On Saturday Richard and I met up in Maryland to explore an abandoned power station that was slated for demolition the next week. It was sunny, hot and exceedingly humid. After parking the cars we had to walk under the burning sun until we could swing quickly into the entrance and through a hole in the fence. I had hoped the inside of the buildings would be cool and damp, but no, they were hot and clammy.
It took me a while to get into shooting mode. Richard was up and off but I stood for a while just looking about and noticing the multitudes of feathers on the floor and gratings, wondering if these came from a heavy shedding due to the intense heat, or if a predator lurked nearby. I clicked the shutter a few times and then began to focus. It had been a very long time since I've been urbexing in an industrial setting, and it felt good to get away from the house. As much as I love my home, the restraints from COVID leave little opportunity for socializing and I was enjoying being in the actual presence of a friend, rather than by phone or Zoom meetings. We didn't stay close to each other, keeping more than a safe distance apart to concentrate on different areas of the rooms we entered.
The light was wonderful, casting a warmth about the metal machinery and enhancing the silver paintwork that seemed to cover most of the pipes, walls and stairs. In fact, nearly everything was silver or orange, from rust. All the stairways and raised walkways were metal grids, something I've always been petrified of, but I just held on to the railings and watched where my feet landed, rather than focusing on what was below them.
This electric generating plant had been supplying power for over a hundred years before closing last year. The two buildings we explored contained the original generators which became silent and were replaced with newer machinery in a nearby building in the late 70's. All of this will be razed to the ground to make way for new waterfront buildings, either industrial or residential. A shame this beautiful brickwork can't be preserved.
Richard and I went our own ways within each building and I was delighted, like a kid in a fun maze, as I kept discovering new stairways which led to other levels, some which overlooked a tantalizing floor below, or had other stairs hidden behind doors or around a corner. Not all the rooms were visible from above so it became a thrill to enter each room and discover something new, another room or a stairway to yet another area. But the heat was nearly intolerable. There were continuous rivulets of sweat running down inside the front and back of my t-shirt, while salty drips ran into my eyes making them sting. I often had to shake my head to remove the build up on the ends of my hair. I was leaking badly.
I did make it up to the roof via a Jacobs ladder tucked behind a wall. The outside breeze felt so refreshing but I couldn't step outside since I'd be too visible. Instead I stood in the doorway for a few minutes and let my exposed skin dry off.
And then it was back down into the depths of the building again, this time straight to the bottom, where dark dusty shadows filled most of the rooms, occasional sunbeams breaking through the few frosted glass windows to highlight some of the behemoth metal containers and pumping equipment. Years of peeling paint curled from the rusted iron, wisps of flakes on the ground. Other footprints could be seen in the dust, although I wasn't sure if this was from other urbexers or workers still cleaning up the site in readiness for the demolition. As I peered through my viewfinder I was aware of a flash outside, as if someone had walked past the window momentarily blocking the sun. Yet I didn't hear any footsteps, and both Richard and I had been tip-toeing about like church mice, so I carried on.
I was too hot and bothered by the heat and humidity to use my tripod and remote shutter release, so I missed a few opportunities in extreme low light. But constantly wiping my forehead, shaking my hair and mopping my front and back with my t-shirt left me with little energy to spend time in setting that up. Luckily, the Sony coped well in this light. The oranges and silver looked resplendent, a contrast of smooth and silver shiny against the rough texture of the rust. The lack of graffiti was an additional and welcome absence.
Back upstairs I waited for Richard to arrive, and was pleased to meet a couple of the residents, one of whom gave me a look that clearly asked, what the hell was I doing in here?
We moved across the courtyard to the next building, which housed the control center.
This housed the power controls where transformers once sent electricity to various parts of the city. They now stood silent and dusty, metal pipes had already been cut out for scrap and there wasn't a single wire to be seen. Even the light bulb covers on the circuits, which had once glowed red, green or yellow were mostly missing, no doubt taken as souvenirs. The heavy iron staircases were still sturdy and intact, the detailed posts and railings still looking gorgeous with their slight rust enhancing the faded paintwork. I hoped these would be saved and repurposed.
The last building we entered was the home of the new turbine, which had provided the electricity until the power plant was shut down. Everything looked so modern and much cleaner than the last two buildings but lacked the charm and interest. We were up on a metal galley when we heard a lot of metallic clanging. Aware that workers could still be cleaning up the building and removing last minute tools and equipment, we silently backed up and quickly left the premises. We later found out that more crews had moved in on Sunday, meaning we would likely be the last to photograph this titan before the wrecking ball arrived. Another urbexing wonder to bite the dust...
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