(Author's Note: I do not condone any activity that might lead to bodily injury or worse. However, I can only say that if you are interested in such behavior, it ultimately falls to the conscience of the individual. I only recommend the usage of your reasoning faculties and to draw your own conclusions. -Lucas)
An inevitable by-product of urban development and progress is the decline and emptying of a structure. These building begin to decay or lose purpose, the needs of industry evolve, catastrophe strikes, and ways of life come to an end. These facts of industrialized living leave, in turn. A physical footprint in the form of once-magnificent buildings, utility tunnels, and other locations in their wake.
There is another inevitability: Humans love to go where they are told they cannot. No amount of legal deterrence, caution tape, or chain link fence will keep a curious person out. While it is fairly common to find someone who has “gone somewhere they shouldn’t have,” there is another category of individuals taking this activity to a peculiar extreme.
Urban Exploration (also called UE, UrbEx, or Hacking) is a practice that has seemingly grown in popularity in recent years, drawing people of various educational, socio-economic, and cultural backgrounds together for the thrill of discovering and experiencing what is often hidden in plain sight.
For Urban Explorers, few locations are off-limits. Abandoned homes, offices, churches, and factories are often the destinations of choice. For those “Hackers” with a sense of the macabre there are empty mental hospitals, jails, and crypts that serve as treasured discoveries. There are even UrbEx enthusiasts who will plumb the depths of storm drains and sewers, or individuals who will climb the heights of bridges and skyscrapers for a unique thrill.
Enthusiasts have referenced a Frenchmen named Philibert Aspairt as the first recorded Urban Explorer. The city of Paris sits atop a vast underground network of tunnels and mines. Once used to supply stone for early Parisian construction, “The Catacombs” proved to have a strong but fatal pull; Aspairt disappeared into them in 1793. His body was uncovered in 1804, allegedly within sight of the exit leading back to the city streets. While technology has come a long way since Aspairt entered the these forboding tunnels with only candles and a set of keys, his story still serves as a cautionary warning.
It almost goes without saying that exploring areas that are remote, abandoned, or neglected is, at best, a calculated risk. Many “modern ruins” are loaded with free floating asbestos. Squatters, some homeless or mentally ill, are reputed to call these neglected structures their own and vigorously defend them. Floors and ceilings are often in severe disrepair or decaying. One need not be an architect or engineer to imagine the myriad dangers that this sort of hobby can have.
Due to the generally illicit nature of Urban Exploration (though there are practitioners who will contact property owners for permission to enter locations,) it is not at all surprising that the relative anonymity of The Internet has allowed a small but active community of explorers to experiment and seek adventure into the world of forgotten urban landscapes. Two sorts of websites seem to dominate the U.E. web-presence: Community Groups and Artistic Works.
Arguably the one the largest and most influential organizations in the world of Urban Exploration is Infiltration. Founded by the late “Ninjalicious,” Infiltration began it’s life as a print magazine but soon found itself growing as a website, publishing articles and providing a message board for U.E. enthusiasts to connect and share information. “Ninjalicious” was the first outspoken proponent of the Sierra Club’s policy of “Take nothing but photos and leave nothing but footprints” to be applied to U.E., feeling that the vandalism or destruction of these locations merely took a potentially great experience away from future visitors. A quick search using the Google search engine indicates the site’s popularity; Infiltration appears as the #3 listing when searching for “Urban Exploration.” The site still draws daily visits and posts, and will likely to persist to be the premier Web Community resource for enthusiasts. On the other hand, Artistic Websites tend less towards education and more towards spectacle. While still maintaining the “Take only photos…” ethos, websites such as Opacity and it’s founder “Motts,” offer the world an intimate glimpse at how beautiful a place in an advanced state of decay can be, all the while protecting the location and it’s photographer from potential problems. Other websites, notably Dark Passages, seem to function as a sort of Jungian photo-essay. The website’s anonymous narrative and gripping, uncomfortable images of a Mental Hospital shortly before it’s demolition serve to show the surreal and sometimes nightmarish world of a place filled with shadows and nearly-lost secrets.
While it’s practitioners may be few and faceless, Urban Exploration will likely be around as long as people continue to abandon and forget about locations in the cities they inhabit. The only thing that remains to be seen, however, is what images are captured and what stories can be extracted from these blighted corners.
I strongly advise you look at these websites!
www.opacity.us
www.darkpassage.com
www.infiltration.org
Showing posts with label Locations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Locations. Show all posts
Friday, July 2, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Burning Inside
There is a cruel irony in the demise of a city by the very thing that gave birth to it. Few established locations can claim such a fate.
Perhaps no one who assisted in the settling of Centralia, Pennsylvania in 1884 could have foreseen it’s downfall. For much of it’s short history, the borough of Centralia had lived on the mining of Anthracite. This high-carbon but low-impurity form of coal was difficult to burn and hard to put out and became one of the life-bloods of Pennsylvania (up to 1% of the state’s income at a point.)
The official story on how Centralia went from a population of over 1,000 residents to under 10 living people less than fifty years later is nearly impossible to believe. But like so many other small towns of the time, Centralia had dealt with it’s refuse through the simple expedience of man’s oldest discovery: Fire.
Located just outside of the town proper, the landfill that held the garbage of Centralia was located in a pit that had previously housed a strip mine with access to a seam of Anthracite. While no one is exactly certain of the precise details, it is known that in May of 1962, the trash held in the pit was burned. The official account of Centralia’s demise is due to the town not providing a proper barrier to keep the flames of the trash-heap out of and away from the entrance to the mine. This oversight allowed for fires from the landfill to enter in to the seam and ignite the entire Anthracite vein.
Where this a Hollywood production, the entirety of Centralia would have instantly ignited into a massive volcano or geyser of white-hot flame. The reality of the issue, however, is far more insidious. It did not take long for the town’s residents to become aware of the problem that was quite literally growing beneath their feet. All early efforts to extinguish the flames had proven fruitless or stifled by local governmental beauracracy. Early after the incident, temperatures in the coal seam were recorded at over 170ºF. In 1974, a local adolescent boy was nearly killed when a sink hole, later measured at nearly 150 feet deep, opened beneath his feet while he was playing in his back yard.
By the beginning of the 1980’s, a slow Exodus from Centralia began. The United States government put aside over $40 million for the town’s residents to relocate. The final blow for Centralia came in 1992 when the government of Pennsylvania claimed eminent domain and began demolition.
All that remains of Centralia, Pennsylvania today are a handful of ruined buildings, a few residents squatting on what once was their home property, clouds of smoke from the earth, and carbon monoxide. The borough still draws a handful of visitors, however. Curious individuals, thrill-seekers (aside from the obvious environmental dangers, there are apocryphal rumors that the city is now haunted) and fans of the film Silent Hill, whose fictious location was conceived by screenwriter Roger Avery had researched the town’s history.
If you would like more information, please look in to TheTownThatWas.com, a documentary detailing this modern ghost town, it’s uncertain future and precarious present.
Perhaps no one who assisted in the settling of Centralia, Pennsylvania in 1884 could have foreseen it’s downfall. For much of it’s short history, the borough of Centralia had lived on the mining of Anthracite. This high-carbon but low-impurity form of coal was difficult to burn and hard to put out and became one of the life-bloods of Pennsylvania (up to 1% of the state’s income at a point.)
The official story on how Centralia went from a population of over 1,000 residents to under 10 living people less than fifty years later is nearly impossible to believe. But like so many other small towns of the time, Centralia had dealt with it’s refuse through the simple expedience of man’s oldest discovery: Fire.
Located just outside of the town proper, the landfill that held the garbage of Centralia was located in a pit that had previously housed a strip mine with access to a seam of Anthracite. While no one is exactly certain of the precise details, it is known that in May of 1962, the trash held in the pit was burned. The official account of Centralia’s demise is due to the town not providing a proper barrier to keep the flames of the trash-heap out of and away from the entrance to the mine. This oversight allowed for fires from the landfill to enter in to the seam and ignite the entire Anthracite vein.
Where this a Hollywood production, the entirety of Centralia would have instantly ignited into a massive volcano or geyser of white-hot flame. The reality of the issue, however, is far more insidious. It did not take long for the town’s residents to become aware of the problem that was quite literally growing beneath their feet. All early efforts to extinguish the flames had proven fruitless or stifled by local governmental beauracracy. Early after the incident, temperatures in the coal seam were recorded at over 170ºF. In 1974, a local adolescent boy was nearly killed when a sink hole, later measured at nearly 150 feet deep, opened beneath his feet while he was playing in his back yard.
By the beginning of the 1980’s, a slow Exodus from Centralia began. The United States government put aside over $40 million for the town’s residents to relocate. The final blow for Centralia came in 1992 when the government of Pennsylvania claimed eminent domain and began demolition.
All that remains of Centralia, Pennsylvania today are a handful of ruined buildings, a few residents squatting on what once was their home property, clouds of smoke from the earth, and carbon monoxide. The borough still draws a handful of visitors, however. Curious individuals, thrill-seekers (aside from the obvious environmental dangers, there are apocryphal rumors that the city is now haunted) and fans of the film Silent Hill, whose fictious location was conceived by screenwriter Roger Avery had researched the town’s history.
If you would like more information, please look in to TheTownThatWas.com, a documentary detailing this modern ghost town, it’s uncertain future and precarious present.
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