The east side of the boiler shop sported a platform with a control booth and heavy machine mounts. Note the door that replaces the lower section of stairs for explorers.
One of the clusters of elevators. Doors would open on both sides so that vehicles could be moved through them if necessary. There is only one set of stairs in the whole building.
A string of vehicles have found death at Packard recently. Usually they are simply driving up ramps and pushed off the rooftops, but this one seemed destined for a worse fate. Found in the far corner of the far building.
Rust undermines the decade old graffiti on the steel bin.
This heavy door opens directly into the missile vault and was used to load and unload the missile erector.
Ryan, as seen from the crane ladder.
One last look in the mirror before you turn around and walk onstage…
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.
I like to imagine this as an old-timey radio microphone.
Next to the pit in the maintenance shop is “The Wall”… where rail workers wrote about interesting happenings at Shoreham.
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.
The historic entrance of the mill, alongside the (relatively) new Great Western offices.
I am not sure, but I think this section was a storehouse; it has two ramps that connect the rail yard outside and the blacksmith shop. On all of the historic doors that face that part of the yard, signs caution workers to look out for cars…
Looking down into the lunch building of an Atlas D, near the motors for the retractable roof. In this design, the roof separates to allow the missile to be erected into launch position.
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.
Generations of Two Harbors teens smoked their first weed in this abandoned building, in my estimation. Comment if I’m right!
Copper thieves haven’t left anything behind but the shell.
90% of Brach’s looks like this. Concrete walls, mushroom pillars, and water over the floor.
Looking at ADM-Delmar #4, #1 and Kurth from the Meal Storage Elevator at sunset on one of the warmer days of December. Note the graffiti “United Crushers” that gave the big elevator its common name among locals. Also, Harris Machinery is sitting in the lower-left corner, awaiting word of its next use.
This is one of my favorite doorways (yes, I have favorites) for a few reasons: 1.) You can see how the once-arched door has been squared-off for rectangular doors to fit; 2.) you can see one complete historic door and one ruined door, and the chain that used to hold them together before someone kicked-out the security, and; 3.) I like the texture of the bricks and design of the radiators in the room beyond–the blacksmith shop. Just do.
In this old repair shop, vines fall from the rotting roof to meet mossy concrete. Even though it had been dry for days, water dripped in from the roof to make permanent puddles between workstations. It was full of color and sound and industry and nature.
The Clipper was one of the most popular Packards, but its production was cut short by WWII. Had they produced the car instead of Rolls Royce plane engines I imagine there would might be driving a Packard today, rather than a Ford.
The building on the right was where parts not assembled onto vehicles would be set in crates for shipment.
Between the catwalks of Furnace 6, the molted ore would flow through the chute.
Ruster at The Pool… employee graffiti about 100 above ground.
Although the floors are pretty warped, I can’t imagine one could do many tricks off of them.
Looking into the engine works from the concrete addition.
Note the pit is filled in here.
To the right is the spiral staircase. This building had a definite “floor problem”.
An impressive message for graffiti in a Detroit warehouse, but then again look at these steam pumps. Over-built and under-appreciated.
In the mid-2000s, Peavey sealed the spaces between their Electric Steel Elevator bins. What they unwittingly created was a graffiti time capsule. “Impeach Bush”.
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.
I tried to hide the graffiti from my photos, but sometimes it wasn’t possible.
A board to track which miners are underground. Low tech, but very effective.
The sound of water running in the distance.
Like looking out of an airship.
Ultimately, it was the bad roof that doomed these buildings.
At this junction where Brewery Creek gets a breath of fresh air stands a kid holding a paintbrush: a Banksy (famous graffiti artist) ripoff.
Peering through the glass in the Hoist Operator’s cab, stained with graffiti. The cable and reels can be seen through the glass… these are now gone.
Another. Planet. Coal crushers and the coke loading line.
One of the large barracks. All of them are overgrown like this.
This concrete sections supported a coal tower that loaded the larry.
I wonder what this guy is thinking, walking through the complex.
Note the rails in the floor that guided cars to the coating line, the side of which is lined with the windows in the center of the image.
A retrofitted dust collector stands out from the geometry of the roofline.
The most pointless, beautiful and nuclear-bomb-proof catwalk I’ve been on to date. It goes between two high levels in its own bottom-lit concrete capsule in the center of the tallest, thickest building. Hang on, we’re riding this one out.
The Atlas D command building. As Brutalist as it gets.
This building is now being used to grow fish.
A look down the 1950s foundry building, moments after sunset.
Police tape marks were kids got hurt in the past… probably from falling from the unstable catwalk above.
See http://www.thecarriedeer.com/ for details.
…out of our depth.
Some guerilla art for passing drivers on I-94 East to enjoy. Artist unknown.
Behind the small stage is a hallway signed by practically every act that walked through its doors. There’s also a pair of palms. Since all the heat in the building collects in this area, it did seem more tropical.
The back of the Lyric, including the offices at the back of the theater.
The neon lighthouse, seen from the top of one of the silos.
Furnace #7, as seen from #6’s catwalks. Cue morning fog.
The parking lot is in better condition than most of the complex. The left building is the lab.
Chicago looks in as we look out, for holes and trolls where anything goes.
A theater turned skate park. How did that happen?
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?
Looking at the engine house (left) from atop the stoves.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
The cold air collided with the sun-warmed water on the floor, filling the ground floor of the Keg House with thick fog…
It seems like this pipe was made to return dust to the collector in the main workhouse from the annex.
Looking into the main workhouse from the skyway into the annex elevator. But who care? Look at the colors!
The exterior of the factory is unassuming
A small machine shop level.
This was one of two skyways that went between production line offices. It’s easy to tell because it’s not reinforced for machinery to travel through it. I also like that it’s a double-decker, so to speak.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
A tower above Minneapolis that few people see.
Looking through a launcher doorway at an outbuilding… the fire truck garage, if I recall correctly. Fomapan medium format in Pentax 67.
It’s not hard to see how Germany could turn these into a prison overnight.
Dora, the pagan god of urban explorers, stood little chance off Alfred Street.
I had to search the shelves a while to find this old logbook. The open page lists changes in stock numbers for Cutler Hammer Coils, and one row says that a new coil was installed on the black larry. The larry is the machine that loads coke ovens.
One of the pair of motors that powered this mine shaft. In the 1950s, this shaft was designated a rescue shaft, and was only maintained for emergencies. One reason that Cheratte built Shaft 3 nearby was because these motors and infrastructure did not have the capacity that the giant mine below called for.
In its later years, metal was welded over every door and window on the ground floor.
An unplanned skylight. It’s unclear why some parts of the building had wooden roofing, while others were highly reinforced with brick.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
On the left, the formula for the sintering mix was written (“mischungszusammenselzung”) to keep track of the jobs.
Algae grows where water flows/From the sawtooth roof/To the mines below/The sun climbs high/But is in no one’s eyes/A wall alone crumbles/It was no suprise
A splash of pink across an otherwise boring sign caught my eye in the old elevator.
Delmar #4 is like two elevators in one, in capacity and design.
Strange graffiti in a side room. Someone was having fun…
A view from the loft in the shipping/receiving building, where the crane operator would step into his cab.
At night the city lights blast through the broken windows, casting crazy colors through the off-white interior of the mill.
A little sun and a little moisture sprouted this grass in the middle of the steel silos, in the midst of Minneapolis’ “graffiti graveyard”. Two images of time: nature growing through industry and rust dissolving old art in the elements.
Heavy wood doors for keeping people in.
The tops of the coke stoves.
What appears to be a building once associated with King Elevator is now a defunct scuba company. To the right of the frame you can see how the concrete on the elevator is beginning to show its rebar.
This is part of the oldest section of factory, one that hasn’t had a roof in a long time and all usable equipment has been extracted. The machines pictured would spin sliced beets in boiling water… it was a sealed system before someone cut holes on sides of each unit.
The main floor of the hospital was crammed with furniture.
Additional Sacred Heart Building (1949) Collapse, 2012, Courtesy Chris Naffziger @ http://stlouispatina.blogspot.com/2011/12/st-marys-infirmary.html
2010. A skyway connecting two Which tube carried the beer? I hope it’s the big one!
The office building was fancy compared to the utilitarian factory behind it. My favorite part was the logo crown.
The taller of the two smokestacks on site. Note the crack around its crown.
Note the really old carvings in the mineral-stained sandstone on the walls and ceiling. This little cave was walled-off on one end, making me wonder what the area was for. Lighting is a set of three candles and two LED flashlights and a cigarette.
Rims where bulbs were, light were motors were, stairs were people were.
A panorama of the Shipping/Receiving building on the northeast end of the block. In the old days this would be facing the ‘Dry Dock Hotel’, a boarding house owned by the company, presumably for the use of the men having their boats repaired here.
In the modern control room at the base of the white elevator tower are the electronics that ran the newer building, its rail components and boat-loading component. The superstructure permeates all spaces here, as can be seen with the crossing I-beams in the main office.
My friends know that redheads are my greatest weakness.
A burned and rusted control panel in the corner of the new hoist room.
This load of lime seems to have been left right where it was loaded.
The bricks routinely fell from the walls, like seeds falling from trees. On a smaller scale, new walls grew from the floors.
The largest extant structure when I visited.
Old parts catalogs litter the floor. The office overlooks empty shelves. Graffiti glue peeling paint in place.
A tunnel between the outside gate and the courtyard shared by the barracks.
The old hospital (left) and ugly modern additions (right).
The back of the mill reads “Red River Milling Company”
In what has turned into a kind of industrial courtyard between four ovens some people have posted their tags. X was here.
Looking up at the most conspicuous graffiti in the city on ADM #4.
A sign facing the city on an exterior wall–a sort of motivational poster.
When the building switched souls from booze to bread, these contraptions were mounted across the brewhouse floors… they’re not for hops, either.
Science Alert. When the sun strikes an object, that object absorbs some of the infared light in the form of heat. The heat absorbed by the old Soo dock absorbed and radiated that energy to melt off the snow from the ice around it, making it very reflective.
In one of the hundreds of bunkers across the busy highway from the empty plant ruins. Most did not have doors, but I got lucky on this one.
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.
This might have been part of the Pioneer Pellet Plant. It looks to be a ball mill, which pulverizes ore by spinning it with thousands of ball bearings.
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.
A typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
This is how the warehouse looks today.
The glow from the city is bright enough to read by.
This ward was the last occupied place in the hospital. It was used as a chemical dependency (drug and alcohol) inpatient program. It seems that they were allowed to paint the walls before they abandoned it… I go back and forth, thinking it is a shame and thinking it is a little cool.
It’s a small world… look at it.
This is one of the rooms near Shaft 1 that was converted to be a Dry Room, where workers would wash and change between shifts.
A bird near the old schoolyard.
Found in one of the rooms that hosted an inpatient chemical dependency unit in its later years. Connect the dots yourself.
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.
Hanging over the crane cab, looking over at the trane-sized doors below. The steel beam tracing the left wall is the support for the gantry crane this photo was taken from.
From the catwalks below the hoisting motor in Shaft No. 1.
Mill Hell before the University of Minnesota began developing the area. Now many of the buildings are gone, there are new roads and even bike paths.
I’ll remember the neon glow fondly.
One of the staircases that connected the lab, the plant, and the offices.
A wide view of the hallway behind the small performance space, covered in hundreds of names, aphorisms, and acts that walked up the stairs to the right and onto the small stage.
Two signatures complement this gorgeous hand-painted sign. ‘Bowers’ from 1987 and ‘Normal’ from 1982. The blocking on the letters is still visible!
A ruined culvert near Oregon Creek, behind Old Main, the predecessor of the University of Minnesota-Duluth.
Just outside of the blast furnace is a series of platforms and catwalks to bring workers to the stoves.
Spring melt flows down the rusty rock house. In the background is the frame for the shaft.
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.
Much of the signage in the mill was hand-drawn.
Brewery Creek Waterfall, somewhere above Duluth. Lit with candles and a small LED panel. To me, it looked like a pipe pouring molten metal.
Whoever did this: good job. You get it.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
Reflections of graffiti during spring melt.
Inside the MLK High School chemistry laboratory.
Judging from old pictures and maps, raw ore was dumped through these hatches, stamped into a rough powder, and hastily sorted before sending the best ore to the mill. Mills charged by tons of rock sent to them, so it did not pay to send them obvious tails.
“See anything?” “No, just more of it.” “How much to go?” “Oh god–we’ve only seen about 10%.” “Guess we should keep moving then…”
Looking through a secure ward door at the destroyed rooms beyond.
Call me angsty, but I like it. Found in the Auxiliary Hospital.
…a little close for comfort.
The first floor of the Industrial Loft building.
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.
I wonder how polluted that water is.
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.
Looking out of the labs at the company garages.
A machine to cast copper billets.
The ‘working’ part of the furnaces are about a story above ground level, so the catwalks snake above the tree line.
The newer train barn for the SK Pool 4 complex has a car tipper that would clamp and turn the grain cars to dump them into hoppers. FP-100c.
In front of a rust-welded Illinois rotary stoker is where the boiler-men made their mark. The last year I can make out is 1985.
This section retains water and is mostly shaded, so moss has found a way to live in the concrete.
Saskatchewan Wheat Pool #4 looks rough these days. You can tell how high the children of Thunder Bay can throw a rock.
The only thing that signals that this was an office building, rather than another production floor, is the small amount of wood paneling that remains.
Sunrise in the orphanage… between classrooms and whispers.
Where the trees are sprouting–below the skyways and criss-crossing pipes–are two sets of railroad tracks that turned through this narrow alleyway through the middle of the production line to drop off raw materials and pick up finished product.
I like to imagine this as fountain.
The top of the barracks staircase.
Downtown and the blight.
Sunbeams under the sintering belt. Support cradles for the wires crossing the factory are falling down.
Early bird catches the shadow of Battle Mountain blaring across the ghost town.
Harris Machinery rests under snow on the left. Two explorers enjoy the view.
These machines are at least 100 years old.
Looking up at the network of elevators at the Saskatchewan Wheat Pool. Its train shed doors stand open under the void where conveyors should be. You can see where they used to connect on the left and right. The outside of the building is covered in racist graffiti.
In the soft wood of the machine, an employee left their mark.
I follow this advice every day. You should too.
A long exposure panorama of Electric Steel and Kurth from the roof of Russell Miller B, days before it was demolished.
Ruined cars abandoned in the generator hall, long after its namesake was scrapped.
On the upper floors where the sunlight is yellow–the color of flour dust, once exposed to the elements.
A typical hallway in the rocket assembly line.
Go on and jump in, if you want, there’s even a ladder to climb out.
A matrix panorama of the brewhouse staircase, post-scrapping. So pretty…
All electrical rooms were surrounded by walls, for obvious reasons. Now all the walls are gone, for reasons less obvious.
The doorframes become more askew every year as the buildings slip downward into the gulch at different rates. This seems to be the part of the mine ruins where transients leave their marks. The graffiti dated back to the 1970s, at least.
A polaroid (FP100c, actually) of the newer grain car dumper.
The stairs that connect the breakwater and light station (Leica M6/Kodak Ektar).
Looking into the cut made for the streetcar tunnel. It looks like there is a door in the wall, but it’s an optical illusion.
A 8-foot-tall volume indicator that could be read from across the beet boiler floor–convenient when the controls are 20 feet away.
Looking up the grand stair at the second floor.
The roof compromised, rain water rolls down the main stairway.
Two charmers, I’m sure. This area was a coal pit for the nearby power plant.
Taken on a short trip where the whole floor of the roundhouse and engine shop was covered in fresh snow–thanks to the holes in the roof and open windows.
The State School stage, taken as it was getting scrapped.
On the left is the broken glass room that contains the controls for the cable spool, now gone, that sat in the metal shell on the right. The stairs led down to the hoisting engine itself. You can make out the slits where the cable ran up to the headframe tower through the gaping archway.
Looking through the dark door at Shaft 3, when my naked eyes could only make out a staircase lit dimly from above.
The long control room overlooks giant caps where equipment was removed long ago.
A depiction of historic Liège, known for its rivers and hills.
The city constructed a wall in the early 2000s to discourage visitors. Note the staircase is cut off, too.
Death. About two seconds after the explosives were triggered.