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.
Looking out of the wavy stock shop.
On the ground floor of the main factory there seems to be only one chair left.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
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.
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 old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
Glowing observation windows–and someone forgot to lock a patient’s door…
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.
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.
A sign of where man met machine.
A late look at the brewhouse, long after the stainless steel tanks were scrapped.
An old nurse’s station (you can tell because of the half-door with table) with torn-up tiles. Notice through the curved doorway that even the ceiling has a curvature.
A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
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.
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.
Imagine the voice of an entitled White suburban mother. She’s now talking about oral hygiene in the “urban” (Black) schools.
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.
An article from Minnpost describes this design as “marital”, and I could not agree more.
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.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
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.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
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.
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.
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.
“This way,” then, “No, that way!”
Another ruined spiral staircase in the mill.
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.
Either the company was pulling parts from this evaporator to use as parts for other plants, or the last thing the workers did was to get this machine ready for the next campaign. Either way, plans changed.
A windmill marks one corner of GOW.
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.
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.
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.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
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.
Little crosses on the side of the church, near a broken window.
Furnace #6; its catwalk and tapway. Note the lever-operated gutter-blockers.
The belts on these mills have long ben missing.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
The hike to the village is steep. This is looking into the valley from the halfway point.
One of my favorite signs, informing workers about to descend into the open-top grain bins about basic procedures. This was in ADM-Annex 1 (connected to the cleaning house via skyway), so it will never be seen again, unless the sign lands luckily when the elevator is demolished.
A broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
This building looked like some sort of office.
I am sure even the workers had trouble remembering which pillar hid the phone. Note the “ON” written on the electrical socket, too.
Looking at the ghost sign from a rust-locked cement conveyor that linked the silos with a packing warehouse.
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.
This building had no identity issues. My chief regret was not spending more time documenting the ghost signs around the complex.
Steel mine hoists, near the place they worked, wait for scrap prices to justify their final removal from Osceola, Michigan.
A warped mirror in the rock crusher at the rear of the complex.
One of the hundreds of wells across the depot, as seen through an open rail door. In the distance, the radome.
Vines are finding their way into the roundhouse.
Storms and waves, focused by the Port of Wisconsin entry have focused the faces to tear-up these boards below.
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The end of the heating line allowed glass to cool slowly, and thus be stronger.
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.
David Aho pictured.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
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.
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.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
In the bottom of a creek, an antique children’s wheelchair is buried in grass, where someone threw it. Wooden leg braces suggest this dates to the 1950s.
“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’…
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.
Solvent pumping buildings, designed to explode upwards rather than outwards in an emergency, are forgotten near the milkweed.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the room.
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.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
A me-sized hole in the half-demolished skyway looks about a story down to the ground. Step lightly. Arista 100.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
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.
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.
The turned rail was to prevent runaway cars from going over the end of the dock and into the lake.
The former BESCO building in the last light of day.
Smashed TVs and stone foundations in a former common room in the basement.
Where the approach meets the dock.
Before it was demolished, there was one good staircase the led to the middle of the dock. Trees grew from it.
One of the few artifacts left in the chapel section is this old floor buffing machine.
A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
A misnomer that stuck.
Ringling, MT is spread thin across the grassy land.
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.
Between all of the buildings was dense growth, especially vines.
The Sun Rooms, or Common Rooms, reminded me of the Panopitcon turned inside-out.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
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.
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.
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 photo illustrates how vertical the complex is.
I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
Wind-battered catwalk lights between the shaft house and headframe/rockhouse building.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
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.
Standing where the Final Assembly Building used to hum and staring across the former site of the Sheet Metal and Spring buildings. Today, of course, the Foundry is gone as well, so you’d be looking across Prairie Ave.
A machine to cast copper billets.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
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.
Old parts catalogs litter the floor. The office overlooks empty shelves. Graffiti glue peeling paint in place.
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.
The skyway in the bottom of the picture is now gone.
The former express concourse, as seen in 2005.
Looking through the hole where a glass pane once was at the Columbus Mine ruins, just south of Animas Forks. It was quiet when I took the picture, but for the gurgle of the nearby Animas River.
The railing were jealous of both the bricks and bits, and chose instead to dissolve like this.
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.
Someone had helped themselves to one of the safety posters before my visit.
ADM-Delmar #1- Maintainance Department. The stainless steel bits are part of the grain dryer added in the 1940s. The workhouse itself (the larger tower) was a dedicated Cleaning House, meaning that grain passed through both these buildings to be rid of dust, dirt and extra moisture before storage. In the foreground is the old ADM locker room and pipe department.
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.
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 people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
Looking up at the LEMP malting plant elevator. Look at that BRICKWORK!
“Daisy”… probably for the mill, as it was unusual for women to work at Daisy.
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.
Many outdoor areas of the plant have become unofficial city dumps. The skeleton doesn’t care.
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.
The moon highlights the contrails over the engine house in the middle of the night. Foreground light painted.
The generator hall of the last power station, as seen from the gantryway.
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 roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
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.
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.
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.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
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.
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.
An alarm panel in the powerpplant, now demolished.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
It is unclear whether this area was for coal dumping or ore dumping, though the huge dents in the steel plating suggests the latter.
A facade that tells the story of demolition and neglect. The sign on the garage door indicates that if one finds themselves there, that they enter the buildings at their own risk. If only property owners in the US took this philosophy!
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.
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.
When it was convenient, the sugar company would pull equipment, even pipes, from one mill for another.
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.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
An impressive message for graffiti in a Detroit warehouse, but then again look at these steam pumps. Over-built and under-appreciated.
Shells of mixing buildings.
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.
Graffiti by a crew member of the Algolake.
Water vapor was collected and condensed to be reused in other processes. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7
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.
An unplanned skylight. It’s unclear why some parts of the building had wooden roofing, while others were highly reinforced with brick.
The overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
A corner of the addition is lined with glass cabinets, formerly filled with beds.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
A truck loading dock for raw materials. Looking at the concrete, you can sort of tell where the rails used to run.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
A huge steam pipe snakes between catwalks, through the floors, and toward the condensers, so the water could be recovered and reused.
Just a couple guys enjoying an industrial ruin.
Rogers Mine is one of the most structurally sound mines in the Iron River area that isn’t part of a museum.
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.
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 classroom, perhaps from the days when the city owned the building.
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.
Giant ingredient hoppers stand on a concrete floor covered in peeled paint.
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.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
These wide spools sit atop the abandoned tracks that lead to the train shed, which was later repurposed into a truck shed.
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
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 big sliding fire door opens onto a train dock.
Point me to the blast furnace.
We people are so small.
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.
A back-lit tree with the silhouette of a roof spire in the background.
There are 700 of these storage bunkers. Their design was to funnel explosions upward, rather than toward other buildings, to minimize secondary explosions.
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.
David Aho, the owner of Mitchell Engine House, poses beside the boiler.
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.
Some local kids were having a fire extinguisher fight when I walked into the lab one day.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
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.
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.
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.
Aluminum spools replaced their wooden counterparts, later in the factory’s history.
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.
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.
Generations of Two Harbors teens smoked their first weed in this abandoned building, in my estimation. Comment if I’m right!
The back side of the hotel is plain, but for a fire escape.
Most of the gauges on the control panels were broken.
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.
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.