Because there’s no Port-a-John underground.
An automatically closing door, in case of fire or flood in the engine compartment.
Hand painted fire extinguisher notices and a long room which I strongly suspect was a pattern cutting room.
A closeup of a flour chute.
A primitive intercom system connected the various wards to their respective nurse’s stations. They looked hand-made and likely originated, in part, in the FFSH carpentry shop. They were often placed high, like this one, to be out of patient reach.
A broken-down wooden grain chute.
The great stenciled number on this chute caught my eye.
Every timber pillar was numbered for maintenance purposes.
A closeup of the now-scrapped steel chute.
A handmade sign tracks the progress through the current beet campaign. For this factory, it was about 30 years ago. Perhaps the idea was to pit shifts against each other.
The tunnels were full of bricked-up doorways. I wonder how many rooms under there are totally sealed from the outside world…
A little sheet metal box somehow made it back home.
Looking across the catwalk behind the ore chutes, when they were up, and at the top of the ore chutes during loading.
A big door into the fire pump room.
At this junction where Brewery Creek gets a breath of fresh air stands a kid holding a paintbrush: a Banksy (famous graffiti artist) ripoff.
In the days before a centralized fire alarm system, coded whistle blasts would warn when and where a fire broke out.
This building cleaned the barrels that transported ingredients through the plant.
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.
The texture of the cracking poured concrete ore pocket is somewhere between stone and driftwood.
This corner of the building was the coal room, used to feed the two big boilers inside. The steam equipment has been replaced with electric, so this section may not have changed much in the past decades.
Part of a furnace control panel.
The ice reflects the blue sky on the rust. The sunset blasts through the concrete pillars holding it all up.
My guess is that the Capitol Hotel closed and Adler bought up some of their equipment.
I found a meth lab in this building once. (Yes, I called it in.)
One of the generators, weeks before it was taken apart to be shipped to another power plant somewhere else.
The aft lifeboat survived auction, although now all it holds is an emergency ladder to help men who’ve fallen overboard get on deck.
Work never done.
A storage vault for guns and other weapons to protect the base from attack.
Looking into the Pool 8 Annex from the original Ogilvie’s elevator.
The elevator works on gravity… this is where a conveyor belt was to move the grain toward the main elevator to be loaded into ships.
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
Standing between pockets 1 and 2. You brought hearing protection, right?
The Hamm-stenciled chairs are all destroyed as far as I know, now, as are the custom ladders built in-house for the company. Taken between the Filter House and Keg Wash House.
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.
In the steam plant, steam pipes bundled in canvas and asbestos criss-cross the walls.
This used to be one of the office doors, but it’s been removed (apparently without malcontent) and placed in the shop area.
Below Dock 2 is a set of fire pumps.
Much of the signage in the mill was hand-drawn.
The locker room was out of a zombie movie.
The top floor of the nitrating house was full of switches and breakers for the operation below, each bearing a label and number. Nowadays everything is printed, but when INAAP was built, all these signs were painted by hand.
A staircase leads behind three of the dock chutes, seemingly to nowhere. The lower on the left held one end of a string of lights above the dock.
A big sign marks where the elevated walkway is severed where Dock 2 used to meet Dock 3, now gone.
“Ballistite is a smokeless propellant made from two high explosives, nitrocellulose and nitroglycerine. It was developed and patented by Alfred Nobel in the late 19th century.” -Wikipedia.
One of the walls of the train shed was growing, thanks to a little bit of sunlight and a constant trickle of rainwater over it. FP-100C.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
Parked permanently in a back garage, the last of its kind.
The ’59’ is just a reference to that work station. Unfortunately the scrappers beat me to this machine–there was not much left besides the 2-ton shell and this control panel.
The sign that greets visitors to the ghost town of Colmor. Nothing says ‘welcome’ like birdshot.
The shaft house, where hydraulic steel doors allowed or denied entry into the mine shaft. Overhead is a light and alarm. If it sounds, the mine is being evacuated, and you best not go in and best stay the hell out of the way. Locals dump tires here, now.
What are we to do in an emergency?
Compressors and turbines over the Eagle River.
The scale of the grain hoppers helps tell the story of how large Hamm’s was in its day.
A sign hanging near the shop office.