The flour mill’s interior is really just a system of steel and rubber tubes that crush flour over and over in the gap. This mill was never run off of water power directly, but it used to generate power using the river.
A creek has cut through the middle of the mine property, washing away the loose rock and eroding the foundations of the Concentrator. It’s pretty, though! It’s be belief, though I cannot prove it, that some of the water here originates from inside the now-buried Santiago Tunnel, which is no doubt flooded to a great extent.
Above the old machine shop is a packing building and a crate of cardboard label rolls.
“Crunch, crunch, crunch,” said the ground. “I know,” I replied.
I was squatting overnight in one of the buildings and woke up with the sunrise. This is what I woke up to.
The side of Stelco and its scrubber-stacks. This is demolished now.
When I wasn’t paying enough attention on the rotten balcony, I accidentally put my foot through a rotten floorboard. I snapped a picture to remember the moment.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
Shadows of the skylights form a backdrop for rust-welded machines.