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By The Areographers

7 Oct 2008

Crossing the field we walk fast, but don't run. Running says you're guilty, going too slow increases exposure time. I've got a small crew with me, three trusted men. My brother Kyle, Tommy the world's best crew member, and my partner Eddie. All people I can trust to stay calm in the event we're intercepted by gang members, homeless people, or worst of all cops. Well everyone except Eddie, it took three days to convince him not to bring along his shotgun so I guess he's the wild card.

We scouted the location out first, of course. An abandoned sugar mill off a main road on the outskirts of town. Medium vehicle traffic, no foot traffic nearby. Police presence below average. Signs warn of electronic surveillance, but they're lying. The place has no electricity. Urban exploration they call it. Personally I just like to photograph ugly things.

We get across the field (we parked far away, since a car parked nearby would be a beacon to any passing cop) and are ready to make the crucial step inside. This is the moment where you go from intention to crime. It's time to look around then run. Well most of us run, but not Eddie. No matter what crew you put together, someone is always going to be too cool to run.

Our first step into the building is almost our last. For no apparent reason there is a big hole cut in the floor right inside the door, sitting there in the dark like a Vietcong pungi stake pit. We dodge it more by luck than skill. We find ourselves in an outer office, or what's left of one. The smell of rot is thick enough to touch. To our left is an entire collapsed room. There's a large vault door, though the vault itself is long gone. We bring out flashlights and make our way back, we're too exposed here to passing cars. The next room back is the showers and toilets. Broken porcelain and protruding pipes. Graffiti everywhere. Some crude, some impressive works of art. You can't expect to be the first person anywhere.

Make our way back and here it is, the place I have dreamed of exploring ever since I saw the outside of this place three years ago. The factory floor. It's cavernous, ghastly and beautiful all at once. Dust dances in what can only be described as oily rays of sunlight filtering in through broken window panes.

We're snapping pictures in every direction. There's a thousand types of decay here, each room has a different memory. A different style of work, a different attitude imprinted on the very concrete from years of repetition. We head for the second floor, one at a time in case the rusty stairs don't hold us. You have to look out for warning signs. Sagging floors mean stay away, open parts of the ceiling means rain will have worn away the strength of the floor. There's pitfalls everywhere, when this place gets full dark it will be an easy deathtrap. The second level is as cool as the first but the third and fourth are no good, several weak spots have already worn through the old wood floors.

We head for the second building, slipping through a weed filled gap between the two. The second building is where the fire was, and it shows. We find blackened walls, hobo shelters, and piles of 40 year old sugar. We prepare a specialized shot but in the struggle to change into costume Tommy and Kyle kick up enough dust to make it hard to breath. It's so thick you can feel it coating your tongue and the worst thing is we know exactly what it is from chatting up the locals. One part ash, one part rancid sugar, and one part asbestos. Five years dose in just a few minutes. We get the shots and get out as soon as possible.

Back in the main factory and it's getting dark now. It's the kind of dark you find in caves, never in the city. Yet somehow it makes us less nervous than we were before. Maybe because now we know no cops would dare follow us in. That is until we hear a banging noise from the second level. Flashlights go off without my having to say anything. I hear the click of Eddie's knife flicking out a moment later. Guess it's game on.

I'm excited but not afraid. I like the dark and like a true photographer I'm prepared to defend the equipment with my life. I break off from the group to investigate. I'd rather move in the pitch dark, but I know if I fall through one of the gaps in the second fall I'm dead for sure. As I search for the source of the sound I try and look in every direction at once, knowing my flashlight is a perfect target. In the end though it's just the wind slamming a broken window shutter. The place is empty, for tonight at least.

We take more shots, all we can think of. But it's darker than we imagined it would be and even our eleven varieties of flashlights aren't enough to get properly lit shots. Pack up the gear and head back to the front room to prepare our exit. Ed moves to the door and checks it out, soon signaling the all clear. We head out, trying to avoid that stupid pungi pit.

Crossing the field we know our black clothes make us nearly invisible even in the open. We finally hop the barb wire fence and experience that amazing feeling you get at the end of any illegal photography or exploration mission, the feeling that you can no longer be caught because you are no longer doing anything illegal. If the cops pull us over now, we are just four guys in dirty clothes with a bunch of flashlights walking along a road in the middle of the night. Weird, but not illegal.

Washing asbestos off your shoes in the bathtub is no fun, and burning your clothes instead of washing them is rarely an option (especially when they are coated in, you know, asbestos). But it is worth it for the shots we got. Hell, it would of been worth it just to see the place.

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