Mark poses for scale in the natural section of the cave. It appears to have been created by erosion, where water following the natural fault (crack above) washed the sandstone below away, thereby creating a dead space. The stone doorway appeared to be original.
The valley is full of rocky peaks that stand out from the winding creeks, which only truly run after storms. It is a very beautiful place.
This natural spring was the inspiration for the distillery that grew around it.
From Main Street, looking straight up at the A Mill, only the silence makes one think that nobody’s still inside, grinding grain into Pillsbury’s Best.
The back door into the old distillery building. Not castle-like at all, sadly.
The pigeons and raccoons have no use for these, so they will sit empty until snow or fire removes them by force.
Shortly after the former delivery wagon shed was arsoned in 2005. A turning point in the story of Hamms’ abandonment.
Birch shadows on stone walls… have you been looking at my Christmas list?
Looking between the asbestos house and mineral (lime) house.
The mill was powered, in part, by water flowing through turbines under it. After the flow worked the industrial heart of the flour mill, it was exit to the Mississippi here.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
Jet Lowe is my inspiration.
A light-painted portrait of one of the few remaining carts that moved everything from fresh eggs to soiled laundry through the tunnels.
The front of the power plant (right), the distillery itself (center), and the regaling house (left).
This load of lime seems to have been left right where it was loaded.
Part of the Pillsbury tunnel that brought water back to the Mississippi River.
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.
Chester Creek Infall, near Duluth’s old Armory. The creek will not emerge again until it is near the Lakewalk.
Grand Army, as seen from a Gilman Tram grade.
In the far back of the cellars there are some old bottles. This arch shows an old entrance to the cellars, now collapsed.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
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.
Gunnell Mine was large and probably included a small stamp mill.
The Harrison flour mill, completed in 1897 and expanded in 1901 and 1902. The tunnel that I am standing on probably transported grain from the elevator to the mill. Medium Format.
This peak is a little over 7,000 feet high and is a popular hiking spot. As a bulky Minnesotan who is better built for an arctic expedition, I stuck to the mesa.
The top three floors were removed from the top of the Temple Opera Block (right). If you have a sharp eye, you can see the outlines of some of the old floors on the shared wall of the Orpheum (left). For a time, the front of the building held a bus stop.
A Kiva is an underground, or partly underground, chamber for ceremonies.
At this junction where Brewery Creek gets a breath of fresh air stands a kid holding a paintbrush: a Banksy (famous graffiti artist) ripoff.
An outfall for 43rd Avenue Creek. Let’s rename it Substreet Creek; isn’t that a better name?
When I moved from the roof back into the upper floors of the distillery, the plants growing out of the masonry caught my eye. It’s 60 feet up, but looks like it could be an old wall.
The stonework was done by a local handyman of sorts, who was also a guard at a nearby insane asylum. He did a great job, it seems to me.
One of the flashier details on the front of the Twohy Mercantile Building.
The side of the church, taken from a grungy sidewalk.
This battlement-like tower is the first thing one sees coming to Old Taylor from Frankfort.