Go on and jump in, if you want, there’s even a ladder to climb out.
An elevator is reflected in the flooded footprint of Spencer & Kellogg. These trains are in storage for the winter.
Looking toward a void–formerly a hallway to the mineshaft–now a hole in the ground.
Furnace #6; its catwalk and tapway. Note the lever-operated gutter-blockers.
When block glass shatters, it looks like ice.
A typical Chateau wall. Kodak Tri-X 400 in Leica M7.
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.
An Old Crow warehouse, formerly federally controlled, near Old Taylor Distillery.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
Aluminum spools replaced their wooden counterparts, later in the factory’s history.
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.
Looking at the last wall of the hotel from the banks of the river.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
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.
The pipes above sprayed water onto the hot coke.
Looking across at the Cargill elevator.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
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.
An unplanned skylight. It’s unclear why some parts of the building had wooden roofing, while others were highly reinforced with brick.
The top floor of the Dominion Elevator. Acros 100 on 120.
The front of the power plant (right), the distillery itself (center), and the regaling house (left).
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.
Outside the Chateau, where the fuel oil tank blocks the chapel.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
During the Cold War, the Air Force used the radar station to train bombardiers in radar-guided ordinance.
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.
A wide view (15mm) of the shadow 4B is casting on 4A. Light leaks because of cheap camera.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
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.
Most of the gauges on the control panels were broken.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
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 look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
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.
“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 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.
I love the ghost sign across these two elevators, originally built as Superior Elevator. It’s looking pretty rough.
One boat comes into port while three wait. The birds, fat from spilled grain, circle overhead. Arista 100.
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.
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.
This elevator was built in 1922 and was used until the passing rails were removed in the mid-1970s.
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.
The machine shop today.
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.
This view of BCT shows the portico where the main entrance is at the base of the office tower, and the clock.
In the quality assurance labs there is a old safe.
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.
A facade that tells the story of demolition and neglect. The sign on the garage door indicates that if one finds themselves there, that they enter the buildings at their own risk. If only property owners in the US took this philosophy!
A corner of the addition is lined with glass cabinets, formerly filled with beds.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
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.
A windmill marks one corner of GOW.
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.
Smashed TVs and stone foundations in a former common room in the basement.
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.
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.
There are 700 of these storage bunkers. Their design was to funnel explosions upward, rather than toward other buildings, to minimize secondary explosions.
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.
Looking at the rear of the mill, through dead vines and barbed wire.
We people are so small.
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.
These aluminum powder kegs were forgotten in storage.
Point me to the blast furnace.
Another ruined spiral staircase in the mill.
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.
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.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
The roof has been replaced since this was taken. Hopefully, that will stem the water damage.
The main buildings were mostly interconnected and in good condition. The dry air helps to preserve the wooden structures.
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.
Scanned after being recovered from the bottom of an old wooden box for a few years. Circa 2005.
The generator hall of the last power station, as seen from the gantryway.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
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 former BESCO building in the last light of day.
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.
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.
Steam pipes snake up the walls like vines, but with asbestos.
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.
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.
What looks to be a skip for repairing the dock, in the concrete steeple.
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.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
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.
Old conveyor belts are draped over the sides of the ore chutes to cut down on the noise and wear of the dumping trains.
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.
Looking at the casting floor from the roof. In the distance are the copulas where molten metal was poured.
If there was a problem with the conveyor belt, the grain would go out these chutes.
A little cloud passes over the Five-Stack powerplant ruins, like a puff of smoke.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
A bank of vertical filing cabinets, probably dating to National Guard days.
One of the few artifacts left in the chapel section is this old floor buffing machine.
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 bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
Regauging is the process wherein barrels are opened and the whiskey is tested in various ways, especially in its alcohol content.
A heavy steel device locks the anchor up.
Hip bump girl.
Without their walls these Solvent Recovery Line buildings look like blast walls. Their concrete inner structures were part of the design so if there was an explosion inside it would ‘blow out’ with a puff instead of a bang. Now most of these are demolished or overgrown.
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.
One of my favorite shots from that year, conveyor line parts stacked and hung with Postal Service bins from decades ago.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
In the distance, the San Haven Sanatorium water tower.
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.
An orphan culvert and camper, both tossed aside where nobody that will see will care.
An old fashioned lift.
Just a couple guys enjoying an industrial ruin.
The Peavey logo, before it rusted off and the offices were demolished.
Sprays of water kept the muddy mixture flowing across the sluices, which filtered out gold particles from gravel and dirty.
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.
Little crosses on the side of the church, near a broken window.
Designed by Taylor himself, the spring house was the site of many parties in its day. You can imagine sipping fresh-tapped whiskey here with your Sunday clothes with soft music and the sounds of the river mixing in the background. Note the key-hole-shaped spring hole.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Miners at the turn of the century had better taste in typography than the average person does today.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
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.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
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.
A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
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.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
Hunter climbing up to the coal tower.
I believe these hooks were meant for hanging filters to dry.
In the steam plant, steam pipes bundled in canvas and asbestos criss-cross the walls.
A machine to cast copper billets.
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 small door leads to the offices, the large door leads to the shop. My back at this time is to the corrugated steel wall. At the time I wondered why there was just one steel wall, not knowing that 40 years before there was another spot for an engine here. This section of the roundhouse has become a sort of town dump–car seats, cans of paint and tires are piled into its corners.
From inside a painting shed, where heatlamps and a vented roof made sure that the Caddy looked like it was worth the price tag.
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.
Storms and waves, focused by the Port of Wisconsin entry have focused the faces to tear-up these boards below.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
Small rooms in the basement of the asylum were seemingly too tiny to be used, even for storage.
“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’…
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
Shells of mixing buildings.
Steel mine hoists, near the place they worked, wait for scrap prices to justify their final removal from Osceola, Michigan.
This building looked like some sort of office.
Frankie on the White Pine Mine vehicle access shaft. The mine was traditional inside… all room-and-pillar.
Checking out the neighbors. Shot on a the legendary Pentax 67.
Almost all of the doors and windows on the ground floor have been boarded, leaving the ground level very dark.
The playground used to be near the school which is now in ruins.
A simple porcelain fountain in the original brewhouse. The water fountain, no doubt, is not original.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
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.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
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.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
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.
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.
A big sliding fire door opens onto a train dock.
Train-mounted snowplows pushed the snow through the fence and against the old offices.
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.
A typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
On the ground floor of the main factory there seems to be only one chair left.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
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.
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.
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.
She’s a charmer.
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.
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.
Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7. The office (first floor), laboratory (second floor) and mill behind it. Everything was clean and pristine.
Park Insurance Agency is no longer in business, nor would you be able to dial that phone number.
The Sun Rooms, or Common Rooms, reminded me of the Panopitcon turned inside-out.
One of the few doors.
The huge snowfalls of 2011 brought new collapses across the buildings.
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 hike to the village is steep. This is looking into the valley from the halfway point.
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.
In an old ward, two men would have shared this room.
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.
Someone had helped themselves to one of the safety posters before my visit.
A warped mirror in the rock crusher at the rear of the complex.
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.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.
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 gulls wait to eat the next load of spilled grain. Arista 100.
The old men’s ward is an example of what the hospital resembled before part of the complex was modernized. Small rooms, light switches outside the door, small observation windows set into heavy wood. If you ask me, though, the tile work across the floors is the most spectacular.
Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
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.
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.
Vines are finding their way into the roundhouse.
A cottage for masons infected with TB to live together.