On the left you can see one of the later air shafts for the mine below, which allowed for natural air exchange with the main production areas of the coal mine. That is to say, there were no fans blowing fresh air down below.
One of the most beautiful exterior features of the hospital are these turret vents, highly stylized and beautiful to behold.
A retrofitted dust collector stands out from the geometry of the roofline.
It’s unclear where this walkway once connected. Perhaps there used to be a building here that covered the entrance to the Santiago Tunnel…
Looking between the asbestos house and mineral (lime) house.
The mill is one of the tallest buildings in the city. It’s too bad that the cupola with its big skylights and flagpole were removed.
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.
Looking toward Old Taylor Distillery from the roof of Old Crow.
Dr. Muchow’s offices stand near his ‘new’ mill, but they show evidence of vandalism.
Squinting from the top floor through the skyway, one can feel small, like they’re in a heavy industrial dollhouse.
Sunrise in SEMI. The shadow of Kurth Malt is cast across ADM-Delmar #1. Clouds behind ADM-Delmar #4 light up. It’s cold and the air smells like train grease.
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.
I included this image to illustrate the height of the headgrame and the distance between it and the hoist house. Of course, compared with the depth of the mine shaft, this distance is short.
After a little rain, the roof took on the color of the bright pink letters.
Looking toward the famous Duluth Aerial Lift Bridge from Lake Superior. Shot on a the legendary Pentax 67.
Looking out upon Mill City through the lens of FLOUR, highlighted in pink and low clouds. This sign has recently been converted into LED lighting.
Sometime soon, maybe in early 2016, someone will have this view from their office or condo.
Cheratte lives on in the shadow of its abandoned coal mine, although most of the shops are abandoned and many of the city’s landmarks have fallen into disrepair. Like other Belgian mining towns, those who have stayed in the town have kept up their apartments, so much of the company-building duplexes and homes are in great condition.
I’ll remember the neon glow fondly.
Reflections of graffiti during spring melt.
Stairs and power lines enter the abandoned depot. Shingles slide off the rotten roof. Ektar 100/Mamiya 6
Sunrise over Mill Hell, and all of Kurth’s various skyways. The elevators in the foreground date to the mid-1920s, Electric Steel is behind and is a little earlier than that.
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.
This building was 99 years old when it was demolished for the coal mine.
The “Inner-Urban Jawbreaker,” a one-of-a-kind, salty-but-sweet remnant of a bygone heavy-industrial period in this area’s history. A time when the walls were whole and the floors were clean, in other words, a time when people made things other than photographs inside the never ending corridors and factory floors.
On the rooftop of the Temple Opera Block are some old fast food table sets. It did not seem like they had seen much use recently. The tires across the rooftop is a sort of calling card for the building’s former owner.
I was invited to watch the 4th of July fireworks atop the Kurth tower before the current owners bought the property. Every one of the 12 frames has dozens of fireworks–just look closely. The main display is from the Stone Arch Bridge, of course.
A quick vertical panorama taken on my back at the sweet spot of a great summer sunset. On the skylight is the torch-cut catwalk that used to link the outside of the smokestacks that vented the cupolas.
A panoramic view of the sintering plant’s gas plant (?). Everyone who visits must get a picture of these rusty smokestacks!
Taken from the rooftop looking toward downtown, a hometown, a river town.
From the highest roof of Ogvilvie’s, Thunder Bay looks like paradise.
Hales & Hunter sign, as it looks today.
Delmar #4 is like two elevators in one, in capacity and design.
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 spectacular, if precarious, view of downtown Minneapolis from the roof of ADM Annex 4. Note the great messages left by various graffiti artists who made it to the spot.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
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 fresh snow makes the whole complex look a lot cleaner than it actually is.
A failed squat at the plant. A massive electric storm (see photos) ruined this otherwise perfect flop.
The skyway in the bottom of the picture is now gone.
Snow weight collapsed this warhead assembly building. Now its warped roof looks like a wave.
Colleen on the roof.
It’s not a good sign when you can see the chimney through the roof.
Watching the sun set behind downtown Detroit is my favorite memory from the building.
The big door at the bottom of the concentrator was where a tram once connected to lower the (pre-) processed ore into the river valley, where the railroad was. It’s unclear whether this ever connected directly to Eureka’s Sunnyside mill, although it’s possible.
I was surprised to see the roof was in such great condition. You can tell by the making on the wood that this wall is covered by a snow bank for most of the year.
A nice view of Hamilton from the roof of the theater.
The flour mill (rear) and its elevators. The taller elevator was moved here in 1955, when the Harrisons bought it from Federal, who declared it surplus. The smaller elevator replaced an earlier smaller warehouse in 1926. Taken shortly after dawn. This one picture made the drive worth it, for me. Medium Format.
An unshielded heaframe and single pulley.
When I see this picture, I imagine that I am an ant exploring a mushroom farm.
On the left are rows of dayrooms; on the right is one of two long hallways which connect the two halves of the hospital. The large, center section of the hallway would fit chairs for patients to look out on the gardens. They called it a conservatory. This hallway would be as close as some patients would get to nature.
In the upper left of the image you can see where the gas tanks used to be, along with the concentration equipment. Along the bottom you can also see some of the many railroad tracks coming and going from the plant–the ones visible here were incoming tracks that carried in hard coal from the eastern US.
Indianapolis’ beautiful downtown is in the distance, past the gas storage tank.
Hotel Duluth from the roof of the Temple Opera Block, just before the sun dipped below Thompson Hill. The tires are a kind of calling card for the building’s former owner. Where my feet are in this picture used to be the third floor of the building (note the outline of the floors on the wall to the left).
Looking across the spired rooftop of the Kirkbride building. In the foreground is a fire chute that contains a metal spiral slide designed to evacuate patients in case of a fire. Note the ironwork on the chimney.
My favorite time to be in the brewery was sunrise. That’s the kind of light that made the brewhouse glow.
Tarpaper telling time-
Wood wittling weather-
Rust rot ruins.
New friends met at the exploring expo.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
Often the quickest way to move between buildings was to take the roof. The inside of the complex was so maze-like, I don’t know how I would have found my way around.
Between blizzards on the hill, I look out over the Chateau. Kodak Portra 400 on Voightlander Bessa.
When I first saw Ogilvie’s from the ground, I promised myself to look back when i found my way into this little pitched outcropping which seemed to have the best view of Thunder Bay I could imagine. It turns out, though, that there is no floor in that section; it is just extended machine access! Oh well. Mount McKay in the background in the last light.
Ladders crawl the back of the signs. Graffiti writers’ right of passage.
The chapel (left) and surgical suite (straight on) move in an out of view as fog rolls up from the St. Louis River valley.
Noontime light, long criticized for the boring shadows it grants photographers, comes into its own sometimes.
Looking toward the old power house, right below one of its arteries.
I found out some of my friends were going to be married while I was on top of Gold Medal one evening while it was snowing.
Peering at Stelco’s abandoned steel rod rolling mill, not demolished. The rectangular on the right in between is the boiler house that heated Stelco.
A wide view of the complex from a far rooftop.
A damaged roof channeled rain onto the adobe walls, cutting them in half. In the distance, a preserved house and the ruins of the Colmor School.
Looking out of Kurth Malt a the neighbors–the silos past Electric Steel are those of the Froedert Malt Company, now gone.
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.
A row of security lights line the roof of the power station.
The building is winking.
A long exposure of the city glow illuminating the roof, highlighting the victorian and gothic influences on the brew house.
Observing War City in the midst of an electric storm. This photo is lit almost entirely by lightning.