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 dsankt
  
Location: live and in the fresh
 |  |  |  | DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
< on 11/23/2006 6:07 PM >
|  | | | Behind the raging horseshoe falls of Niagara there lurks a dormant monster, a century old tunnel painstakingly laid brick by brick. There is no recorded tally of its human cost but in 1906 it would be the biggest tunnel of its type in the world. Like the secret hideout of a supervillain it defies belief and comprehension, a secret stronghold behind the crashing waterfall. A rappel through the treacherous bowels of a decrepit powerstation is the single entrance. With great confidence the three foreigners converged upon Niagara Falls wherein they sought adventure and challenge of the highest caliber. Their hearts brimmed with equal measures of excitement and anxiousness in attempting what less than a fistful before them had achieved. Thus it was scribed: the unabridged tale of how JonDoe, Stoop and dsankt laid their bold plans to conquer the mighty Confluence, infamous tailrace tunnel of Niagara.
(tailrace tunnel during construction. Source Niagara Falls Public Library)
Before this adventurous tale begins - a quick primer upon the workings of a hydroelectric powerstation and the need for such a behemoth of a tunnel. Don't skip this or I'll have the sexy student teacher spank you. Externally the building appears little more than an ornately built 2 story rectangular box. Peek through the windows and you'll see a long generator hall, populated by large blue cylindrical generators. Do not be fooled for this is but a fraction of the building which extends another 10 stories below.
(this is important! diagram modification by JonDoe)
Referring to diagram above: the water from the Niagara river enters the penstock which is a massive vertically aligned iron pipe descending into the wheelpit cavity below the generator hall. Layers of catwalks and iron mesh flooring encircle the penstock to allow workers/ninjas access to the turbines. Inside the penstock our endless torrent of water plummets 8 stories, gaining speed until it reaches the turbines. The water furiously spins the turbines, which in turn spin the generators above to create electricity. This type of operation takes huge quantities of water which now robbed of their usefulness must be expelled from the turbines and back into the falls. The tailrace tunnels carry this water from the turbine exhausts out behind the waterfall. The construction of this tunnel was a momentous task, more information here (scroll to "THE ELECTRICAL DEVELOPMENT COMPANY OF ONTARIO,LIMITED"). Primer end.
Night 1
As Boromir famously stated, one does not simply walk into Confluence. This is no Saturday afternoon poke around your local abandoned warehouse/asylum/house/fucking barn. One does not lightly consider rappelling into the bowels of a crumbling powerstation to give a goddamn enema to a hundred year old, 10 meter tall brick tunnel. So we packed a mountain of gear into the hulking hire car (Big Fuck Off Durango) and rolled out:
(pic by Jon Doe)
I must admit those sub-urban chaps are organised. They prepared a mix cd for the road trip which, to my displeasure, gave me a soft spot for that hag Madonna's song Hung Up. The 2 crumpet eating tea sippers were groooooooovin the whole way. Being noble and honorable I suffered in silence while contemplating the feasibility of using their entrails as rappelling rope. We rolled slowly into Niagara with an elitist smirk before the spectacle of lights, people and water. It is to be blunt: tourist fucking central. We are to be blunter: l337 UrbeX0r n1nja5. w0rd.
2100
As three fiends aboard the black benzo we crept upon the powerstation with noses pressed hard to the glass like the red light district. The scene unfolded in the glory (horror) of Hollywood slow motion. The powerstation and grounds were a conflagration of temporary fences, cars, halogen floodlights and workmen. Stoop turned with a pained look upon his face, we were being rectally reamed by Murphy and his goddamn law. All our plans concerned physical access to the tunnel not dodging workers in the 'abandoned' (?!?!) powerstation.
We doubled back and set off on foot looking a strange procession indeed: me in all black sporting a ninja mask, tabi and a tanto; the dapper English chaps in galloshers, overcoats and those silly Sherlock Holmes hats. The sound of jackhammers echoed loudly from within the plant, what the fuck could they be doing there so late? JonDoe and I took residence with the chipmunks and their nuts in the trees to observe the ps. The workmans' silhouetted shapes traversed the generator hall frequently, I died a lil inside with each passing. Stoop ambled casually towards the main gate, stepped into the brightly lit yard and approached a worker. After a brief discussion he slouched right back out. His body language spoke volumes, his words merely confirmed it. "I'm gutted - 24 hour works, two teams inside - one working till 3am the other until 7am. The horrendous racket is jackhammers splitting open the thick concrete generator shells". Like a kick in the nizzos I saw it coming, but it always hurts. We climbed back into the car and sat dazed, silent and sullen.
2200
I dozed erratically, assaulted by disjointed dreams of brick and water. I woke to Stoop and JD talking quietly. A live infiltration merely added to the challenge - it would not stop the parachuting juggernaut. To absorb a few hours we trudged around another nearby abandoned powerstation though to be honest none of our hearts were in it. It was a poor substitute to the erotic dreams of massive redbrick tunnels I'd just enjoyed.
0230
Four and a half hours later we resumed surveillance upon our quarry. Shortly after three am a pack of workers left and It Was Showtime. Jon Doe volunteered for the initial recon, wired up a small radio, adjusted his lip mic and slipped out the car. [Aside: Manufacturers of the Durango - make an easy fucking way to turn off the interior light. Aside End.] Stoop and I watched him scamper the road and dissolve between the trees. The radios proved effective, though inconsistent and patchy. We sat tensely, the waiting on edge like this with radio clutched firmly in hand was the worst. To pass the time Stoop began to pleasure himself and fondle his pectorals. I disapproved and screamed 'GRASSHOPPER YOU MUST FOCUS! LEARN DICSIPLINE'. JD radioed in that all was clear, he'd found a small entrance into the PS and sighted a few workers still moving around. Semi-active or not, we had a fucking entrance.
(looking into the generator hall, courtesy of Jannx)
0330
A blind run lugging six bags was akin to painting a bullseye on our foreheads. We didn't even know how to get into the wheelpit! Kind of like finding the gspot the first time - we'd scour the entire region and poke at anything that looks suspicious. To be caught inside with cameras is considered BAD, to be caught packing rappelling equip, boats and power tools is an order of magnitude worse. Stoop volunteered to social engineer the situation. JD and I gave each other the Stoop Is Fucking Nuts look (not to be the last time either) and watched as he primed his best British accent, tourist photographer pose then slipped back into the building with a camera in hand. If he encountered workers he'd play dumb, lost and British with the accent for the win.
0400
I passed the time of Stoop's absence by imagining what had befallen our companion. I ran through the possibilities over and over, failing to construct some kind of plausible excuse for all gear if the need arose. We'd seen a few police cars pass, probably just doing the border patrol thing. None paid us any mind, that at least was a reasurring sign. A figure leapt into view like a man who escaped the encumbering shackles of gravity by some arcane magic. With a positive bound in his step and a grin upon his face Stoop raced through his sentences like a madman, sans punctuation, breathing or pause - "Saw nobody heard workers outside none in generator hall got halfway through gen hall found steps heading down think found way to wheelpit found another entrance we fucking good lets go". A pot o' tea whack to the dome slowed him enough to reparse his sentences to proper English and decipher that he'd found a good way to get under the generator hall and probably access the wheelpit. I was bursting inside, but reserved any celebrations. These endeavors have a nasty habit of being more difficult than they first appear.
(the lower generator hall, courtesy of Air33)
Jon Doe and I had to see the entrance for ourselves. Once more we ran the gauntlet through the grounds then into the lower generator hall. The other group of workers toiled in the adjacent forebay and though separated by a thick wall their clanking kept us on edge. Stoop was right: this was it. We were standing above the access to the holy grail. We'd made it, but far too late. Lacking time we turned away. Shortly after 0500 we reboarded the Durgano. It was a solemn drive, a flatline end to the emotional rollercoaster of the night. We were beaten, battered and exhausted but we gained invaluable information. We vowed to return the following night.
Night 2
Pumped more than Mr Hands (google it) we parked the car and settled in for surveillance. Like the cops in a cheesy movie we ate donuts and told lame jokes. I was nominated for the recon to ensure all was still well. Jackie Chan style I squeezed out the car window (stupid interior light!) and scooted ninja like into the station. The jackhammers echoed, intermittently pausing to yelling voices and a flurry of worker activity. I watched briefly then quietly descended into the lower generator hall. Wheelpit access appeared unchanged but I noted a scissor lift slightly moved. Swwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeetttttooo! I raced back grinning like an idiot. I could see the same gleaming confidence in Stoop and Jon Doe's eyes. With nothing else to say I sighed nervously "Fuuuuck, lets do it".
Packed up like posse of hunchbacks we (somehow) smoothly infiltrated to the lower generator hall. In the short time since my recon a worker had appeared at the far end of the hall. The massive concrete support structure below the generator blocked his view and the hammering ruckus in the hall above us suppressed any noise we made. I spaced out for a second, cheering inside to stand right above a location I'd dreamed of for so long, but be surrounded by such a hive of activity with our metaphorical bozacks dangling unprotected in the breeze.
Team Confluence snapped into action. JD peeked cautiously down the hall while Stoop and I took to accessing the wheelpit. We lent out weight to the task, straining to exhaustion and pushing hard enough to slide back across the rough floor. It was fruitless. JD ran over and the three of us heaved in unison to create a small, but usable entrance. Light beamed through the scant opening to illuminate a rusty mud covered spiral staircase. I exhaled completely and forcefully squeezed into the top of the damp humid wheelpit. I was sweating like a slave. Through matted hair and sweat Stoop's and Jon Doe's dirt smeared faces grinned at me, no doubt a reflection of my own. It had taken two nights but we'd finally passed the generator hall. I cursed the lack of save points.
(inside the beast)
The descent of the wheelpit has been likened to a journey into the depths of hell. Tis but a pale comparison. Our headlamps valiantly fought the encroaching darkness, cutting wide shallow arcs that seemed to evaporate as quickly as they formed. The thick humidity lingered over us constantly and I could almost taste rust in my mouth. The jackhammers above shrunk to a dull monotonous clank to be overrun by the dripping of water. Like a vicious poison it seeped through the walls and over the past century bit deeply into every metal surface. Excluding the concrete super structure everything was afflicted: floors, beams, handrails, pipes, supports and stairs. We stood above a 10 story drop supported on a pestilence riddled skeleton of steel. Whole sheets of steel mesh had cracked and fallen to leave jagged rusty teeth which cut viciously at all within range.
I led us downwards past reams of bright yellow caution tape. It may as well have been emblazoned with 'I Dare You'. Repetitively I lowered my weight onto the outer edges of the stairs slowly and deliberately. Our spindly staircase stretched downward in this massive void below the generator hall, my torchlight barely reached the end of the stairs. For all we knew this could be a limbo of infinite staircases that continued forever into the darkness. I looked down at my palms to see them covered with chunks of rust as the top layers of the handrails were literally disintegrating in my fingers.
(descending the wheelpit. capture by Stoop)
I estimate we dropped 6 or so stories, including one tightly caged ladder bolted to the outside of the penstock. Upon reaching the base of the ladder we encountered a level which appeared to stretch the length of the hall. The vapor laden air impeded our vision and even the 3 million candle super torch failed against it. The floor is constructed of metal I beams upon which sheets of thick mesh were laid to allow traversal. Devoured viciously by the atmosphere the mesh hangs in various states of decay. The workers reinforced some sections with wooden planks and newer metal but the humidity has voraciously attacked these as well leaving a minefield of pitfalls. Four meters below this treacherous floor lies the flooded turbines. We peered through the gaping mouth like holes at the fetid water and the distorted metal shapes within it. Various pipes, cogs, shafts and equipment poked through the surface like the ribcage of an ancient dinosaur partially exposed above the desert sands. There were no floors between us and the flooded wheelpit, we desperately hoped the tunnel access to be on this level.
(the flooded turbines. capture by Stoop)
Stoop tentatively began towards the upstream end of the powerstation, across what is surely the most dangerous floor I have ever seen. I do not embellish its condition in saying it's the fabric of which urbex nightmares are woven. With each step slabs of rusty metal broke free beneath him, free fell for a brief moment then crashed loudly into the water. A fall from that height wouldn't kill him, providing he missed the assorted pungi rust sticks and landed clean into the water. We carried the gear to haul his smashed corpse groundward - providing we could find a trustworthy anchor in this ferrite forest. He clambered across the edge of the walkway, taking what scant purchase he could. I worked the other way from the ladder heading downstream. I moved carefully across a small section of decrepit floor and onto a sturdy concrete area. Every few moments I'd hear splashes as Stoop moved further away, I dreaded that one accompanied a scream.
[worst floors ever. capture by Stoop]
Through the haze I saw noticed a redbrick wall and knowing the tunnel was brick I homed in like Inspector Gadget. I was on it. A staunch steel door guarded a 7ft brick corridor but today it sags lazily open upon its hinges. As I passed through the corridor I was engulfed by a howling wind. My heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, could this be it? I found myself inside a tall arched brick room along whose upstream edge ran an 80cm slot cordoned off by a rusting metal guard rail. I pushed lightly on the guard rail and it snapped in my hand. A section of pipe the length of my forearm clattered through the slot, banged against the insides, then splashed into shallow water a second and a half later. I caught my breath and my fucking heart stopped. I stood above the monster. Confluence - the tailrace tunnel.
Others had stood upon the brink of the void, at the final edge of sanity above the roaring beast below and in a moment of clarity turned their backs and walked away. We held their hopes with us as we peered into the hazy depths of the tunnel as they had done. The narrow slot yielded an acute glimpse of ankle deep water rushing past and the noisy crash of the falls. I buzzed inside like never before. My wingwong could have doubled as a taser. We knew this was the most dangerous part of the expedition and all celebrations yielded to business. Stoop whipped out the drill like a goddamn gunslinger and loaded it with the nicely premarked bits. The first anchor was bolted slightly shallow which rendered it unsafe. JD muttered uneasily; we had 2 anchors left and needed them both for safety. The next 2 were drilled marginally deeper and the Brits finger primed the holes, eased in the virgin bolts, then punched them home with a hammer.
(drilling the first anchor)
Resident rope man JonDoe set the ropes and I checked and dressed the knots. We bunny loop figure eighted the 2 anchors then tied the tail to the only backup we had - the rusty ass base of the guard rail. The same guard rail that broke when I leaned on it. The base seemed somewhat sturdier and we straight Mr T'd that shit without any breakage. With a glowing confidence we examined our handiwork. Our single rope access to the tunnel was literally a lifeline. The only other exit from the tunnel is to brave a plunge into the backside of the falls and be smashed against the rocks. If the anchors or rope failed we'd be owned.
(tying the backup anchor)
Stoop demanded to go first, he was familiar with doing a change over (descending to ascending) so if things went bad he could come straight back up without leaving the rope. With the ropes all set he donned the harness and slid over the edge. The rope drew tight, creaked softly and magically the anchors held. I looked down at the tiny silver plates bolted into the ground and smiled, fucking brilliant. Stoop's headlamp faded into the hazy 50ft abyss. A moment later from the the slot issued forth a great whooping and cheering. Stoop's maglite beamed towards us. I jumped into the harness, breathed deeply and stepped into the express elevator to hell - going down. JonDoe followed quickly after.
(JonDoe amongst the mist. capture by Stoop)
The new A Team stood affixed to the spot with mouths agape like a line of circus clowns. Small dribblets of saliva mixed with the quickly running water and rushed away to be consumed by the raging falls. I felt like a tomb raider standing amongst the piles of riches in a pharaohs burial chamber. I was so barred up that were that the case I'd have jumped their bones. I was floored by the attention to detail present in such an isolated place. Rough cut granite blocks trimmed the edge of the tunnel downstream of the slot running part-circumference of the tunnel. Their bluey grey colour and rugged texture contrasted against the smooth redbrick construction of the tunnel itself. Just upstream from our position under the slot I could see the underwater junction of the subtunnel which joined the tailrace to the turbine exhausts (see diagram top).
(the left hand tailrace before the junction)
Once again we cursed the lack of pack midgets (and lack of midgets in general), loaded ourselves up and began downstream. Then we caught sight of the falls. Sweet cabinet-making Jesus. The coloured spotlights on the bank shone through the thick waterfall in a mesmerising rainbow like display. The small dinghies were inflated and packed full o' gear. YAAAAAARRRRRR!! we had a conquering to do. Large sections of the brick lined ceiling littered the tunnel floor in shards of brick and mortar. This was an ominous sign. When the station was decommissioned they backfilled the tunnel with rocks which created a picturesque lake the end of the tunnel. It's far from serene and not a romantic lake on which to boat. A kaleidoscope of colours danced across the the lake, the siren nymphs of the shiny thing beckoned and we obliged. The chilly water crept slowly up our bodies as we inched along the very edge of the tunnel probing with our toes for a sudden dropoff. The roar grew louder and filled our ears as the falls loomed upon us.
We forwarded the icy nipple deep lake and scrambled up the pile of rocks and rubble at the tunnel mouth. I stood tall in the maelstrom of water and wind, like a fucking kungfu master weathering the storm upon the mountain top. I was Pei Mei. I was Milamber of the Assembly. The water pelted me from all sides stinging my naked torso. Gusts of furious wind battered me to and fro inside this elemental cauldron. I yelled in unashamed triumph from the depths of my chest for every drop of Niagara's sweet bukkake that stung my face and trickled down my cheeks. The tunnel plays upon a very primal instinct.
(Stoop right behind the waterfall. photo by Jon Doe)
Stoop returned to the rock pile to get some extra footage when suddenly the sound of crashing rocks filled the tunnel. Something began to collapse at the falls. This colossal tumbling and breaking drowned even the sound of the falls and reverberated throughout the tunnel. I could see Stoop frantically scrambling down the rock pile and leaping into the water. If the rock wall collapsed all the water backed up in the tunnel would suck us over the falls. JD and Stoop pushed valiantly through the water making little progress. It appeared to be composed of molasses they seemed to move so slowly towards me. They were pale faced and exhausted; shivering, shaking and breathing hard.
(getting fresh with niagara. capture by Stoop)
The junction is straight up fucking amazing - I've never been anywhere like it. Once again the attention to detail is striking, acutely angled steel plates layer over the brick wedge where the tunnels merge. Metal supports hang from the ceiling which appear to have originally suspended a walkway. Having seen the walkways above the wheel pit I'm scared at the mere thought of one in the tailrace. The pictures describe the hallowed space in ways that I cannot.
(heaven)
and how!
JD scooted up through the slot and left me under the instruction of Stoop to learn the art of ascending (good place to learn eh!). Much easier than braving the falls  The anchors performed perfectly. We snapped a charlie's angels type shot, stowed and stashed our gear, bid the tunnel goodbye and began the dodgy catwalk ascent. After a brief pause right below the lower generator hall with no discernible presence of unwanted visitors we topped the spiral staircase into the lower hall. All traces of our visit were removed and at 0330 we slipped quietly out of the powerstation.
straight faggin charlie's angels got nothing
I've little left to say really - Stoop and JonDoe are hardcore as fuck and amazingly dedicated. They arranged the gear, the hire car and did much of the organising. We had a rough plan, and some decent info from Kowalski and Siologen. We chose to go it alone without any of the locals which caused some friction but overall made the adventure more exciting and well, adventurous. We wanted the full Confluence experience without a guide and got it.
The tailrace is the most incredible underground space I've ever seen. It surpasses everything, even the Labyrinth. If the Labyrinth is slow sensual tantric sex then Confluence is like defiling three midget hermaphrodites in the back of a stretch hummer while you're downing mouthfuls of motherfucking embalming fluid from a platinum chalice with a decapitated baby floater. When the buzz begins to fade bite off a toe son and suck the formaldehyde juiciness right out the flesh. Any super villain of suitably ill repute would be proud to call it home. That is to the best of my ability, Confluence. I hope we did it justice.
dsankt over and out, two doubleoooh six.
[last edit 11/23/2006 6:09 PM by dsankt - edited 1 times]
sleepycity.net: watch out for the third rail baby, that shit is high voltage. urbex and urban exploration photography |
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micro
   
Gender: Male
Slowly I turned
| | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 1 on 11/23/2006 6:30 PM >
| | | | | Others had stood upon the brink of the void, at the final edge of sanity above the roaring beast below and in a moment of clarity turned their backs and walked away. |
Yeah, yeah.. rub it in, why don't you? Just for the record, we would've gotten down there too if we had that much gear and knew how to use it! Being insane probably would've helped too.
Great write-up though. Fantastic stuff.
(btw, are your anchors still down there?)
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Brind
 
Location: Kitchener, ON
Gender: Male
| | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 2 on 11/23/2006 6:45 PM >
| | | | That location is amazing. Nice narration.
Instagram
"Adventure is worthwhile in itself." -Amelia Earhart |
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dsankt
Location: live and in the fresh
| | | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 3 on 11/23/2006 6:53 PM >
| | | | Posted by micro
Yeah, yeah.. rub it in, why don't you? Just for the record, we would've gotten down there too if we had that much gear and knew how to use it! Being insane probably would've helped too.
Great write-up though. Fantastic stuff.
(btw, are your anchors still down there?)
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We sat atop the slot room talking about it, debating whether we'd have risked using the dodgy siolo ladder and anchored to the rusty ass hook or the foot of the railing. I know it wasn't lack of courage that held you back, either of the available anchor points looked pretty damn sketchy. You don't live far away, do it!
sleepycity.net: watch out for the third rail baby, that shit is high voltage. urbex and urban exploration photography |
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crazy
Location: Iceland
Gender: Male
Góðan Daginn
| | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 4 on 11/23/2006 7:04 PM >
| | | | That's amazing 
Flickr |
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ScourgeVW
call me Hamilton
Location: Not Hamilton Anymore.
Gender: Male
| | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 5 on 11/23/2006 7:45 PM >
| | | | Dsankt .... You are god, lol.
Took me well over an hour to read it(at work and could only get in a couple minutes at a time) and I got more then one odd look from co-workers as I burst out in laughter.
Amazing write-up.
Shame we didn't get to meet when you were in Hamilton.
-George
http://mrscourge.deviantart.com/
Is it time for Man-Rage yet? |
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lo fi
Location: Columbus
Gender: Male
| | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 6 on 11/23/2006 8:04 PM >
| | | | This is one for the history books
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yokes
Location: Toronto
Gender: Male
I aim to misbehave
| | | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 7 on 11/23/2006 8:22 PM >
| | | | Top notch all around.
"Great architecture has only two natural enemies: water and stupid men." - Richard Nickel |
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KublaKhan
Location: Edinburgh, Scotland
With Satan, it's always gimmie, gimmie.
| | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 8 on 11/23/2006 10:53 PM >
| | | | Great post. Great pics.
Thanks.
KK
"The truth is knowable. But probably not, ever, incontrovertible."
--Don DeLillo
PICS |
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RM
Location: Great Britain
Gender: Male
| | | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 10 on 11/24/2006 1:09 AM >
| | | | Great Location and a compelling writeup. If it wasnt on the other site of the world I'd definitely take a look at this place.
Joe,
Now Online: www.industrialbritain.co.uk
www.abandoned-britain.com
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'Dukes
Noble Donor
Gender: Male
At least someone llikes me
| | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 11 on 11/24/2006 1:38 AM >
| | | | Good write up bloke; although on the dial up the pics are still loading. And I'md still trying to digest the history.
I'm not much of a Western NY asshole. I don't do ropes either.
I got your tour winner right here pussies, at least he'd crash out trying. |
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Anubis
| | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 12 on 11/24/2006 1:44 AM >
| | | | Gawdalmighty. For a n00b this is at once vicariously exhilarating and unbelievably deflating. Makes my stuff sound pathetic, that's for sure. o_0
...He is armed with seven auras... His shout is the Deluge... His voice is fire... His breath is Death.
-- The Epic of Gilgamesh |
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blackhawk
This member has been banned. See the banlist for more information.
Location: Mission Control
UER newbie
| | | Re: Damn, that's over the top and under where it falls!
<Reply # 13 on 11/24/2006 2:17 AM >
| | | | Damn dude, you've really made a splash! This may be my favorite thread. I'm envious, jealous and just plain starry eyed looking at this shit!
Thanks for sharing the adventure!!! Like Dukes' I'm still digesting all the info you were kind enough to dig up. This place fascinates the hell out of me. You must have thought you fell and went to heaven.
-blackhawk
Just when I thought I was out... they pulled me back in.
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'Dukes
Noble Donor
Gender: Male
At least someone llikes me
| | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 14 on 11/24/2006 2:29 AM >
| | | | Historoclly speaking i Still don"t understand what the christ I'm looking at;
It's a tailrace, got it. But how does it fit in with the new stuff? How far back do the old floors date? And was there machinery?
I gotta be more of a western NY asshole.
I got your tour winner right here pussies, at least he'd crash out trying. |
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kowalski
| | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 15 on 11/24/2006 2:31 AM >
| | | | Fantastic story, d.
For the record, the rocks at the outlet have fallen naturally from above, the result of uneven erosion of the cliff face over which all that water flows. When you're talking about a structure that emerges behind the curtain of the falls, there's no such thing as backfilling.
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dsankt
Location: live and in the fresh
| | | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 16 on 11/24/2006 6:32 AM >
| | | | Posted by kowalski
Fantastic story, d.
For the record, the rocks at the outlet have fallen naturally from above, the result of uneven erosion of the cliff face over which all that water flows. When you're talking about a structure that emerges behind the curtain of the falls, there's no such thing as backfilling.
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Ah stoked you cleared that up, I was trying to imagine where they got the rocks to pile up at the end. It seemed ridiculous to ship them down from above. That they're naturally balanced there scares me even more. Now you mention it backfilling is somewhat impossible in such a situation.
'Dukes - the whole building dates to 1906 I believe, Kowalski is the resident expert on the historical info on the region and the significance of the powerstations.
Glad yall enjoyed the read, the write up drove me crazy for weeks. Being concerned with quality made it far more difficult than just spewing forth my usual rubbish. mmm adventure is good.
sleepycity.net: watch out for the third rail baby, that shit is high voltage. urbex and urban exploration photography |
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bryguy17
Location: san luis obispo/fullerton
Gender: Male
Welcome to SLOcal
| | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 17 on 11/24/2006 6:38 AM >
| | | | super uber ninja skillllz ftw!!!!!!
great stuff dsankt, love the work, and that is an absolutely amazing tunnel.
"crap! tractor! tree!" *points* |
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tron_2.0
Location: Ohio
Gender: Male
| | | | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 18 on 11/24/2006 7:03 AM >
| | | | thats seriously like ninja geographic right there.
fucking L337 as shit.
I applaud you.
[quote][i]Posted by yokes[/i]
I find your lack of coziness.... disturbing.
[/quote] |
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Matteo
Location: Edmonton, AB, Canada
Gender: Male
Current Mayonnaise stock: 1.67 Litres
| | Re: DIY Guide: Your own Supervillain Hideout
<Reply # 19 on 11/24/2006 7:24 AM >
| | | | Not bad. Needs more midgets.
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