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.
A sizable crane on the corner of the engine house still swings out.
The coke plant looked more natural through a grimy window.
The office was redder than the rest of the building.
A quick vertical panorama taken on my back at the sweet spot of a great summer sunset. On the skylight is the torch-cut catwalk that used to link the outside of the smokestacks that vented the cupolas.
The bottom of the tailings boom is rotten. In days when the dredge, floated, gangways connected it to shore, it seemed. You can see the size of the pontoons under the boat here.
The fresh snow makes the whole complex look a lot cleaner than it actually is.
From the street, it’s clear that almost every window and door had boards over it, but not every building had a roof. Silly priorities.
The man behind the curtain watches, but doesn’t say anything. Probably the smartest one in the room.