The ice around the dock, compressed by the waves, was less clear than the open ice.
I am not sure what this structure is, but it seems to be put together like a gold mill. It existed in 1952, and seems to be from about that period.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
Street lights and pavement are some of the obvious signs a town used to be here.
The moon highlights the contrails over the engine house in the middle of the night. Foreground light painted.
The shaft house, where hydraulic steel doors allowed or denied entry into the mine shaft. Overhead is a light and alarm. If it sounds, the mine is being evacuated, and you best not go in and best stay the hell out of the way. Locals dump tires here, now.
From an unsteady perch atop the blast furnace, the morning light began to leach into the complex below.
A stack of tires, some of which are destined for the roof. For some reason, a hundred old tires adorn the roof of the Twohy.
Many outdoor areas of the plant have become unofficial city dumps. The skeleton doesn’t care.