Looking through the an access panel at the hoist room for Shaft No. 3. The cable had long ago been scrapped, along with the motors to drive the pulleys. I still admire the workmanship on the spool’s arching metal shell.
I wonder if these windows were bricked after the 1950 explosion with the hopes that, if another silos blew, the people in this office would be better protected.
The shaft house, where hydraulic steel doors allowed or denied entry into the mine shaft. Overhead is a light and alarm. If it sounds, the mine is being evacuated, and you best not go in and best stay the hell out of the way. Locals dump tires here, now.
From the catwalks below the hoisting motor in Shaft No. 1.
Across the walls of the brick repair shop, near where men and machine entered Shaft No. 3, vines, pipes, and graffiti battle unknowingly for visual prominence.
The ‘working’ part of the furnaces are about a story above ground level, so the catwalks snake above the tree line.
Wide stairs between the ground, the mine shaft, and the dry house.
A vintage X-Ray machine in the oldest section of the hospital.
A number of skyways carried the production line across roads and railroad tracks in and around the plant. An identical skyway to this one was cut off sometime in the past decade (judging by the rust), probably for its steel.
I did not take the escape ladder to the surface, but I am told it pops up in the middle of a hill next to the missile silo doors.