The sign that greets visitors to the ghost town of Colmor. Nothing says ‘welcome’ like birdshot.
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The laundry building, where many of the tunnels came to an end. It looks very East Coast industrial to me.
The main street of the ghost town is also the maintenance road for the BNSF line that bisects Colmor.
A primitive intercom system connected the various wards to their respective nurse’s stations. They looked hand-made and likely originated, in part, in the FFSH carpentry shop. They were often placed high, like this one, to be out of patient reach.
The steel sea leg is so heavy it requires a huge counterweight that travels the height of the elevator.
At sunrise the fog rose near the solvent recovery line. You can barely read the “XXX” warning.
This part of the workhouse was sheathed in fiberglass, but now you can see its insides from a mile away.
The most pointless, beautiful and nuclear-bomb-proof catwalk I’ve been on to date. It goes between two high levels in its own bottom-lit concrete capsule in the center of the tallest, thickest building. Hang on, we’re riding this one out.
This is where the lime would spill out.
The two exhaust vents coming out from the boilers en route to the stacks. Plywood marks where where catwalks were removed to extract equipment.