A stencil instructs the first and third shifts to ask security for access. Security was out during all my visits, except one mishap where a strung-out local chased me with a truck. Having spent a decade exploring the U.P., I was not caught off guard.
The American Victory next to M, seen late at night.
The oldest part of this mill had a wooden roof that rotted away long ago. Slowly, rust is dulling the edge on every cog left behind.
A closeup of a soon-to-be-scrapped crane pulley.
Prize Mine has been the victim of erosion. Its north wall is pushed in by rockfall and its south side is far from ground level.
Disabled forklift… I think it’s a Clark.
A switch for the yard engines, now on the edge of the property where nobody will find it.
Standing on a caustic tank with my head out a roof hatch, I look at the sign of the last brand to be produced here.