Last Sunday Greg and I traveled to Hagerstown's Municipal Electric Light Plant, a place that has been in my photographic crosshairs for quite some time. Nestled right off a main highway in the city’s west end of industrial suburbia and surrounded by various other houses and buildings that were very much still in operation, the first step was to strategize a plan as to how to approach the building undetected. There was nothing inconspicuous about this operation, but we managed to park and scale our way along the perimeter of a wooded area sandwiched between the plant property and a public playground without generating any suspicion. Entering the woods, we weaved our way toward the plant with the tips of the colossal smokestacks serving as our compass. I felt like I was in a covert war mission or something, only I was armed to the teeth with photographic ammunition and a strong desire to seek the destroyed.
After shimmying up a steep embankment at the break in the trees, we came face to face with the mammoth building. Even from a distance, it was alarmingly huge. The barren field surrounding the rotting plant in the midday sun reminded me of a post-apocalyptic expanse. Treading carefully and stopping every now and then to seek refuge behind a bush or two, (in order to reassure our paranoia) we quickly made a bee-line for the building.
Up close, my impression shifted slightly. I felt an odd sense of tranquility. Maybe it was the beautiful weather, the faint smell of spring, or the sound of trickling water emanating from the small stream that twisted around the property. It brought a subtle sense of life to the lifeless.
When inside, my impressions shifted entirely as the sense of tranquility from before disintegrated (no pun intended). Immediately a dank smell of grease, metal, and dirt filled my lungs. Aside from the sounds of dripping water or the occasional bird chirp, the intense silence was unsettling. It took a lot of mental willpower for me to move beyond the warm comfort of the light provided by the windows into the areas hidden by darkness.
Progressing through the rest of the plant was like a maze and a death trap. The only part of the building I semi-trusted was the cement flooring on the main level, but even walking was treacherous because of all the broken glass and rusted nails. My sights were filled with more machinery in one space than I’ll ever see in my entire lifetime. Corroded generators, boilers and control stations flecked with rust, chipped paint, and graffiti tags littered the space. Another notable detail was a pit into the basement, which was flooded with water. God only knows what lurked underneath. Greg and I talked about what an awful death it would be to fall in. Anyway, I detected such a stark contrast -- a place once known for generating so much power now produces nothing but a distant echo of it’s former purpose.
Eventually we worked up the courage to explore the upper levels of the plant. There were four tiers of thatched metallic flooring. I could see straight through the holes to the ground level, so eventually it became a dizzying task the higher I climbed. Once at the very top, we climbed the stairs to a catwalk, which lead into the coal chamber. It was the most threatening task for me because there was no handrail to protect from taking the four-story plunge downward. We were also high enough that I could literally brush the ceiling, so I felt somewhat claustrophobic. We had to cross in a huddle which makes coordination even harder.
Fortunately we made it across safely and exited into the coal chamber before climbing another set of stairs to the rooftop leading to the smokestacks. Once outside, that tranquil feeling was back, only it tag teamed itself with a strong sense of accomplishment. My journey began and ended with the smokestacks. Looking out over the ledge, I watched the cars speed by on the highway below. I monitored the ordinary bustle of everyday life from atop a place present amongst, yet ripped from the very same normalcy from which it once belonged. With a camera full of frames and a mind full of memories, Greg and I retraced our steps out of the building and through time itself.
No comments:
Post a Comment