Looking up from the industrial courtyard.
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.
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.
Between all of the buildings was dense growth, especially vines.
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.
Generations of Two Harbors teens smoked their first weed in this abandoned building, in my estimation. Comment if I’m right!
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.
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.
These wide spools sit atop the abandoned tracks that lead to the train shed, which was later repurposed into a truck shed.
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.
These aluminum powder kegs were forgotten in storage.
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.
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.
Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7. The office (first floor), laboratory (second floor) and mill behind it. Everything was clean and pristine.
The top floor of the Dominion Elevator. Acros 100 on 120.
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…
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.
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
Someone had helped themselves to one of the safety posters before my visit.
Looking at the concrete headframe from street level. Acros 100 in Pentax 67
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 Sun Rooms, or Common Rooms, reminded me of the Panopitcon turned inside-out.
This rockhouse was added below the shaft to load Gilpin Tram cars.
On the second floor of the kettle building where corn mash was boiled, holes where tanks once sat were everywhere.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
In the nitrating house.
Looking at the casting floor from the roof. In the distance are the copulas where molten metal was poured.
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 city has taken steps to prevent the curious and the desperate from going into the elevators, including piling rocks against the doors and windows.
Looking out of the wavy stock shop.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Solvent pumping buildings, designed to explode upwards rather than outwards in an emergency, are forgotten near the milkweed.
A cottage for masons infected with TB to live together.
It is unclear whether this area was for coal dumping or ore dumping, though the huge dents in the steel plating suggests the latter.
These pools looked into the cribbing below the concrete.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
These Twin Cities kisses
Sound like clicks and hisses.
We all tumbled down and
Drowned in the Mississippi River. -The Hold Steady
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
A heavy steel rail door to help funnel explosions upward, rather than outward.
Rivets are sexy, and this old machine has more than a fair share.
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.
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.
A sign of where man met machine.
The belts on these mills have long ben missing.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
A closeup of the now-scrapped steel chute.
Redlining is the practice of shutting certain races out of neighborhoods, and it is still a big problem today. Such behaviors were a big factor in creating the need for these projects.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
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.
Part of the plant has been reused as a scrap metal yard.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
During the Cold War, the Air Force used the radar station to train bombardiers in radar-guided ordinance.
Steel mine hoists, near the place they worked, wait for scrap prices to justify their final removal from Osceola, Michigan.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
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.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
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.
The generator hall of the last power station, as seen from the gantryway.
One of the hundreds of wells across the depot, as seen through an open rail door. In the distance, the radome.
The former express concourse, as seen in 2005.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
Ringling, MT is spread thin across the grassy land.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
Broken skyways in the sand casting house, where everything was utterly fire-resistant.
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.
When block glass shatters, it looks like ice.
A misnomer that stuck.
Shells of mixing buildings.
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.
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 pipes above sprayed water onto the hot coke.
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
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.
From the catwalks below the hoisting motor in Shaft No. 1.
Another ruined spiral staircase in the mill.
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 broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
A Kiva is an underground, or partly underground, chamber for ceremonies.
Panorama from where the skyway connected the cleaning house and elevator. ADM Meal Storage is to the right, ADM-4 is to the extreme right, and Kurth is on the left.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
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.
Inside this small iron clad mine is a couch and some clothes. It seems that for a short while, someone was living inside of it…
A bank of vertical filing cabinets, probably dating to National Guard days.
Glowing observation windows–and someone forgot to lock a patient’s door…
I wonder if these handcarts will become decoration for the hotel being building next to the silos.
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.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
The most derelict of the old bonded warehouses. Note the barrel elevator on the side of it!
Wind-battered catwalk lights between the shaft house and headframe/rockhouse 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.
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
In the distance, the San Haven Sanatorium water tower.
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.
Camera: Voigtlander Bessa
Film: Acros 100
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.
Where the approach meets the dock.
I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
A huge vent looks like it built in a hurry. There was actually very little in the way of bits of machinery left over… I am guessing almost anything of value was scrapped in the 1990s.
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.
Little has changed inside the mill, but since it was built in 1916, many tanks and ancillary buildings have popped up around it.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
A photo from the early 2000s before the conveyors were scrapped.
“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’…
Labeling line elevator.
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.
What looks to be a skip for repairing the dock, in the concrete steeple.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
The main buildings were mostly interconnected and in good condition. The dry air helps to preserve the wooden structures.
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.
Taken from under the headframe.
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.
Daisy Mill could accept shipments from water, rail, and truck at one time. Now everything comes and goes by rail.
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.
Looking to the chapel addition from the Chateau.
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.
Looking from one workhouse at another, with the other residents of Mill Hell falling into place as the distance grows. Across the rail yard you can see Froedert Malt elevator and Calumet.
Old conveyor belts are draped over the sides of the ore chutes to cut down on the noise and wear of the dumping trains.
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.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
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.
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.
The power pulley that ran air compressors straight off of the steam plant’s axel.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
A simple porcelain fountain in the original brewhouse. The water fountain, no doubt, is not original.
Vines are finding their way into the roundhouse.
The front of the power plant (right), the distillery itself (center), and the regaling house (left).
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
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.
A back-lit tree with the silhouette of a roof spire in the background.
The people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
Frankie and Quarantine pictured.
The back side of the hotel is plain, but for a fire escape.
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.
David Aho pictured.
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.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
A look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
Ringling’s church was built in 1914 and sits on a hill over the town.
Like many mill-style buildings of the time, the Twohy’s loading doors (in this case, the delivery wagon doors) opened to an elevator shaft. This design cut down on loading time, as long as the elevator was operational. Of course, if it was otherwise occupied, there could be no traffic through the exterior doors!
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.
There are 700 of these storage bunkers. Their design was to funnel explosions upward, rather than toward other buildings, to minimize secondary explosions.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
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.
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.
Bits and things in a pile in the corner of the smelter, the unsold chunks of industrial history that didn’t sell at an on-site auction before my visit.
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.
Two of the remaining four towers in the projects. Throughout our time there we saw and heard squatters inside and chose not to go in. What do you call a smart choice made in the midst of a dumb choice? There should be a word for that.
Looking at the boarded exterior of the newer area of the orphanage from its 1914 section.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
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.
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 brewmaster’s desk leans beside a long-disused stainless steel kettle. The staircase above goes to another level of kettles, which are visibly older.
A high-voltage tunnel sheathed in concrete dips below ground near a shell packing building that now stores fireworks.
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.
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.
The overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
Part of the decommissioned plant was used by the Air Force for virtual bombing runs. This is the guard shack for the radar station.
The incinerator’s hardened steel door… useless, but still sexy in a heavy-industrial kind of way.
A typical dwelling in San Luis. I could not tell if it was occupied, but most of the town is abandoned.
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…
Looking from the shaft room into the room where an electric hoist would be.
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.
I like to imagine this as fountain.
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.
A burned and rusted control panel in the corner of the new hoist room.
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.
Some local kids were having a fire extinguisher fight when I walked into the lab one day.
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.
Part of the grain dust venting system, dislodged from its place above the dumping hatches under the grain cribs.
This photo illustrates how vertical the complex is.
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.
Harsh rail yard lighting throws shadows of broken windows against the line of boilers.
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.
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.
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.
Looking toward the power station at the edge of the explosives plant.
Go on and jump in, if you want, there’s even a ladder to climb out.
A typical Chateau wall. Kodak Tri-X 400 in Leica M7.
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.