I slid into the mill through the top floor, near where the rock-grinding ball mills were left to rust. I look around, taking in the most intact gold mill I’ve ever explored. Movement attracted my eye to the ceiling, where I found something staring back, a raven was observing me with some interest. It had been a while since I have brushed up on the folklore and mythology, but I took it as a good sign. Leica/Summilux 35/Ektar 100
The sign that greets visitors to the ghost town of Colmor. Nothing says ‘welcome’ like birdshot.
The cladding on the 1926 elevator is beginning to submit to the high velocity prairie winds.
Employee lockers near the stage, Service Building.
The ice reflects the blue sky on the rust. The sunset blasts through the concrete pillars holding it all up.
In what has turned into a kind of industrial courtyard between four ovens some people have posted their tags. X was here.
Mitchell Avenue, the main drag of a ghost town. Traces of asphalt and curbs are barely visible through patches of grass. In the old plan of the town, Mitchell Hotel would be to my direct left in this scene, and about 10 houses would flank this street to the left and right.