ADM overshadows the Meal Elevator. The cleared area behind is now home to Surley Brewery.
Halfway up the coal conveyor, covered in coal dust… black streaks of snot. Starting to get good.
A wide view (15mm) of the shadow 4B is casting on 4A. Light leaks because of cheap camera.
This elevator came crashing down, perhaps from the topmost floor. I wonder what it sounded like.
Solvent pumping buildings, designed to explode upwards rather than outwards in an emergency, are forgotten near the milkweed.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
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.
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.
Glowing observation windows–and someone forgot to lock a patient’s door…
From the catwalks below the hoisting motor in Shaft No. 1.
Looking up to the second floor of the Nitrating House, where cotton would be soaked in nitric acid. These brought cotton into the building.
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.
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.
This seemed to be the newest building on the property.
Part of the plant has been reused as a scrap metal yard.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
I believe these hooks were meant for hanging filters to dry.
Point me to the blast furnace.
The long control room overlooks giant caps where equipment was removed long ago.
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.
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.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
Pipes to channel nitrose (think nitro glycerine) infused acid through the building.
The top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.
The main rail artery for Thunder Bay passes Ogilvie’s.
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.
Looking to the chapel addition from the Chateau.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
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.
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.
A look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
Imagine the voice of an entitled White suburban mother. She’s now talking about oral hygiene in the “urban” (Black) schools.
In a now-demolished building, a skylight begins to separate.
Steam pipes snake up the walls like vines, but with asbestos.
The overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
A hydraulic ‘bridge’ couple lower onto the tracks to bring mine cars into the shaft house, presumably for repair. I haven’t found this system anywhere else, but it makes a lot of sense.
A bird near the old schoolyard.
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.
Old parts catalogs litter the floor. The office overlooks empty shelves. Graffiti glue peeling paint in place.
A bank of vertical filing cabinets, probably dating to National Guard days.
This rockhouse was added below the shaft to load Gilpin Tram cars.
Just a couple guys enjoying an industrial ruin.
I wonder if these handcarts will become decoration for the hotel being building next to the silos.
Frankie and Quarantine pictured.
Most of the gauges on the control panels were broken.
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 King Elevator is connected by a manlift and this spiral staircase. The manlift was down–can you believe it? Note the cool turns in the vertical railings. Arista 100 on 120.
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.
A heavy steel device locks the anchor up.
Looking across at the Cargill elevator.
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
The pockmarked concrete sign of Substation #2 over the control room that faces the highway.
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.
Two steel hoppers supported by counterweights and springs, which were used to weigh incoming grain loads before being deposited in the silos beneath this floor. Garner is another way to say “big measuring tank”, if you were wondering. I fell in love with all the tubes and chutes on this floor.
Some sort of materials handling building, judging by the construction.
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.
Wide stairs between the ground, the mine shaft, and the dry house.
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.
The power pulley that ran air compressors straight off of the steam plant’s axel.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
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.
One boat comes into port while three wait. The birds, fat from spilled grain, circle overhead. Arista 100.
Catwalk crating, welded over the yard crane operator cab’s windows.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
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.
A great lakes freighter slowly passes SK Wheat Pool 4 with ‘The Sleeping Giant’ in the background. Arista 100.
Some local kids were having a fire extinguisher fight when I walked into the lab one day.
A photo from the early 2000s before the conveyors were scrapped.
The steam plant could be vertically traversed with this one-man belt driven elevator.
Hunter climbing up to the coal tower.
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.
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
Robotic pincers to move molten rods of glass between machines.
Park Insurance Agency is no longer in business, nor would you be able to dial that phone number.
The old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
The hike to the village is steep. This is looking into the valley from the halfway point.
Old conveyor belts are draped over the sides of the ore chutes to cut down on the noise and wear of the dumping trains.
These dump cars moved copper ore to the top of the furnaces… it’s about two stories above ground level.
Part of the decommissioned plant was used by the Air Force for virtual bombing runs. This is the guard shack for the radar station.
Taken from under the headframe.
Camera: Voigtlander Bessa
Film: Acros 100
Small rooms in the basement of the asylum were seemingly too tiny to be used, even for storage.
“Paint the fence,” they said, but I don’t feel like it… who cares, anyway.
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.
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.
Frankie on the White Pine Mine vehicle access shaft. The mine was traditional inside… all room-and-pillar.
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 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 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.
A Kiva is an underground, or partly underground, chamber for ceremonies.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
Where the approach meets the dock.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
These pools looked into the cribbing below the concrete.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
A self portrait, from the early 2000s.
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.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
Rogers Mine is one of the most structurally sound mines in the Iron River area that isn’t part of a museum.
While it looks like ground level, everything here is one story above the actual earth.
The roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
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.
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.
The turned rail was to prevent runaway cars from going over the end of the dock and into the lake.
A high-voltage tunnel sheathed in concrete dips below ground near a shell packing building that now stores fireworks.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
Chutes connect the bottoms of the silos to a conveyor belt.
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.
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.
Since this picture was taken, the roof has totally collapsed in this area.
Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
Gloves hang in the basement of the former quality assurance labs.
Where workers’ pay would be doled out and collected.
I wonder if these windows were bricked after the 1950 explosion with the hopes that, if another silos blew, the people in this office would be better protected.
The 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.
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.
Let’s play a game called “FIND THE PIGEON”! There is one bird in this photo of dust collectors atop the King Elevator train shed.
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.
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.
Aluminum spools replaced their wooden counterparts, later in the factory’s history.
A back-lit tree with the silhouette of a roof spire in the background.
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.
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.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
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.
Looking at the last wall of the hotel from the banks of the river.
The concrete walls, heavy steel blast doors, and plastic roof tell me that this was one of the shell loading buildings.
Looking out of the boarded windows in the Great Western Sugar office.
Looking at the casting floor from the roof. In the distance are the copulas where molten metal was poured.
On the ground floor of the main factory there seems to be only one chair left.
Hip bump girl.
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.
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.
“Ballistite is a smokeless propellant made from two high explosives, nitrocellulose and nitroglycerine. It was developed and patented by Alfred Nobel in the late 19th century.” -Wikipedia.
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.
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.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
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.
If there was a problem with the conveyor belt, the grain would go out these chutes.
Looking toward a void–formerly a hallway to the mineshaft–now a hole in the ground.
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.
The Blacksmith Shop (right) was connected to the Bunk House (left) via this narrow walkway. This is likely due to the fire risk in each building. The left building had a cooking stove and furnace for heat and the right building had a small industrial furnace to repair mining equipment. A little walkway would mean that a fire on one side would be easier to fight from the other.
Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.
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?
That floor isn’t dirt–it’s old rotting grain that’s formed into a sort of moldy mud.
A big sliding fire door opens onto a train dock.
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 first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
The pipes above sprayed water onto the hot coke.
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 don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
A burned and rusted control panel in the corner of the new hoist room.
The workshop and parts room was full of light and meticulously sorted bolts, nuts, washers, gaskets, and all sorts of specialty hardware.
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.
A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
Shells of mixing buildings.
There are 700 of these storage bunkers. Their design was to funnel explosions upward, rather than toward other buildings, to minimize secondary explosions.
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.
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.
“Daisy”… probably for the mill, as it was unusual for women to work at Daisy.
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 railing were jealous of both the bricks and bits, and chose instead to dissolve like this.
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.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
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.
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.
The moon highlights the contrails over the engine house in the middle of the night. Foreground light painted.
A simple porcelain fountain in the original brewhouse. The water fountain, no doubt, is not original.
A scrapped steam turbine, perhaps. In the background you can see a gutted casing for another turbine.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
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 injection molding was the new thing that everyone was experimenting with.
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.
These Twin Cities kisses
Sound like clicks and hisses.
We all tumbled down and
Drowned in the Mississippi River. -The Hold Steady
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.
From inside a painting shed, where heatlamps and a vented roof made sure that the Caddy looked like it was worth the price tag.
Instructional film strips on the floor of a second floor closer.
Smashed TVs and stone foundations in a former common room in the basement.
Little has changed inside the mill, but since it was built in 1916, many tanks and ancillary buildings have popped up around it.
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 typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
The roof had structures bigger than most buildings in South Bend.
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 whole smelter ran on gravity… elevating the various raw materials and working with them until at the bottom of the furnace, copper poured out.
Little crosses on the side of the church, near a broken window.
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.
An article from Minnpost describes this design as “marital”, and I could not agree more.
Water vapor was collected and condensed to be reused in other processes. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7
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.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the room.