where everything was utterly fire-resistant.
Rows of offices under the power plant, which was in the middle of being demolished during my adventure. Despite the snow, this was meant as an interior.
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.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
Chutes connect the bottoms of the silos to a conveyor belt.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
The main buildings were mostly interconnected and in good condition. The dry air helps to preserve the wooden structures.
A sign of where man met machine.
The railing were jealous of both the bricks and bits, and chose instead to dissolve like this.
Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.
Steam pipes snake up the walls like vines, but with asbestos.
The cupola–the space above the silos–is surprisingly original. The building was too unstable for anyone to scrap it out. Seriously, the floor is a deathtrap.
I don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
Catwalk crating, welded over the yard crane operator cab’s windows.
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.
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.
I believe these hooks were meant for hanging filters to dry.
Looking out of the boarded windows in the Great Western Sugar office.
The top floor of the Dominion Elevator. Acros 100 on 120.
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.
Almost all of the doors and windows on the ground floor have been boarded, leaving the ground level very dark.
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.
Part of the plant has been reused as a scrap metal yard.
This elevator was built in 1922 and was used until the passing rails were removed in the mid-1970s.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
This elevator came crashing down, perhaps from the topmost floor. I wonder what it sounded like.
Checking out the neighbors. Shot on a the legendary Pentax 67.
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 people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
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.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
Halfway up the coal conveyor, covered in coal dust… black streaks of snot. Starting to get good.
Looking at the ghost sign from a rust-locked cement conveyor that linked the silos with a packing warehouse.
Pipes to channel nitrose (think nitro glycerine) infused acid through the building.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
While the stokers are gone, the pipes bringing pulverized coal down were left.
A typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
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.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
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.
Looking out of the wavy stock shop.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.
Storms and waves, focused by the Port of Wisconsin entry have focused the faces to tear-up these boards below.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
The last of four radar domes on the base.
A long exposure of the launch pad and its dedicated guard shack. In the middle of the base is a tall antenna which was part of the MARS program during the Gulf War. The MARS program helped connect calls between deployed soldiers and their families.
The playground used to be near the school which is now in ruins.
Steel mine hoists, near the place they worked, wait for scrap prices to justify their final removal from Osceola, Michigan.
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.
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.
A closeup of the now-scrapped steel chute.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
A broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
One chute drops grain on a conveyor for storage in the north silo cluster, while another is ready to deposit the flow where the conveyor cannot reach. Instead of engineering the belt to trip in reverse, the silos under the workhouses have their own chutes.
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.
An old fashioned lift.
The moon highlights the contrails over the engine house in the middle of the night. Foreground light painted.
“Daisy”… probably for the mill, as it was unusual for women to work at Daisy.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
One boat comes into port while three wait. The birds, fat from spilled grain, circle overhead. Arista 100.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
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.
The end of the heating line allowed glass to cool slowly, and thus be stronger.
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.
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.
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.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
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.
Indianapolis’ beautiful downtown is in the distance, past the gas storage tank.
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 teeter totter sits in front of the Memorial Building.
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.
Looking from the shaft room into the room where an electric hoist would be.
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.
Looking through a launcher doorway at an outbuilding… the fire truck garage, if I recall correctly. Fomapan medium format in Pentax 67.
A typical dwelling in San Luis. I could not tell if it was occupied, but most of the town is abandoned.
Below the historic National Guard Armory.
Robotic pincers to move molten rods of glass between machines.
Hunter climbing up to the coal tower.
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.
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.
A classroom, perhaps from the days when the city owned the building.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
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.
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.
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.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
Looking at the headframe for Shaft 3 from the tower for Shaft 1. Below is the roof of the Dry House. It was hard to remind myself that these building have been abandoned longer than I’ve been alive.
Shells of mixing buildings.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
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.
She’s a charmer.
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.
The most derelict of the old bonded warehouses. Note the barrel elevator on the side of it!
The roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
A self portrait, from the early 2000s.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
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.
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.
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
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.
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.
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 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 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.
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.
The chapel (left) and surgical suite (straight on) move in an out of view as fog rolls up from the St. Louis River valley.
King Elevator sits in the corner of a more recently-defunct lumber mill: Great Western Timber. Perhaps in the future I will write the history of it. Arista 100 in 120.
An Old Crow warehouse, formerly federally controlled, near Old Taylor Distillery.
In the nitrating house.
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
Ringling’s church was built in 1914 and sits on a hill over the town.
When the Mitchell project is complete, I’ll miss the textures on the face of the boiler.
A warped mirror in the rock crusher at the rear of the complex.
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 shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
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?
This building looked like some sort of office.
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
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.
Miners at the turn of the century had better taste in typography than the average person does today.
Giant ingredient hoppers stand on a concrete floor covered in peeled paint.
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.