Jef throws open the back door of an alley for the trailing photographers and historians.
A side door on the rear of the castle that let guests out into a small stone courtyard below a tall turret.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
A 180-degree panorama of the first floor of the refectory. I just loved the colors; there’s something about plaster walls that retain the character of a building; they crumble when they die, which is much more graceful than drywall, which drips down into a stinking puddle that looks and smells like a blob of Elmer’s glue.
This section retains water and is mostly shaded, so moss has found a way to live in the concrete.
A bunk room, minus the bunks.
This picture is lit by a direct lightning strike of the building. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of being in this giant open building the moment it channeled an electric explosion into the earth.
In the nurses’ dormitories, beds, couches and chairs still sit. It’s unclear whether these are remnants of the homeless shelter in the 80s or the actual nurses.
Taken on a short trip where the whole floor of the roundhouse and engine shop was covered in fresh snow–thanks to the holes in the roof and open windows.