Just Taking Pictures, Officer

Urban explorers risk life, limb and reputation to memorialize abandoned structures

By Ned Morgan

The proportions of the hydro-electric power station seemed the handiwork of some extinct race of giants. The men inside it, dwarfed by its scale, weren’t supposed to be there. Their plan was to explore and take photographs using powerful flashlights and flares to light their shots, leaving no trace of their visit. They entered via a tailrace (the tunnel where water exits after passing through turbines). They followed the tailrace for about two kilometres until it opened up into the massive turbine shafts.

They spied an observation deck far up the shaft ceiling, where workers used to stand for a view of the turbines. From there, the explorers could continue through the penstock and forebays and into the main level to complete their self-guided tour.

But no ladder led up to the deck, and during the wet journey along the slippery riverbank and into the tailrace, somebody dropped the grappling hook they always used for rope climbing. Then explorer Mike had an idea, a dangerous one. An idea no one should put into action, ever. He picked up a loose brick and tied it to their climbing rope and then windmilled it up to the deck, securing the brick around the railing. “It only wrapped around once,” says explorer Devon – a native of the Thornbury area – shaking his head at the recollection. But it was good enough for Mike, who began climbing up the rope through midair.

*     *     *

On our way to another exploration site, Devon assures me there won’t be any dodgy rope climbing this time. We’re heading for a 100-year-old hospital, closed down about 25 years ago. Here we meet Mike and another explorer, James. The three met in Toronto at an urban exploration (or “urbex” as it is commonly called) group excursion, bound by their shared taste for serious photography. The three friends form only a loose association. They all hold down serious day jobs.

Urban exploration culture thrives on-line, mainly in photo-sharing blogs. Its popularity predates the rise of the web by about 10 years. Devon tells me that the roots of urbex lie in Australia’s Cave Clans, founded in the mid-eighties by Sydney and Melbourne teenagers who made a hobby of exploring drains, tunnels, reservoirs and anything else underground. But the infiltration.org website traces roots all the way back to 1793 and the unfortunate Philibert Aspairt, who lost his way and died while exploring the Parisian catacombs by candlelight. French theorist Guy Debord’s 1950s writings on urban geography also provided an impetus for urbex. Today, popular television programs such as Cities From the Underground expose more people than ever to the basic tenet of urbex: to explore the unseen spaces of cities.

The word “explorer” may conjure up images of journeying into the unknown, but the urbexer journeys into the formerly known – into forgotten places, condemned spaces, or buildings in limbo, too expensive to demolish or restore. Many sites live under threat of demolition; explorers must move fast and take their photos before it’s too late.

The hospital we’re going to is low-risk: secluded, and though boarded up, no one goes to any great effort to keep people out. Other sites are much less welcoming and urbexers must watch for security guards and police. A guard at a closed Cold War–era army radar station held James at gunpoint and called the police. (The gun was actually a BB gun, though James only found that out later.)

But they don’t run from police. “If I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be and I get caught, I don’t run,” Devon tells me. “Instead, I say: ‘I’m a photographer, this is what I do, but you’re right, I shouldn’t be here, and I’ll leave right now.’ Nine times out of ten, people are content to hear that.”

Arriving at the hospital, we find its deserted grounds cloaked in fresh midwinter snow. (Winter is the best time to explore old buildings, when decent air quality is a much safer bet.) The building is four stories high, built of brick in a plain but handsome Edwardian style with later additions radiating out from the original centre. We enter quite easily but I can’t mention how – a rule of urbex is never to reveal how you got in.  But I can tell you we did not break in.

If urbex attracts any mainstream press at all it’s generally bad. Devon, who doesn’t shy away from danger, draws the line at some of the pursuits that give urbexers their reckless reputation, such as tunnel-running in active subway systems.

He deplores the dark side of urbex, which includes looting, vandalism and spray-paint tagging. He’s heard stories of urbexers finding dead bodies, and stumbling upon criminal gangs using the buildings. At 24, Devon still has something of an excitable boyish aura about him when recounting his many adventures, but his features cloud over at the mention of this dark side. He prefers to view urbex as a way of learning about and preserving the past.

Though structurally sound, the insides of the hospital are a shambles, with insulation spilling out of ceilings, paint peeling from every wall surface, furniture and assorted castoffs littering the floor. But large, unbroken windows flood the rooms with light and the high-ceilinged interior is not depressing. In the cafeteria, the stainless steel counter and fridge stand intact and shiny. As we walk around in no particular direction, the explorers take countless photos. Brandishing our flashlights we descend into the enormous basement, probably used as staff quarters, lined with lockers and, strangely, littered with dozens of empty vinyl suitcases. It’s very cold down here, and I shiver and try to keep moving as the guys set up long-exposure photos on tripods.

Why urban exploration? Devon, Mike and James explain over the course of the day that they do it for three main reasons: from a desire to make a record of culturally significant buildings and built spaces; to seek adventure; and to take photographs and share them on-line and occasionally sell prints. If there’s one field that Devon, James and Mike identify with, it’s photography. After watching them painstakingly set up shots with high-priced cameras and seeing some of their finished work, it’s clear they approach it as a serious art form. They see abandoned (and “mothballed” – disused but not abandoned) buildings as art galleries where the art has not yet been framed. And not many people have the skill set to get in and do the framing.

Though featured on network television, realistically urbex is too high-risk a pursuit to ever go mainstream. It’s risky to rope climb or even to walk around condemned buildings due to structural weakness or contamination. Devon’s background in firefighting serves him well in this respect, and a respirator and steel reinforced boots count among his requisite gear.

Upstairs in the central wing, the main lobby floor is covered in ice, with ceiling tiles unevenly embedded in it. Carefully we climb up ice-encrusted staircases. The building’s vintage is evident from interior touches such as square pillar molding around the doorways, ribbed ceilings and terrazzo floors. Devon and I find some rooms whose floors are entirely covered in thick carpets of green and purple moss. Many rooms still have ravaged beds and furniture in them, as well as random objects: more suitcases, a pair of ski boots, a film projector. About four hours into the exploration, I’m ready to go home, but the guys are still taking photographs. I have no respirator and I’m starting to worry about breathing in asbestos dust (James pointed out a pile of material resembling drywall board that he said was probably asbestos). Black mold is also a worry: I’ve seen it in several places, and Mike tells me its airborne spores can lodge in lungs with dire effect.

*     *     *

On the way home, the explorers finish telling me the story of their sortie into the hydroelectric station. After Mike climbed 30 feet up the wet, brick-held rope, he secured it and the rest followed. Then they made their way through to the main floor, the public showpiece area, finished with copper trim and marble walls and floors. They walked out the front doors. It was 6 am and they felt tired, cold, soaked and triumphant. This station is one of the trophy sites of Canadian urbex, and they conquered it from bottom to top, unharassed. Until now.

As they walked along a main street to their cars, a bike cop stopped and looked at them.

“What are you guys up to?”

“Just taking pictures, officer.”

“Okay, so why are you guys all wet and covered in rust and why do you have all this equipment with you?”

After they admitted to looking in the tailrace, the officer called for backup and the explorers were soon bathed in strobing red lights as half a dozen cops arrived on the scene along with angry park wardens. Luckily for the explorers, no one saw them on-site, so charges or fines were out of the question. Instead, the authorities banned them from the municipality for life. “If you come back and do this again, you’ll go to jail,” they were told. After a few more stern warnings from several alpha cops who then drove off, a female officer stopped and whispered, “You guys take amazing photos. I love your work.”

Tagged as: artist, artist profile, exploration, explore, extreme, photography, urban, urbex