Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
Looking toward a void–formerly a hallway to the mineshaft–now a hole in the ground.
The machine shop today.
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.
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 old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
Frankie on the White Pine Mine vehicle access shaft. The mine was traditional inside… all room-and-pillar.
The playground used to be near the school which is now in ruins.
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.
A big sliding fire door opens onto a train dock.
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.
In the nitrating house.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
The gothic landing between balcony and classroom level and the ground floor.
A ruined platform on the railyard platform side of the warehouse.
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.
A better view of the belt system that drives all the machinery in the plant.
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.
My guess is that the Capitol Hotel closed and Adler bought up some of their equipment.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
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.
A custom ladder to cross conveyor belts on the work floor.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
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 the quality assurance labs there is a old safe.
A scrapped steam turbine, perhaps. In the background you can see a gutted casing for another turbine.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
An impressive message for graffiti in a Detroit warehouse, but then again look at these steam pumps. Over-built and under-appreciated.
The incinerator’s hardened steel door… useless, but still sexy in a heavy-industrial kind of way.
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 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.
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.
Checking out the neighbors. Shot on a the legendary Pentax 67.
Robotic pincers to move molten rods of glass between machines.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
Where the approach meets the dock.
Looking out of the American diesel crane at the gantry crane that ran the length of the dock.
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.
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.
I believe these hooks were meant for hanging filters to dry.
Steel mine hoists, near the place they worked, wait for scrap prices to justify their final removal from Osceola, Michigan.
This elevator came crashing down, perhaps from the topmost floor. I wonder what it sounded like.
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.
In a now-demolished building, a skylight begins to separate.
Ringling’s church was built in 1914 and sits on a hill over the town.
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.
The long control room overlooks giant caps where equipment was removed long ago.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
Counter-weighted ore cars alternately filled and emptied to feed Furnace 7. Honestly, though, the corner-mounted cranes are sexier in my opinion. Note the trees growing from the stacks.
Ava between ammo warehouses and railroads.
The moon highlights the contrails over the engine house in the middle of the night. Foreground light painted.
Smashed TVs and stone foundations in a former common room in the basement.
The back side of the hotel is plain, but for a fire escape.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
I am sure even the workers had trouble remembering which pillar hid the phone. Note the “ON” written on the electrical socket, too.
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.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
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.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
The last of four radar domes on the base.
A simple porcelain fountain in the original brewhouse. The water fountain, no doubt, is not original.
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.
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…
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.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
A massive water tower easily tucks into the shadow of Blast Furnace #6.
An article from Minnpost describes this design as “marital”, and I could not agree more.
These Twin Cities kisses
Sound like clicks and hisses.
We all tumbled down and
Drowned in the Mississippi River. -The Hold Steady
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
A huge steam pipe snakes between catwalks, through the floors, and toward the condensers, so the water could be recovered and reused.
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.
The old crane swung on windier days over the Worthington Steam Pump. This is probably last used to disassemble the antique generators, which are all now gone.
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 tower of Dominion certainly dominates the elevator row.
The top floor of the Dominion Elevator. Acros 100 on 120.
A typical dwelling in San Luis. I could not tell if it was occupied, but most of the town is abandoned.
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…
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.
If there was a problem with the conveyor belt, the grain would go out these chutes.
The powerhouse had two elevated tracks behind it, one for coal and one for deliveries.
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.
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.
David Aho pictured.
“Paint the fence,” they said, but I don’t feel like it… who cares, anyway.
…when injection molding was the new thing that everyone was experimenting with.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
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.
Lost words over the auditorium entrance.
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.
A typical Chateau wall. Kodak Tri-X 400 in Leica M7.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
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.
Regauging is the process wherein barrels are opened and the whiskey is tested in various ways, especially in its alcohol content.
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.
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 top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.
Halfway up the coal conveyor, covered in coal dust… black streaks of snot. Starting to get good.
I like to imagine this as fountain.
Don’t know what’s heavier… the bricks or shadows.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
A great lakes freighter slowly passes SK Wheat Pool 4 with ‘The Sleeping Giant’ in the background. Arista 100.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
ADM overshadows the Meal Elevator. The cleared area behind is now home to Surley Brewery.
A side view showing the extreme structural damage to what I believe is the Masonic Cottage. I honestly cannot unravel how some of this was done, unless the local armory is missing a 4″ canon and some cartridge shot.
A me-sized hole in the half-demolished skyway looks about a story down to the ground. Step lightly. Arista 100.
I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
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.
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.
In the steam plant, steam pipes bundled in canvas and asbestos criss-cross the walls.
Ringling, MT is spread thin across the grassy land.
We people are so small.
A porcelain basin in the locker room is detached, but shows excellent patina. I hope when the machine shop is repurposed that this can be saved.
The rumors were true. Success is sweet.
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.
Pipes to channel nitrose (think nitro glycerine) infused acid through the building.
Someone had helped themselves to one of the safety posters before my visit.
In an old ward, two men would have shared this room.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
One of the few doors.
The workshop and parts room was full of light and meticulously sorted bolts, nuts, washers, gaskets, and all sorts of specialty hardware.
Part of the decommissioned plant was used by the Air Force for virtual bombing runs. This is the guard shack for the radar station.
Some sort of materials handling building, judging by the construction.
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!
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.
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.
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 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?
I wonder if these handcarts will become decoration for the hotel being building next to the silos.
I love the ghost sign across these two elevators, originally built as Superior Elevator. It’s looking pretty rough.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
These wide spools sit atop the abandoned tracks that lead to the train shed, which was later repurposed into a truck shed.
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.
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
The generator hall of the last power station, as seen from the gantryway.
Below the historic National Guard Armory.
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.
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.
A bird near the old schoolyard.
This photo illustrates how vertical the complex is.
Labeling line elevator.
A back-lit tree with the silhouette of a roof spire in the background.
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.
Frankie and Quarantine pictured.
“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
Before it was demolished, there was one good staircase the led to the middle of the dock. Trees grew from it.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Pozo Mine, the most menacing mine building I’ve ever seen. Black and white film, shot with the Fuji GX680, a beast of a camera.
Between all of the buildings was dense growth, especially vines.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
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.
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.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
Standing where the Standard Oil’s boiler used to sit; the coal room is on the right, and would have been filled from trackside.
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.
Looking to the chapel addition from the Chateau.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
While the stokers are gone, the pipes bringing pulverized coal down were left.
That floor isn’t dirt–it’s old rotting grain that’s formed into a sort of moldy mud.
A look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
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.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
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.
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.
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
Rogers Mine is one of the most structurally sound mines in the Iron River area that isn’t part of a museum.
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 fences helped discourage patients from throwing themselves down the stairs.
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 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.
On the second floor of the kettle building where corn mash was boiled, holes where tanks once sat were everywhere.
A misnomer that stuck.
A broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
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.
These aluminum powder kegs were forgotten in storage.
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.
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.
Indianapolis’ beautiful downtown is in the distance, past the gas storage tank.
The former express concourse, as seen in 2005.
Park Insurance Agency is no longer in business, nor would you be able to dial that phone number.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.