The boilers are gone, but round brick portals remain where they used to meet the walls of the boiler room. Behind it appears to be the coal bunker itself.
During the Cold War, the Air Force used the radar station to train bombardiers in radar-guided ordinance.
The building on the right was where parts not assembled onto vehicles would be set in crates for shipment.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
The back side of the hotel is plain, but for a fire escape.
Little has changed inside the mill, but since it was built in 1916, many tanks and ancillary buildings have popped up around it.
Looking from the shaft room into the room where an electric hoist would be.
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.
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
A machine to cast copper billets.
Storms and waves, focused by the Port of Wisconsin entry have focused the faces to tear-up these boards below.
Outside the Chateau, where the fuel oil tank blocks the chapel.
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.
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.
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.
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.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
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.
Catwalk crating, welded over the yard crane operator cab’s windows.
Since this picture was taken, the roof has totally collapsed in this area.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
A great lakes freighter slowly passes SK Wheat Pool 4 with ‘The Sleeping Giant’ in the background. Arista 100.
A massive water tower easily tucks into the shadow of Blast Furnace #6.
The pockmarked concrete sign of Substation #2 over the control room that faces the highway.
The steel awning and its elegant staircase are one of my favorite features near the old carpentry shop. The gymnasium-theater is in the background.
The most derelict of the old bonded warehouses. Note the barrel elevator on the side of it!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The workshop and parts room was full of light and meticulously sorted bolts, nuts, washers, gaskets, and all sorts of specialty hardware.
A windmill marks one corner of GOW.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
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.
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?
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.
I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.
A big sliding fire door opens onto a train dock.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
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.
One of the few doors.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
A broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
This is a great example of a combination rock house; the silos below used to fill trains with ore dropped from mine cars pulled to the top of the structure.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the room.
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.
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 overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
The Western Elevator’s old moniker looks over Fort William (the neighborhood). Snow falls over Mount McKay in the background. This elevator is still active… the only active elevator in Fort William proper.
Between all of the buildings was dense growth, especially vines.
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
Almost all of the doors and windows on the ground floor have been boarded, leaving the ground level very dark.
Miners at the turn of the century had better taste in typography than the average person does today.
A 5-minute exposure of the tunnel and stars, and even some of Duluth’s city lights bouncing off the clouds. A single off-camera flash in the tunnel gives the effect of an oncoming train.
A warped mirror in the rock crusher at the rear of the complex.
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.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
In the distance, the San Haven Sanatorium water tower.
This elevator was built in 1922 and was used until the passing rails were removed in the mid-1970s.
Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.
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 skyway in the bottom of the picture is now gone.
This building had no identity issues. My chief regret was not spending more time documenting the ghost signs around the complex.
A simple porcelain fountain in the original brewhouse. The water fountain, no doubt, is not original.
“To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.”
― Emily Dickinson
The Sun Rooms, or Common Rooms, reminded me of the Panopitcon turned inside-out.
In the steam plant, steam pipes bundled in canvas and asbestos criss-cross the walls.
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.
The hike to the village is steep. This is looking into the valley from the halfway point.
Lost words over the auditorium entrance.
The turned rail was to prevent runaway cars from going over the end of the dock and into the lake.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
The gulls wait to eat the next load of spilled grain. Arista 100.
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.
Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7. The office (first floor), laboratory (second floor) and mill behind it. Everything was clean and pristine.
One of the few artifacts left in the chapel section is this old floor buffing machine.
Halfway up the coal conveyor, covered in coal dust… black streaks of snot. Starting to get good.
Gloves hang in the basement of the former quality assurance labs.
One of the hundreds of wells across the depot, as seen through an open rail door. In the distance, the radome.
From the street, it’s clear that almost every window and door had boards over it, but not every building had a roof. Silly priorities.
The roof has been replaced since this was taken. Hopefully, that will stem the water damage.
Wide stairs between the ground, the mine shaft, and the dry house.
This rockhouse was added below the shaft to load Gilpin Tram cars.
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.
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.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
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.
The tower of Dominion certainly dominates the elevator row.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
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.
From the catwalks below the hoisting motor in Shaft No. 1.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
Vines are finding their way into the roundhouse.
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.
Looking toward the power station at the edge of the explosives plant.
The long control room overlooks giant caps where equipment was removed long ago.
Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
These pools looked into the cribbing below the concrete.
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.
A little catwalk gives access to the most important gauges in the building. Behind them are huge vents and fans. I bet it got steamy in here.
Don’t know what’s heavier… the bricks or shadows.
A custom ladder to cross conveyor belts on the work floor.
Looking out of the boarded windows in the Great Western Sugar office.
The generator hall of the last power station, as seen from the gantryway.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
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.
Taken from atop a grain train at the end of Cargill B-2, looking toward Lake Superior “I”, now part of the sample complex. This area used to have another slip, but Cargill filled it on when it built the elevator on the right.
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.
When it was convenient, the sugar company would pull equipment, even pipes, from one mill for another.
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.
These wide spools sit atop the abandoned tracks that lead to the train shed, which was later repurposed into a truck shed.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
A misnomer that stuck.
The concrete walls, heavy steel blast doors, and plastic roof tell me that this was one of the shell loading buildings.
Camera: Voigtlander Bessa
Film: Acros 100
Where the approach meets the dock.
A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
Giant ingredient hoppers stand on a concrete floor covered in peeled paint.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
Chester Creek takes many such sliding dives where it empties into Lake Superior.
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 self portrait, from the early 2000s.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
Looking toward the famous Duluth Aerial Lift Bridge from Lake Superior. Shot on a the legendary Pentax 67.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
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.
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 old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
Point me to the blast furnace.
These Twin Cities kisses
Sound like clicks and hisses.
We all tumbled down and
Drowned in the Mississippi River. -The Hold Steady
The playground used to be near the school which is now in ruins.
A bird near the old schoolyard.
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.
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…
An elevator is reflected in the flooded footprint of Spencer & Kellogg. These trains are in storage for the winter.
The roof had structures bigger than most buildings in South Bend.
These dump cars moved copper ore to the top of the furnaces… it’s about two stories above ground level.
I don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
Looking out from my perch close to the Kam toward the Ogilvie head house. To the left is a newer concrete annex, probably built in the years it bore the name Saskatchewan Pool 8.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
Wind-battered catwalk lights between the shaft house and headframe/rockhouse building.
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 heavy steel rail door to help funnel explosions upward, rather than outward.
Shells of mixing buildings.
This seemed to be the newest building on the property.
I am sure even the workers had trouble remembering which pillar hid the phone. Note the “ON” written on the electrical socket, too.
I wonder if these handcarts will become decoration for the hotel being building next to the silos.
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.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
The steam-powered hoist that pulled ore and dropped men from the mine. Note the hydraulic-operated brake on top with its massive brake pad. Now scrapped.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
The main rail artery for Thunder Bay passes Ogilvie’s.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
All that’s left of the lost annex near Saskatchewan Wheat Pool #4 and #5. Arista 100.
An alarm panel in the powerpplant, now demolished.
David Aho pictured.
“This way,” then, “No, that way!”
She’s a charmer.
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.
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 typical Chateau wall. Kodak Tri-X 400 in Leica M7.
A better view of the belt system that drives all the machinery in the plant.
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.
A wide view (15mm) of the shadow 4B is casting on 4A. Light leaks because of cheap camera.
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.
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.
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.
An old fashioned lift.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
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 end of the heating line allowed glass to cool slowly, and thus be stronger.
Many outdoor areas of the plant have become unofficial city dumps. The skeleton doesn’t care.
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…
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
The main buildings were mostly interconnected and in good condition. The dry air helps to preserve the wooden structures.
Pipes to channel nitrose (think nitro glycerine) infused acid through the building.
Graffiti by a crew member of the Algolake.
A high-voltage tunnel sheathed in concrete dips below ground near a shell packing building that now stores fireworks.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.