Walking into what seemed to have been a haven for squatters, this derelict, trashed and modest looking resort, was an eerie experience. As soon as I entered I knew that someone was here or had been here. The signs were clear, empty food containers, half eaten chips and the like, cigarette buts, empty bottles of alcohol, clean clothes found in luggage, toiletries etc, so my senses were already on high alert.
Going back was not an option but all of a sudden risk/reward discussions begin to happen within your head. I shout down all of the noise within my head and proceed carefully, paying careful attention to anything or any noise that seems abrupt or out of the ordinary. I mean, there shouldn’t be anyone in here, it should be empy but early indications spoke otherwise.
As is customary we headed right for the top floor and would work our way down however while some of us would generally split up (each going in the other direction so as too not trip over each other and save time), we decided to all stay together.
Room after room, we noticed that some rooms were either trashed or the ones that were in fine condition, were being used or were used, and very recently. To say that this was a bit disconcerting would be an understatement. While the place was almost entirely trashed, we were still finding photo opportunities within the walls of this abandoned resort. The rooms were basically all the same, either single or double rooms with very dated and colorful wallpaper. I couldn’t help but think about the retro art or MOD style of art during this era (60′s-70′s) where the nation was coming out of the very reserved and prosperous 50′s and was lead into the very chaotic and turbulent times of the 60′s. Where flower children, drugs, demonstrations was the norm and the art and design reflected the mood and atmosphere of the times.
This particular passage will forever be the highlight of this day for me. Not stepping into the massive smokestack or scaling hundreds of feet above a massive coal pit with my friends but this catwalk was a memorable one.
My dear friend Q had no idea we were going to be traversing over this antiquated catwalk. Q wanted to hit terra firma, and had enough of scaling and climbing for the day. Once I told Q what we were doing I was quickly trounced with European pejoratives that hit me with such accuracy that if it weren’t for the fact that we are friends, blows would have ensued.
Q quickly sized up the situation and proceeded to walk. After a particular bend, the catwalk went straight ahead (which is the view you see above). Like a cat Q’s footing was quick and balanced. I told Q that “songs will be sung of our adventures this day”, mistake; that was quickly followed by more pejoratives and curse words that I had never in my life, had ever heard.
While infiltrating abandoned asylums, resorts or schools get’s my heart going, nothing works me up more than gaining entry into abandoned power stations. A step into history’s past when industrial strength (coming in part with the harnessing of electricity) and the need to properly and effectively supply much needed electricity to the burgeoning population of the east coast, facilities were needed to handle the need.
While the architectural marvel that was Herobrine, both in it’s immensity and in it’s design, it was only surpassed by the technology that was happening inside of this building; packing the latest designs from Westinghouse (turbo generators), Babcock & Wilcox (stoker boilers).
The last power station I visited, while immense in it’s own right was a fraction of the size of Herobrine and all of the boilers, turbines and generators were removed, Herobrine still had everything intact. So you can understand my pleasure when I first entered the massive and cavernous turbine hall and saw the machines for the first time, I was utterly floored. I was there for about 8hrs and I still hadn’t seen or photographed everything that Herobrine had to offer. Suffice it to say, another visit is very imminent.