Birch shadows on stone walls… have you been looking at my Christmas list?
A single metal emergency slide rusts away at sunrise.
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.
The people that stayed here carved bowls from the mesa itself to collect water.
Shadows of the timberwork and cribbing are cast across cracked lake ice. My footprints follow cat tracks.
On top of the light hoop, 160-feet up, a ship comes into port, ready to load-up. If you look really close, you can see my shadow cast on the dock below, courtesy of the full moon.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
I found a face.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.