Dead cars were parked permanently near the model farm. Perhaps it had an automotive program. After all, before they were ‘Indian Residential Schools’ they were ‘Indian Industrial Schools’.
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It looks like this doorway was bricked up while the building behind it was still being used as a rail shop.
Bricks from the demolished buildings.
Approaching the tunnel I heard about for so long…
While the stokers are gone, the pipes bringing pulverized coal down were left.
A stencil instructs the first and third shifts to ask security for access. Security was out during all my visits, except one mishap where a strung-out local chased me with a truck. Having spent a decade exploring the U.P., I was not caught off guard.
As wind and currents moved the ice around between the ore docks, the sounds of crunching echoed through the otherwise quiet bar.
One of the many fireproof bridges connecting the factory sections, one way to prevent fires from spreading throughout the plant.
The ice reflects the blue sky on the rust. The sunset blasts through the concrete pillars holding it all up.
Harsh rail yard lighting throws shadows of broken windows against the line of boilers.