At the end of a conveyor belt and poised over a loading station, it’s easy to image the tinny sound of chicken feed sliding across the metal. Like sand on the old-fashioned stainless steel playground slides.
Power-up to cool down… would have been nice on the hot day I climbed on top of this machine.
The sign that greets visitors to the ghost town of Colmor. Nothing says ‘welcome’ like birdshot.
This rockhouse was added below the shaft to load Gilpin Tram cars.
In the bottom of a creek, an antique children’s wheelchair is buried in grass, where someone threw it. Wooden leg braces suggest this dates to the 1950s.
In the mine offices, hooks and a board with numbers was the system to keep track of who was in the mine and who was safe.
The top floor of the apartment seemed so empty without the furniture that once adorned it. Instead, my eyes were drawn to the worn paths in the floor between the rooms.
Looking into the Pool 8 Annex from the original Ogilvie’s elevator.
In its last years, the church had a congregation of only about 100. It opened with 1.700…