A teeter totter sits in front of the Memorial Building.
Lost words over the auditorium entrance.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
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.
Beautiful belt wheels above the grain cribs. Getting to the spot where this was taken is now impossible, and I don’t know whether these remain or not anymore.
My first night on Minneapolis’ Lighthouse–now an old picture and distant memory… I still remember the exhilaration and the view of the city off one edge of the roof and the Mississippi River over the other.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.
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.
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 storm passes over BOMARC’s center row of launch buildings. You can clearly see the tracks on which the roof would retract for launch.
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 grain dust venting system, dislodged from its place above the dumping hatches under the grain cribs.
In an old ward, two men would have shared this room.
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.
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.
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.
Looking up to the second floor of the Nitrating House, where cotton would be soaked in nitric acid. These brought cotton into the building.
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.
A wide view of the poor house. Look at the smokestack and elevator shaft, which show the former roofline.
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.
Someone had helped themselves to one of the safety posters before my visit.
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…
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 overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
My guess is that the Capitol Hotel closed and Adler bought up some of their equipment.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
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.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
In the distance, the San Haven Sanatorium water tower.
Miners at the turn of the century had better taste in typography than the average person does today.
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.
Looking at the rear of the mill, through dead vines and barbed wire.
The gulls wait to eat the next load of spilled grain. Arista 100.
Furnace #6; its catwalk and tapway. Note the lever-operated gutter-blockers.
The power pulley that ran air compressors straight off of the steam plant’s axel.
Smashed TVs and stone foundations in a former common room in the basement.
Ringling, MT is spread thin across the grassy land.
This elevator came crashing down, perhaps from the topmost floor. I wonder what it sounded like.
Ava between ammo warehouses and railroads.
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.
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.
ADM overshadows the Meal Elevator. The cleared area behind is now home to Surley Brewery.
Old parts catalogs litter the floor. The office overlooks empty shelves. Graffiti glue peeling paint in place.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
Another ruined spiral staircase in the mill.
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.
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.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
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.
In most places, it may seem off for there to be a tunnel door on the top floor of a building, but Ford was that kind of place. This door from the steam plant led into a skyway and tunnel that connected to the main assembly floor.
This elevator was built in 1922 and was used until the passing rails were removed in the mid-1970s.
She’s a charmer.
Instructional film strips on the floor of a second floor closer.
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.
Some local kids were having a fire extinguisher fight when I walked into the lab one day.
This building looked like some sort of office.
Indianapolis’ beautiful downtown is in the distance, past the gas storage tank.
A corner of the addition is lined with glass cabinets, formerly filled with beds.
While the stokers are gone, the pipes bringing pulverized coal down were left.
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 sign of where man met machine.
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.
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.
An orphan culvert and camper, both tossed aside where nobody that will see will care.
A high-voltage tunnel sheathed in concrete dips below ground near a shell packing building that now stores fireworks.
“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’…
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.
The powerhouse had two elevated tracks behind it, one for coal and one for deliveries.
Below the historic National Guard Armory.
A heavy steel rail door to help funnel explosions upward, rather than outward.
Camera: Voigtlander Bessa
Film: Acros 100
A side view of the oven pusher from the ground. The tallest coal bunker looks tiny in the distance, though on the scale of the factory it’s practically on top of me as I’m taking the picture.
The rumors were true. Success is sweet.
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.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
We mark our world in unexpected ways… this is how patient possessions would be stored during their stay in the old asylum wards. It’s about the size of a shoebox, and this particular drawer has a name where the others do not. Its place reminded me of the hospital cemetery where more than 3,000 are buried and less than 1% of whom are recorded by stone or plaque in their resting place.
The city has taken steps to prevent the curious and the desperate from going into the elevators, including piling rocks against the doors and windows.
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.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
An unplanned skylight. It’s unclear why some parts of the building had wooden roofing, while others were highly reinforced with brick.
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.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
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.
The roof had structures bigger than most buildings in South Bend.
An Old Crow warehouse, formerly federally controlled, near Old Taylor Distillery.
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.
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
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.
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.
A great lakes freighter slowly passes SK Wheat Pool 4 with ‘The Sleeping Giant’ in the background. Arista 100.
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.
The belts on these mills have long ben missing.
A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
A warped mirror in the rock crusher at the rear of the complex.
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.
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…
Some sort of materials handling building, judging by the construction.
The building on the right was where parts not assembled onto vehicles would be set in crates for shipment.
Water vapor was collected and condensed to be reused in other processes. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7
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.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
Tarpaper telling time-
Wood wittling weather-
Rust rot ruins.
An elevator is reflected in the flooded footprint of Spencer & Kellogg. These trains are in storage for the winter.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
A massive water tower easily tucks into the shadow of Blast Furnace #6.
From the catwalks below the hoisting motor in Shaft No. 1.
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 typical hallway in the rocket assembly line.
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.
Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.
This photo illustrates how vertical the complex is.
I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
Looking out of the wavy stock shop.
Just a couple guys enjoying an industrial ruin.
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.
A me-sized hole in the half-demolished skyway looks about a story down to the ground. Step lightly. Arista 100.
That floor isn’t dirt–it’s old rotting grain that’s formed into a sort of moldy mud.
The pipes above sprayed water onto the hot coke.
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.
A typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
A little cloud passes over the Five-Stack powerplant ruins, like a puff of smoke.
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.
Hip bump girl.
If there was a problem with the conveyor belt, the grain would go out these chutes.
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.
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.
Where workers’ pay would be doled out and collected.
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.
It is unclear whether this area was for coal dumping or ore dumping, though the huge dents in the steel plating suggests the latter.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
In the steam plant, steam pipes bundled in canvas and asbestos criss-cross the walls.
A bird near the old schoolyard.
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 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.
Before it was demolished, there was one good staircase the led to the middle of the dock. Trees grew from it.
I wonder if these handcarts will become decoration for the hotel being building next to the silos.
When the ship loaders were added, a doorway was cut through the metal silo to make a room for the grain handling equipment. Note the dust sensor in the corner of the torch-cut archway.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
The Sun Rooms, or Common Rooms, reminded me of the Panopitcon turned inside-out.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
An arrangement of brick graffiti on the old boiler house building near the railroad tracks.
Between all of the buildings was dense growth, especially vines.
The former BESCO building in the last light of day.
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 people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
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.
Daisy Mill could accept shipments from water, rail, and truck at one time. Now everything comes and goes by rail.
Note the tiled floor between the bucket conveyors and an old mill.
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.
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.
These wide spools sit atop the abandoned tracks that lead to the train shed, which was later repurposed into a truck shed.
One of my favorite shots from that year, conveyor line parts stacked and hung with Postal Service bins from decades ago.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
These pools looked into the cribbing below the concrete.
Graffiti by a crew member of the Algolake.
A late look at the brewhouse, long after the stainless steel tanks were scrapped.
I don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
When block glass shatters, it looks like ice.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
A typical dwelling in San Luis. I could not tell if it was occupied, but most of the town is abandoned.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
The turned rail was to prevent runaway cars from going over the end of the dock and into the lake.
A misnomer that stuck.
Small rooms in the basement of the asylum were seemingly too tiny to be used, even for storage.
A truck loading dock for raw materials. Looking at the concrete, you can sort of tell where the rails used to run.
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.
Wind-battered catwalk lights between the shaft house and headframe/rockhouse building.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
The tower of Dominion certainly dominates the elevator row.
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.
Broken skyways in the sand casting house, where everything was utterly fire-resistant.
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Standing where the Standard Oil’s boiler used to sit; the coal room is on the right, and would have been filled from trackside.
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.
David Aho, the owner of Mitchell Engine House, poses beside the boiler.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
The huge snowfalls of 2011 brought new collapses across the buildings.
The old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
The steam plant could be vertically traversed with this one-man belt driven elevator.
A typical shower in the old section of the hospital. It looks a little horrifying in the harsh light of a camera flash on the thousands of little white tiles. One soap holder hadn’t been stolen yet.
A heavy steel device locks the anchor up.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
This view of BCT shows the portico where the main entrance is at the base of the office tower, and the clock.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
Looking toward the power station at the edge of the explosives plant.
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.