Steel mine hoists, near the place they worked, wait for scrap prices to justify their final removal from Osceola, Michigan.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
Sidewalks to a boarded barracks, each making the other obsolete in the night.
Kansas is known for tornados. Think ‘Wizard of Oz’. That, considered with the fact that the workers were surrounded by bombs and bomb making materials called for lots of earthen shelters, just in case.
The stage from the balcony, which was in bad condition.
The copula stacks were fitted with scrubbers. Making metal is a very polluting activity.
A wide view of the complex from a far rooftop.
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 row of security lights line the roof of the power station.
Much of the circa-1950s buildings remain with few alterations, such as these long boring sheet metal ruststicks.
Another perfect Indianan sunset alights like a bird on the tops of the vent houses and tree-packed smokestacks.
The roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
These were some of the most attractive shops of all the mines in the area. It’s no wonder Hanna Mining wanted to use them as their center of operations in the Iron River district.
A long exposure of the city glow illuminating the roof, highlighting the victorian and gothic influences on the brew house.
Sliding curtains gave a little privacy to the residents of this room, which looked and felt more medicinal than most of the other multi-patient rooms.
I am not sure what this machine does, but I have a hunch that it husks and cleans the sugar beets as they come into the plant. It is certainly the biggest single piece of equipment in any of the mills.
I’ll remember the neon glow fondly.
Trees like masks.
Delmar #4 is like two elevators in one, in capacity and design.
Harris Machinery rests under snow on the left. Two explorers enjoy the view.
The roof was in bad shape, but too beautiful to avoid. This is the spot were I used to study medieval Latin.
I love the ‘hats’ on the top of the SWP-4 headhouse. FP-100C.
Sleeping bags mark this former courtyard as a crash pad for the local homeless.
Part of the grain drier system in ADM #1 crawls up the side of the building like a steel vine.
Blending the explosive ingredients was dangerous. It is no wonder that the blending house had so many emergency slides.
One of my favorite visual feature of grain elevators, especially big ones, is how they repeat.
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.
Filters and fans to draw air into the boilers in the second power plant.
One of the older buildings on the site, this is an old power house that provided electricity to the plant. I spent some time walking around it and believe it was fired with coal gas but had a diesel backup installed later.
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.
From the highest roof of Ogvilvie’s, Thunder Bay looks like paradise.
A gymnasium, if I recall. The last building before the road dead-ends.
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.
A set of air intakes and exhaust pipes over the buried communications and control equipment rooms.
One of two projectors, still set to run old 3D flicks.
Snow weight collapsed this section of McKee… the newest section. The brick buildings always outlive cheap metal ones.
A rooftop scene.
Mammoth Mine overlooks Central City from atop Mammoth Hill. In the distance you can make out Coeur d’Alene Mine (red), which operated from 1885 through 1940.
Part of the grain dust venting system, dislodged from its place above the dumping hatches under the grain cribs.
The neon lighthouse, seen from the top of one of the silos.
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.
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.
The bridge here moved workers between the dock, the approach tracks, and refueling buildings.
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.
These aluminum powder kegs were forgotten in storage.
Looking out of a door to nowhere at the fiery sky above.
Not a part of the Foundry, but the Enclosed Body Building. The rebar welded over the windows and the rust patterns with the lighting makes this geometric photos one of my favorites from the year.
The rust garden’s brick centerpiece contrasts the muted winter Kentucky palette.
Before there was a row of double rooms on the left and a common room on the right. Now, in a way, it is all one big common room.
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.
The quality assurance labs were no doubt a busy place.
Looking down the kiln line from atop the furnaces.
The offices were cut in half, letting the fog roll in and the photographers roll out.
Ava between ammo warehouses and railroads.
Spare parts ready for this building’s reactivation.
Taken at a junction in the tube world.
Small stained panes and orange brick. I had no idea when I took this picture that the colored glass would turn the insides of the mill into a bright aquamarine. It was a beautiful intersection of nature and industry, in the most unintended way.
A squat building with a rail scale. Taken between rain showers in late summer, when I seemed to be the only one at White Pine.
One of the cupola air intakes, rattled loose by the demolition downstairs, hangs stranded on the second floor. You can see that the floor I’m standing on in this picture used to extend all the way to the right wall. The blue paint on the wall made the climb absolutely worth it.
While the maps name this the compressor house, I believe, based on its size and number of heavy machine mounts, that it also housed the pumps to drain the mine.
The two exhaust vents coming out from the boilers en route to the stacks. Plywood marks where where catwalks were removed to extract equipment.
This belt-run axle ran a turbine (now gone) to blow fresh air into the mine.
Noontime light, long criticized for the boring shadows it grants photographers, comes into its own sometimes.
Between lines of Number Sixes right after sun rose behind them. This photo shows how extremely lush the grounds are that make getting around in some places impossible.
The two antennae are retracted–the position they would be in if the base was under attack.
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 single metal emergency slide rusts away at sunrise.
Looking at the side of 4B from the roof of its car shed.
Bits of pulp hang from a rough grate on the first floor of the plant, which was dark because all of the equipment blocked the light. This is a grate picture.
I revisited the mill years after my documentary. Now it is even more destroyed and surrounded by new fences.
Electric Steel’s bins reflect the sunset.
A failed squat at the plant. A massive electric storm (see photos) ruined this otherwise perfect flop.
This drying house was full of ventilation ducts, broken scales, and insulated carts to haul powder around the line.
The end of the heating line allowed glass to cool slowly, and thus be stronger.
It’s a small world… look at it.
The missiles were stored without fuel, to help prevent mishaps. This is the fuel pumping building and one of the tanks.
The UP gets a lot of snow, making exploring its old mines a special challenge in the winter. The snow is more than 6 feet deep in this picture, and firm enough to walk on.
Lit by the glow of St. Paul’s West Seventh bars, highlighted by the cool blue of the sleepy section of South Side. This castle-like tower can be seen for miles around town; a Landmark at the brewery that brewed a brew by the that name.
You can almost make out the concrete chute through the open window. Kodak Portra 160/Mamiya 6.
Looking out of Kurth Malt a the neighbors–the silos past Electric Steel are those of the Froedert Malt Company, now gone.
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.
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.
The Atlas D command building. As Brutalist as it gets.
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.
The new steel door of the diesel car shops, built in 1948 and used through the 1960s, as seen from the service pit. On the top of the photograph you can see the exhaust vent.