Peering through the glass in the Hoist Operator’s cab, stained with graffiti. The cable and reels can be seen through the glass… these are now gone.
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.
Before it was demolished, there was one good staircase the led to the middle of the dock. Trees grew from it.
A splash of pink across an otherwise boring sign caught my eye in the old elevator.
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.
The green-tinted skylight makes this a bright green corridor, the lower of the two skyways connecting the two workhouses.
One of the large barracks. All of them are overgrown like this.
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.
On top of the light hoop, 160-feet up, a ship comes into port, ready to load-up. If you look really close, you can see my shadow cast on the dock below, courtesy of the full moon.