The fences helped discourage patients from throwing themselves down the stairs.
If it wasn’t for the humming and crackling of the wires, I could believe I had arrived to a post apocalyptic landscape.
The doorframes become more askew every year as the buildings slip downward into the gulch at different rates. This seems to be the part of the mine ruins where transients leave their marks. The graffiti dated back to the 1970s, at least.
At an abandoned mine railroad.
Behind a nurse’s station.
A gate large enough to accommodate a missile, next to the ruins of the guard shack. Wyoming is the intersection of lonely and beautiful.
In this ghost town where there were brick, wooden, and dirt-brick buildings, the latter fared the best by far.
A light-painted portrait of one of the few remaining carts that moved everything from fresh eggs to soiled laundry through the tunnels.
Frontenac’s shaft house is well preserved, compared to all other around it. Leica/Summilux 35/Ektar 100