If you’re my doctor, stop reading this now.

I do a lot of stupid things but I’m willing to bet large amounts of money (and my incoming L-plate and ball head) that this weekend finds a place among the Top 5 Most Stupid Things Steph Ever Did. But when your Muse calls, you answer. She’s like the postman and doesn’t ring twice.

I came down with a bout of bronchitis on Friday, but I thought it was just a cold. So when we had plans to go out with Dave (check out his site — he does some amazing HDRs, an area in which I’m too intimidated to venture) to a li’l local brewery on Saturday morning I wasn’t going to say “No thanks, I feel like I got hit by a truck. Have fun without me!” Two weeks ago I explored on a twisted ankle and in a way that felt even worse. I drugged up on meds and headed out. We were even getting started much later than usual, so it felt almost like a vacation.

First major no-no: When it already hurts to inhale, maybe stomping over (literally) bricks of broken asbestos isn’t the best thing to do. The mold doesn’t help either. Or the plaster dust. Or the foot-deep piles of pigeon poop. OK, maybe that’s four separate no-nos. Why didn’t I wear my asbestos filters, you might be saying? Because I’m dumb and stubborn is the simple answer. I really don’t have a clue. I was in that Photographer’s Zone and I couldn’t be trifled to stop and get the P100 out and put it on, because that would be breaking the rhythm. You could also say that a stray thought in my mind was “Well, I have so much mucus in there it’s bound to catch the particles.” I’m a bio nerd so I know that there’s got to be truth in there… uhhh, somewhere.

I’ve been to the brewery once before but it was a terribly hot and muggy afternoon. It had been hazy and soupy and every reason to spark grumpiness, so grumpy I was. This time, however, it was completely different. By 10:30 it must have been only 70 degrees in the shade with real sun and a wonderful breeze. I felt comfortable enough in this place to wander away, knowing that the guys were working at their own pace and would be available if one of us needed each other.

There are two buildings that make up this little complex. They are both very derelict and broken, but the second had some interesting features. One: it had no back wall. Two: the power was still on, even though a lot of the light bulbs were on their way out. Three: There were fresh rodent traps in the hallways. Four: the refrigeration was still on.

Yes. We accidentally walked into at least three different storage facilities with active refrigeration and huge pallets of minced garlic, cocktail sauce, and other packaged items. Hmm. We backed out of there pretty quickly. I know that Baltimore rats are pretty tenacious and a threat to Homeland Security in their own right, but I’d like to see a Charm City rat eat that kind of volume of condiments. I double-dog dare them.

Despite the mysterious cold room storage, the brewery had a very calm aura about it. At the top of the first building I put my camera down and walked over to one of the broken windows. The view over the city skyline was clear and close, almost as if I could touch it. The wall to my right was completely destroyed, allowing free access (and fall) to the courtyard 4 stories below. It was just me and the breeze and I had almost ten minutes to be completely alone with my thoughts and the peace. Although exploring is an invasive pastime, for once I felt that crunching noisily on the broken glass under my feet was sacrilege. I didn’t know whose temple I would be defiling, but for these few short minutes I just couldn’t being myself to do it. Sometimes I wish I could explore alone. The kind of meditation, zen, focus, and mental clarity I was getting this morning would almost make it worth the risk. Sometimes I wish I could do it.

Getting back to reality was a cruel tug on the rope. Put on the mask of a smile again… and keep shooting.

The finished gallery is here.

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So while my DH was playing with his new toy, he borrowed my spare CF card and said, “Hey I think you’ve got more photos on here from Utah.” My response?

!!!!!!!

So I uploaded them and saw that they were what I call The Andy Experiment. Sometime along the course of the trip Andy had suggested taking a bunch of random shots without looking through the viewfinder and just let CS3 stitch them together. After a couple of tries (and changing parameters — whee fun with 10 RAW images merging on a G4 Powerbook) I got something presentable!

This ain’t no David Hockney Pear Blossom Highway #2 (which, by the way, is a heck of a lot more impressive in real life than anything you’ll see in the museum gift shop or on the internet), but it was sure fun to do. I even did some post-processing on it because the original image was way dull.

I’m sure the 12 of us (and the 16,000+ on Dgrin) are sick to death of seeing this lump of sand but here it is again, this time with missing edges and weird exposure artifacts and the cool transparent bits filled in because I just didn’t feel like trying to figure out how to preserve transparency in Photoshop this late:

Well, it was interesting for me.

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Sometimes you know something is true, but you don’t believe it until it you see it with your own two eyes. And then when you do the shock is still something quite significant, something worth writing home (or in your blog) about.

What I call West Harbor Power Plant was my first major excursion. I had seen the majestic, solid building since my very first trips to MD in the early 90s, but never paid much attention to it for years. When I was finally old enough to hear the call of mysterious empty buildings, exploring it for myself was still a frustrating, unsolved puzzle.

By accident, we found ourselves walking around the property last spring like lost little lambs. If I had known what the following year would bring I would have laughed at myself. We knew nothing, nobody. And by chance we spotted a group of dark-clad individuals headed the same way. They saw us and moved in the opposite direction, trying to throw us off. But we were persistent. Grudgingly they took us under their wing and we went for a… longer walk. They kindly imparted their secret on us and showed us the light (or in this case, the dark).

I still have lingering regrets about not following through that day, but I think everything happens for a reason. Despite the nagging desire to see the inside of this legendary place, I waited patiently. That is my belief: that if something doesn’t present itself to me, it’s not yet the right time. Months passed and the weather turned cold. We came back to the plant with more knowledge and a better mindset (though the matter of our equipment was still laughably embarrassing.) With Dave’s help – and his uncanny luck – we won! I was still a scared little sheep walking into that pitch black, musty cathedral but the experience was one I will never forget.

This building is enormous, a mish-mash of new and old turbine rooms and coal rail lines. I don’t watch horror movies and I think this fact is the only things that prevented me from dying from a heart attack that day. To go from nothing to this place… is indescribable. People have traveled over oceans to visit here and to think that I could have captured the eerie quiet and undisturbed industrial rot that encompassed it in photos the very first time was a joke. At that time it was still relatively untouched, which was something I did not learn to appreciate until much later. In the next several months scrappers and thieves would leave their mark and their vandalism would disgust me so much as to turn off any desire to return.

I will never forget the silence of the cold concrete shell, punctuated by the wind and rain on the metal roof and making me hyper-aware of shadows and noises. I didn’t know if I had any good cause to worry, so I did. After all anyone or anything could be waiting in the shadows, hiding in the screeching of the loose corrugated ceiling panels. Walking the valleys between the coal vats and gears and wheels bigger than I was tall was a veritable horror movie in itself. I didn’t dig that. The rusted-through catwalks sent my nerves screaming. Why did we only bring ONE flashlight???

Subsequent visits were much less stress-inducing but less memorable. As I said, I grew disgusted with the amount of trash and vandalism I was seeing. Still, I made 3 more visits and began to take the power plant for granted. I fondly referred to it as “My Hollaback Plant,” because it was always considered a fallback option on a nice day.

…. but then the work crews started. A full year after construction was slated to begin, it actually began. I couldn’t believe it and neither could the entire local community. I won’t say that I cried, but I was emotional inside. I know that there are people out there who still feel that they can crack this place on weekends or holidays, and I think they are foolish to do so. But what they do is their own prerogative; out of respect I will still not share the building’s true name. Worst of all, the construction plans that originally called for “Renovation” have been changed to “Demolition.” I think that all of us – despite our moral differences – are waiting in the sidelines with bated breath.

Goodbye, West Harbor. You toughened me and I’m sorry I took you for granted. I will not make the same mistake twice.

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… was all she wrote.

Actually, no. But it’s been seven days and my ankle is still busted. A week ago today I committed the Most Heinous of Stupid Crimes – twisting/spraining my ankle 4 hours before an abandonment. NO there was no alcohol involved. NO there isn’t even a cool story behind it. So I spent the week telling people I injured myself climbing the fence the next morning, which is my dirty little secret (less a secret now, but I’m honest like that).

What’s the story behind the Cherry Hill power plant? It was truly a tough nut to crack. But it was beautiful. Peaceful. Serene. Safe. A literal time capsule and uncharted territory. Normally I tend to want to be at least within sight range of another person for safety reasons, but here I almost wished the place was bigger so I could get lost on my own. Never before have I achieved that level of zen and focus in a building. Even the stifling heat of the Maryland summer didn’t bother me, whereas the previous week at the brewery I almost went mad suffocating behind my mask.

Little tiny bird corpses were scattered throughout the top floors amongst the plaster and bone dust. It spoke volumes to me that these were left undisturbed. For one, there are few predators (like raccoons) that bother coming in here. Secondly, the team of alley cats that lives outside obviously get fed by some kindhearted human being, rendering their hunting skills obsolete. Steve found some sort of mummified mammal in a side room (next to a trap door of course). At first glance it could have been a cat. On closer inspection I think it was some kind of Weird Big-Headed Space Mutant Dog With Chicken Legs™. Given the pollution around here, that wouldn’t be too far-fetched.

Would I go back? Certainly. But I probably won’t.

And because of this stupid ankle I don’t think I’m really doing much of anything for a while.

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