Broken skyways in the sand casting house, where everything was utterly fire-resistant.
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.
Part of the plant has been reused as a scrap metal yard.
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 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.
Regauging is the process wherein barrels are opened and the whiskey is tested in various ways, especially in its alcohol content.
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 a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
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.
The roof has been replaced since this was taken. Hopefully, that will stem the water damage.
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.
Looking out of the wavy stock shop.
An Old Crow warehouse, formerly federally controlled, near Old Taylor Distillery.
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.
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.
Go on and jump in, if you want, there’s even a ladder to climb out.
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.
My first picture at Nopeming, sometime around 2004. The same year that the county stopped mowing the lawn.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
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.
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.
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.
Generations of Two Harbors teens smoked their first weed in this abandoned building, in my estimation. Comment if I’m right!
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.
Wide stairs between the ground, the mine shaft, and the dry house.
The steam plant could be vertically traversed with this one-man belt driven elevator.
A cottage for masons infected with TB to live together.
These pools looked into the cribbing below the concrete.
Small rooms in the basement of the asylum were seemingly too tiny to be used, even for storage.
The power pulley that ran air compressors straight off of the steam plant’s axel.
The main rail artery for Thunder Bay passes Ogilvie’s.
The roof had structures bigger than most buildings in South Bend.
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.
A corner of the addition is lined with glass cabinets, formerly filled with beds.
Looking across at the Cargill elevator.
Part of the grain dust venting system, dislodged from its place above the dumping hatches under the grain cribs.
Looking at the concrete headframe from street level. Acros 100 in Pentax 67
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.
An arrangement of brick graffiti on the old boiler house building near the railroad tracks.
A photo from the early 2000s before the conveyors were scrapped.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
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.
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.
The machine shop today.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
An orphan culvert and camper, both tossed aside where nobody that will see will care.
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.
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.
The tower of Dominion certainly dominates the elevator row.
Scanned after being recovered from the bottom of an old wooden box for a few years. Circa 2005.
Looking up at the LEMP malting plant elevator. Look at that BRICKWORK!
Kat’s pretty cool.
Most of the gauges on the control panels were broken.
A broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
Looking toward the power station at the edge of the explosives plant.
A better view of the belt system that drives all the machinery in the plant.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
It is unclear whether this area was for coal dumping or ore dumping, though the huge dents in the steel plating suggests the latter.
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.
Looking through a launcher doorway at an outbuilding… the fire truck garage, if I recall correctly. Fomapan medium format in Pentax 67.
Old conveyor belts are draped over the sides of the ore chutes to cut down on the noise and wear of the dumping trains.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
Little has changed inside the mill, but since it was built in 1916, many tanks and ancillary buildings have popped up around it.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
A classroom, perhaps from the days when the city owned the building.
A look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
The playground used to be near the school which is now in ruins.
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.
Frankie and Quarantine pictured.
Tarpaper telling time-
Wood wittling weather-
Rust rot ruins.
The concrete walls, heavy steel blast doors, and plastic roof tell me that this was one of the shell loading buildings.
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 self portrait, from the early 2000s.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
An unplanned skylight. It’s unclear why some parts of the building had wooden roofing, while others were highly reinforced with brick.
A small upper level was accessible via ladder through the hole in this ceiling. Ben for scale.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the room.
Hip bump girl.
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.
Looking at the boarded exterior of the newer area of the orphanage from its 1914 section.
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.
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.
The hike to the village is steep. This is looking into the valley from the halfway point.
In the distance, the San Haven Sanatorium water tower.
Furnace #6; its catwalk and tapway. Note the lever-operated gutter-blockers.
Hunter climbing up to the coal tower.
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.
Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
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.
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
A back-lit tree with the silhouette of a roof spire in the background.
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.
While it looks like ground level, everything here is one story above the actual earth.
Ringling, MT is spread thin across the grassy land.
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 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.
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.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
Looking at the ghost sign from a rust-locked cement conveyor that linked the silos with a packing warehouse.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
Outbuildings near the perimeter fence. Beyond is all ranch land.
If there was a problem with the conveyor belt, the grain would go out these chutes.
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.
Standing where the Standard Oil’s boiler used to sit; the coal room is on the right, and would have been filled from trackside.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
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.
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…
Pipes to channel nitrose (think nitro glycerine) infused acid through the building.
The old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
Grain is taken from the bottom of the silos through a conveyor in a tunnel. These blowers keep the air in the tunnel fresh.
Almost all of the doors and windows on the ground floor have been boarded, leaving the ground level very dark.
Looking up from the industrial courtyard.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
A typical hallway in the rocket assembly line.
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.
The back side of the hotel is plain, but for a fire escape.
The fences helped discourage patients from throwing themselves down the stairs.
Some local kids were having a fire extinguisher fight when I walked into the lab one day.
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.
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.
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.
Frankie on the White Pine Mine vehicle access shaft. The mine was traditional inside… all room-and-pillar.
Old parts catalogs litter the floor. The office overlooks empty shelves. Graffiti glue peeling paint in place.
Someone had helped themselves to one of the safety posters before my visit.
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.
There are 700 of these storage bunkers. Their design was to funnel explosions upward, rather than toward other buildings, to minimize secondary explosions.
The former BESCO building in the last light of day.
Between the room with mold sand and the space where the car’s metal bits would be put together, a pillar is marked as structurally vital.
The building on the right was where parts not assembled onto vehicles would be set in crates for shipment.
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.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
Water vapor was collected and condensed to be reused in other processes. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7
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.
In the quality assurance labs there is a old safe.
Outside the Chateau, where the fuel oil tank blocks the chapel.
Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
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.
This building had no identity issues. My chief regret was not spending more time documenting the ghost signs around the complex.
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.
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.
Imagine the voice of an entitled White suburban mother. She’s now talking about oral hygiene in the “urban” (Black) schools.
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 most derelict of the old bonded warehouses. Note the barrel elevator on the side of it!
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
The powerhouse had two elevated tracks behind it, one for coal and one for deliveries.
Wind-battered catwalk lights between the shaft house and headframe/rockhouse building.
A truck loading dock for raw materials. Looking at the concrete, you can sort of tell where the rails used to run.
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 burned and rusted control panel in the corner of the new hoist room.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
When it was convenient, the sugar company would pull equipment, even pipes, from one mill for another.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
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.
Harsh rail yard lighting throws shadows of broken windows against the line of boilers.
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 middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
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.
Steel mine hoists, near the place they worked, wait for scrap prices to justify their final removal from Osceola, Michigan.
Looking to the chapel addition from the Chateau.
This seemed to be the newest building on the property.
A machine to cast copper billets.
The front of the power plant (right), the distillery itself (center), and the regaling house (left).
“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
A little cloud passes over the Five-Stack powerplant ruins, like a puff of smoke.
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.
A huge steam pipe snakes between catwalks, through the floors, and toward the condensers, so the water could be recovered and reused.
The top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.
A scrapped steam turbine, perhaps. In the background you can see a gutted casing for another turbine.
A massive water tower easily tucks into the shadow of Blast Furnace #6.
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.
A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
The long control room overlooks giant caps where equipment was removed long ago.
A typical dwelling in San Luis. I could not tell if it was occupied, but most of the town is abandoned.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
This building looked like some sort of office.
This photo illustrates how vertical the complex is.
Looking at the last wall of the hotel from the banks of the river.
Chester Creek takes many such sliding dives where it empties into Lake Superior.
Another ruined spiral staircase in the mill.
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.
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.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
The incinerator’s hardened steel door… useless, but still sexy in a heavy-industrial kind of way.
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.