Shadows of distant power lines are carried to the concrete by street lights.
An elevator to bring big somethings into the basement, it seemed. Nearby were the plant firetrucks, still ready to go. I hope they were saved.
Call me angsty, but I like it. Found in the Auxiliary Hospital.
We mark our world in unexpected ways… this is how patient possessions would be stored during their stay in the old asylum wards. It’s about the size of a shoebox, and this particular drawer has a name where the others do not. Its place reminded me of the hospital cemetery where more than 3,000 are buried and less than 1% of whom are recorded by stone or plaque in their resting place.
The factory’s first aid room and laboratory. Sure makes me wonder how safe the lab was!
Rivets are sexy, and this old machine has more than a fair share.
My favorite shot of 2011; a rusty mold for a heart-shaped glass candy dish in its natural environment, so to speak.
The layout and design of the buildings reminded me strongly of a brewery or distillery. To the right you can see some of the retrofits by the first lumber company to buy the buildings, in the 1970s.
In the brewhouse between the preheating tank and kettle room. The spiral staircase goes into a kettle annex where a few smaller stainless steel kettles hide. If you looked right from this frame you would see the bottom of one of the kettles like the bottom of a steel mixing bowl.
Aaron by the concentrator.
A guard shack on top of a hill in the middle of the base. The hill separates the launch pad from the warhead storage building. In other configurations the launch pad is down the road from the Integrated Fire Control buildings, but at MS-40 it was all on one site.
I like to imagine this as an old-timey radio microphone.
This sawtooth roof collapsed months later under the weight of an early snow.
Behind one of the kitchens is one of the few pieces of furniture remaining. Beside it, a small electric space heater–small by 1970s standards.
The copula stacks were fitted with scrubbers. Making metal is a very polluting activity.
A closeup of the old fashioned wood-and-iron flour mill, a little while before they were all scrapped.
What you see is not a crack in the floor, but a long vine extending ten feet onto the shop floor, as if reaching in to escape the wind and rain.
Taken from the arm of the pocket loader–note the tree growing out of the conveyor belt. Often where you see old piles of taconite, trees are springing up. The byproducts of the pelletization process break down and make a really fertile mix, especially with all the iron content!
This is one of the more private rooms in the old section of the hospital. It likely only accommodated one patient.
Was the last job of this hook to lift the remaining equipment out of the hoist hall? The control boards, giant electric motors and transformers?
Worm in the path of raw ore where it would be dumped from rock cars into the silo below.
Heavy industrial looks good in cotton candy pink.
An antique clothes dryer and sample inline 4 engine, the latter used as a training piece after WWII to retrain veterans.
A sunset shot of the Western Cable Railroad depot in the middle of the Lemp brewery complex, with the malting house in the background. Western used to have an exclusive shipping contract with Lemp.
Wind blew taconite dust against the walls of these suspended control room, making even the glass appear to rust.
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”.
Outside the Chateau, where the fuel oil tank blocks the chapel.
This is the former air compressor house–one of them, at least–which turned steam power into air power to drive machinery across the production line.
The Beeghley was launched in 1958… you can see it unloading limestone here with its retrofitted self-unloader. Update: This ship has been renamed the ‘James L. Oberstar’ after the Minnesota Senator. [Read more on Boardnerd.com here: http://www.boatnerd.com/pictures/fleet/oberstar.htm]
Standing on a caustic tank with my head out a roof hatch, I look at the sign of the last brand to be produced here.
Looking down at the Port Arthur Ore Dock from Manitoba Pool Elevator #3. The conveyor belts are gone and King Elevator is in the far distance.
A broken window looking through the First Aid Room and into the Control Room in charge of directing grain into ships. You can see one of the large conveyors on the right, clad in green. Chutes and staircases intertwine seemingly randomly through the big empty spaces.
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.
A gate large enough to accommodate a missile, next to the ruins of the guard shack. Wyoming is the intersection of lonely and beautiful.
The overgrown offices serve no one at this former Federal Elevator in Snowflake, MB.
An old handcart sits next to a rotting elevator.
The gothic landing between balcony and classroom level and the ground floor.
A super-long exposure of the side of the middle of Daisy Elevator, built in 1927. The oldest silos are closest to the mill and date to 1916. They were expanded toward Superior in 1927 and 1941. The total capacity is about 500,000 bushels.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
It’s unclear where this walkway once connected. Perhaps there used to be a building here that covered the entrance to the Santiago Tunnel…
No Bibles were left in the pews, only golf pencils.
In this ghost town where there were brick, wooden, and dirt-brick buildings, the latter fared the best by far.
Is this a fence, or part of a bed frame?
“What’s that diamond thingy on the Pilot House?” you ask? It’s a 1920s-era radio transmission direction finder, a pre-radar navigation aid. Lit with diffused flash.
In case power was lost, this manual signal could direct trains on and off the taconite trestle. Turning the pole would change the color of the light on top and the shape of the metal flags.
A cottage for masons infected with TB to live together.
The quality assurance labs were no doubt a busy place.
David Aho pictured.
From the street, it’s clear that almost every window and door had boards over it, but not every building had a roof. Silly priorities.
The Daisy Rolling Mill has been heavily altered since it was built in the 1890s.
It’s never a good sign when the windows are boarded from the inside.
These racks lined many of the floors, although I couldn’t decipher their purpose. Tastes like duotone…
The sun sets in front of a huge concrete building—about four times the size of the power plant. Probably a corn storage bin from an ethanol operation that ran here in the 1980s.
This is a great example of a combination rock house; the silos below used to fill trains with ore dropped from mine cars pulled to the top of the structure.
A creek has cut through the middle of the mine property, washing away the loose rock and eroding the foundations of the Concentrator. It’s pretty, though! It’s be belief, though I cannot prove it, that some of the water here originates from inside the now-buried Santiago Tunnel, which is no doubt flooded to a great extent.
Power House, 2000s
From the roof of the larger power plant’s Building A, Hastings, MN’s lights burn behind the smokestacks.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
Leather shoes in a supply closet. They seem to me men’s shoes.
Two small generators connected to a Frick steam engine.
The end of the dock, done quickly and cheaply with wood. The towers were for lights, so ships could be loaded at all hours.
The top of the barracks staircase.
Water turned the taconite powder into a rusty, slippery paste… everywhere the water pooled up, doubling the beauty from certain special angles.
A different kind of block party.
Looking across at the Cargill elevator.
It is unclear whether this area was for coal dumping or ore dumping, though the huge dents in the steel plating suggests the latter.
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.
The second floor was hit by arson years ago, but it still carries the telltale features of its original design, specifically the woodwork below the roof.
Fake Fact: The term ‘stovetop hat’ was coined by Island Station’s architect while trying to explain why he wanted to put the steel chimney on the station. ‘Live Here’ was part of the advertising when the building was host to artist lofts. They weren’t kidding.
A storage vault for guns and other weapons to protect the base from attack.
The topmost roof of the hospital is covered in antennae and includes a star that faced the rest of the complex, now demolished.