A washout two thirds of the way down the tram gave me a place to relax in the thin air.
The rumors were true. Success is sweet.
Looking out of the brewhouse toward the river.
Looking into the main workhouse from the skyway into the annex elevator. But who care? Look at the colors!
A little catwalk gives access to the most important gauges in the building. Behind them are huge vents and fans. I bet it got steamy in here.
Looking at the town from a highway turn-off. This is how most people see it.
Between the Old Crow and Old Taylor bonded warehouses are some of the fouled barrels, now the only ones left, which were left to rot in the elements. Nearby in a loading bay that has obviously been disused longer than the rest of the property, terra cotta roofing waits in crates.
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.