Fort McClary

If I were judging local forts in the Seacoast and were to give an award for most improved in recent years, the award would go to Fort McClary.

This fort turned state park was manned all the way back to the Revolutionary War, and is located along coastal Route 103 in Kittery, a bit down the road from its larger sibling Fort Foster. I remember visiting McClary in years past when it had a boarded up, abandoned feel to it, but sometime in early 2000 a group called the Friends of Fort McClary began tending to the site, and if you pay a visit today you'll find a clean, informative park with structures to explore, cannons on display, and even officers quarters you can walk through.

There's no charge to visit the park, but there is a voluntary donation spot that I feel is well worth the contribution. Upon entering, first thing you'll see walking through the parking lot is a long cement wall. Walk around this wall and up a hill and you'll be greeted with this sight.

All those inlets in this structure once made good command posts for riflemen - easy to shoot out of, but tricky to shoot into - but nowadays they serve better as quick spots to rest and get a little relief from the sun.

This brick structure is listed as the Rifleman's House and is over 200 years old. Equally impressive, here are our two youngest kids hugging for a picture.

Evidence of what the Friends of Fort McClary have done is no more appreciable than in the next building you'll enter, the Officer's Quarters. This was once boarded up and off limits, but it's been opened and renovated and you're now able to wander all throughout it. Walk up the stairs and you'll even find this cannon, which to Logan's disappointment was not loaded.

After finishing with the buildings make your way down toward the water where you'll find even larger cannons on display.

Another cool spot was this tunnel, which from a distance looks like it's going to lead you right under water. It goes a little ways in before dead-ending at some more of those rifleman openings overlooking the water.

And like all our forts, this one comes with a wonderful view of the Atlantic Ocean.

This isn't the biggest fort we have on the Seacoast, it doesn't have the most bunkers, and there aren't as many hidden spaces to explore as others in the area. But what it does have is perhaps the best blend of all these things in one location. If anyone was new to visiting forts in the area and asked me where a good place to start is, I would direct them here, to Fort McClary.

Links:
Photo Album
Official Website

Sugar Hill Mines - Part One

Even though this adventure took place in the 1990's, I'm putting it out here and calling it part one because there's a part two coming up next month when we revisit the location and try to find it again. And depending on how well that goes, there may even be a special part three.

In my younger days I would go to great lengths to find adventure. I had been on a kick with exploring caves, and in my quest to find some new underground spots I started searching out abandoned mines. This was the days before Internet and having all that stuff at your fingertips, so one weekend I dragged Tina to the UNH library and we scoured historical material for any info we could find on local mines. It took some digging but the trip ended up being a success, and to this day I still have the 16 page research pamphlet on mines, locations included, that I found and photocopied at a dime per page.

Armed with this material, me and some friends began tackling the list over the following weekends, starting with the ones closest to home. The first thing we learned, much to our disappointment, was that not all mines were actual tunnels bored into the earth. Some mines are just big open pits where the walls are continually chipped farther and farther back in search of the precious stone. That's great and all from a business standpoint, but standing in a big open pit doesn't elicit very much sense of adventure. We kept at it though, and somewhere around the 3rd or 4th mine we visited was Sugar Hill.

Our first trip turned out to be no more than a scouting mission. That wasn't the plan going in, but after hiking partway up the mountain and encountering this giant hole in the earth, there was just no way to continue. We stared into that pit for probably 15 minutes trying to figure out a way down, but without rope it wasn't happening. Temporarily set back, we returned the next weekend with rope (clothesline I believe, we were no professionals) and I was the first to reach the bottom. With my old 35mm film camera I took this blurry picture looking up.

Once we were all inside we followed a mine shaft leading away from the pit, then next thing we knew we were back out in the sunlight. The shaft had led to a tall and open crevice, and at this point it looked like that might be all there was of the mine as we began a gradual climb back to the surface of the mountain. This at least saved us from having to go back and try scaling the walls of the pit to get out, which was good, but it seemed our adventure had come to somewhat of an abrupt ending.

But here's where things got fun. We found this hole in the hill, and climbing into it we found a completely separate cave system that we could only assume must originally have been tied to the mineshaft somehow. Nothing about it felt like anything to do with a mine, however - there was no structure or uniformity anywhere - but it picked up right where the mine ended. The hole to my left is the entrance to the cave.

Inside was a whole new world to explore. This was a large cavern with more than just one section, and unlike other wild caves in New Hampshire, this one also had several tall spots that didn't require ducking.

There was also a lower level which better than anything demonstrated the depths of the cave. This picture was taken in late spring, on a day warm enough for us to be hiking through the woods in t-shirts, yet here at its lowest point water remained frozen mid-stream.

Climbing out of this lower level was no easy trick. Here I am (back in the days of having hair but already showing signs of trouble), making the squeeze during a follow-up expedition.

Most of my Sugar Hill memories are limited to the pictures I have of the place, and looking through them again has excited me to make our return trip after 20+ years. I hope I'm still able to locate the entrance, and I hope the cave remains as secluded and untouched as it once was - there wasn't a beer can or hint of graffiti anywhere.

I also hope I'm still able to squeeze myself back into that lower chamber.

Links:
25 Years Later - A Return To Sugar Hill Cave

Bethlehem Steel

Sometimes the best places I visit are the ones I'm not expecting too much out of. Maybe I'm going there because a picture or fact about it peaked my interest, or maybe I just happen to be in the area. But then it surpasses all my expectations and becomes something that will stick with me for a long time to come. Bethlehem Steel is one of those places.

We went there on our return trip from Pennsylvania and I suggested it as a stop-off mainly because the size of the place interested me, but also because it was on the same route as another place we wanted to see, Frick's Lock. Well, Frick's Lock ended up being off limits, so this meant Bethlehem Steel was going to be our only other stop on the 10 hour car ride home.

Here's what I knew about the place heading in. It was an old steel factory, it was closed for business but now open for public touring, and it was big. And by big, I mean giant! Any picture I took that day could not do justice to the sight we saw driving into Lehigh Valley and seeing this place absolutely hover over the city of Bethlehem.


After figuring out where to park and how to get into the place, our first pleasant surprise was that, even though it's been turned into a park and someone went through the cost of adding all new raised walkways, there's no charge to tour the factory. They asked just two things of us, sign the guest register and tell them where we came from. Then it was up the catwalk and off we were on our self guided tour.

We probably spent half an hour walking the length of Bethlehem Steel, reading plaques that showed old-time workers running the various pieces of machinery, and pressing buttons to listen to recordings that explained what the heck we were looking at. There were perhaps twenty of these information locations, or stopping points, throughout.

In addition to these stops and the behemoth that was the main factory, there were plenty of other cool things to see. This train was used to transport heavy loads of material to and from the factory. It's also the only train I've seen that needs to be weed-wacked.

And here's the gas blowing engine room that housed a dozen twenty-four foot flywheels.

What I came away with from the tour were two things. One, if I had studied all the information made available to us I would have left with a pretty good idea of how steel was made. But that was hard for me to do when everything was so big that all I wanted to do was look up in awe. They really did a great job explaining each process, though.

Second, and more importantly, I came away with a complete admiration for the men and women who made a living at Bethlehem Steel. The day we visited was a warm day and the heat was absolutely radiating off the place. Here I was, leisurely poking along in shorts and a t-shirt, stopping to sip water every twenty feet or so, and still I was sweating. To work up to a ten hour summer day - covered in protective gear, handling red hot molten iron, and dealing with boilers that reached 3,000 degrees in temperature - is something I'll never have to experience in my lifetime. I cannot imagine being in those conditions and having to do something like climb this 100+ foot ladder that ascends the outside of a tower, but there were days when it was somebody's job to do just that.

Those were a class of worker unlike any other, and the next time I get frustrated at my job because the copier is jammed or because someone didn't empty their k-cup from the coffee machine, I'm going to remember these men and woman who, among all Bethlehem Steel's 15 locations, regularly battled inferno conditions to produce enough steel each day to build a US battleship.

And I'm going to consider myself lucky and happily continue about my day.

Links:
Photo Album

Devil's Den Cave at Pawtuckaway State Park

Being the Granite State, it's easy to assume we would have our fair share of caves here in New Hampshire. Unfortunately that's not the case. Many of the larger ones you'll find in the eastern United States, beginning in New York and heading south, are river-carved caves through softer limestone. The few you'll find in New England are mainly the "boulder cave" variety, meaning they are chambers or caverns formed in the gaps of piled up boulders, and therefore much smaller.

Other than our two commercial caves, we have quite a few smaller ones in the wild of New Hampshire. You can find lists of them online, but you'll be hard pressed to find anyone freely offering their location. The caving community is a tight lipped group, and if you've ever been to a treasured spot and found it littered with graffiti and beer cans you'll understand why. That's not a deterrent to look for them, but if you have to work hard to find one the hope is that you'll treat it with respect.

It was with this spirit of adventure that we headed out to Pawtuckaway Park to search for Devil's Den. (As a side note, this is not the most creative name it could have been given - there are at least 2 other Devil's Den caves in New Hampshire that I know of). We knew it is was somewhere in the vicinity, but not part of, a trail called Boulder Alley. This trail looks exactly like you'd expect it to, littered with boulders and very popular with the rock climbing community. Never one to duck a challenge, here I am after clawing my way up one of the smaller boulders. Madison described this one as looking like an angry pig.

Beyond Boulder Alley is where I believed the cave lay. One thing about hikers is they're a friendly bunch, and this saved us a good amount of walking and disappointment that day. Stopping to talk with a particularly chatty guy I mentioned to him that we were headed to Devil's Den. He was a regular here, and much to my chagrin I had us headed entirely in the wrong direction. He pointed us back toward Boulder Alley and beyond, to a ledge called the Cliffs.

What I knew about the entrance is that is was crooked, almost a 45 degree crawlspace, and that it was located partially up one of the cliffs. Even though we were in the vicinity, and even though I knew the general description, it still took a bit of hunting to find it. But when I did there wasn't much doubt.

Part one of my challenge done, I still had part two. Drag Tina into the cave. Until that point she thought she was there for the hiking only. Nope! It took a few minutes of harassing but I eventually got her to butt-slide down the entrance hole and into Devil's Den.

Pawtuckaway is loaded with places to explore, and I encourage anyone who enjoys the outdoors to spend a day there. There are giant boulders, miles of trails, wild caves to drag your wife into, even old graveyards in the woods to mess with your imagination.

And if you still have time, take a walk down Tower Trail and climb one of New Hampshire's remaining fire watch towers.

If you're like us, one day won't be enough to fit all these adventures in, you'll need to go back a second one to see and appreciate everything.

Burning Town of Centralia

In 1962 a controlled burn was started in a landfill at Centralia PA. The fire made its way into the coal mine beneath the town where, over the years, it spread its way through a network of veins and continues to burn more than 50 years later today.

At its peak this mining community was home to more than 2,000 residents, but as the fire intensified and became more dangerous, many began to flee. After the near death of a boy who in 1981 fell into the mine through a collapse in a yard, the government began evacuation of its remaining citizens. Today, Centralia is home to just a handful of tenacious residents who refuse to leave, under the compromise that once they die or move away their houses will be condemned and destroyed.

Google Centralia and you'll see picture after picture of a land on fire. You won't see much of the fire itself in these pictures, but rather evidence of a land on fire as smoke billows from every crack in the earth. With these images in mind I expected distant smoke would alert us as we were approaching the town, so we were shocked to suddenly find ourselves driving right through the heart of Centralia without any notice - no smoke, no roadblocks, no skull and crossbones danger signs. Just a group of other sightseers indicating to us that this was probably a good place to stop and look around.

The first place we visited was St. Ignatius Cemetery, which for a town of a half dozen residents is surprisingly well kept up. A documentary I watched claimed that many former residents choose to return to Centralia for burial upon their death.

From here we followed the woods along one side of the cemetery and spoke to some teenagers who pointed us in the direction of graffiti road. This is the unofficial name for a section of route 61 that, after having twice been repaired due to sinking into the fire below, was abandoned and rerouted around town. It is the most identifiable part of Centralia, both for the undulations and cracks caused by the road sinking into the fire ...

... and by the graffiti that covers it from one end to the other.

It was on this road that we spent some time talking to a fellow named Roy, who was relaxing on his 4-wheeler while waiting for buddies. By his count he'd been waiting for his friends 3 beers so far, and he was just cracking another one. Roy grew up in a neighboring town minutes from Centralia, and at 50 years of age he'd seen the entire transformation from a once thriving mining community, whose roads he learned to drive on, to the desolate area it was today. On a warm day like this one he told us we probably wouldn't see any smoke, but if you came here on a cold day you could walk through the woods and see steam venting. Also, come here in the winter and you'll find random pockets of melted snow caused by escaping heat. So the fire does continue to burn, even if not as strong as it once did.

We then spent some time riding the streets and looking for the few remaining houses. Roads without upkeep quickly stop resembling roads.

We also came across some of the more ominous warning signs I'd expected to find on the way into town.

In total we saw three houses and one church in our travels that day. The church you cannot miss, it sits halfway up a hilltop and rises above the surrounding trees. We drove to it but did not take pictures as there were a handful of cars and we believed a service was in session, something that made me both sad and happy.

As we were leaving Centralia a couple stopped us in their pickup. They were driving into town for the first time and the girl was wondering if the ground was safe to walk on. Was it hot to the touch? Was there any danger of falling in? This is an impression I suspect many outsiders come into this place with, that it's going to be something resembling the inferno town of Silent Hill - a horror movie inspired by Centralia. But due to the town's emptiness the images for me were mostly those in my imagination.

I left Centralia with a glimpse into the lives of people who, through no fault of their own, were forced to uproot those lives and leave their houses behind. Except for those few who chose not to leave, and to this day still take pride in maintaining their doomed property.

The Concrete City

In the summer of 2016 a friend and I made the first of what we hope will be an annual road trip / adventure tour to another state. For this year's trip we chose the state of Pennsylvania, and for the first part of this trip we stopped at the Concrete City of Nanticoke.
         
Imagine a neighborhood of 22 duplex buildings spread out in somewhat of a circle, almost like a giant cul-de-sac. Next, imagine that each of these buildings is made entirely of concrete. Finally, imagine that this neighborhood has been abandoned for nearly 100 years and is being overtaken by the forest. This is the Concrete City of Nanticoke.

If it weren't for our GPS coordinates I'm not sure we even would have found the place. We were looking for a neighborhood therefore we assumed we should be looking for some sort of road entrance. But when we stopped the car where our coordinates said we should we found ourselves directly across from these trails.

Up the trail we went, and after maybe a quarter mile bike ride (which included one wrong turn that nearly landed us in someone's backyard) we found the first of our buildings. That feeling of wonderment I got coming across something so seemingly out of place is something everyone should experience at least once in their life.

There is not a window or door left in any of the buildings, just openings, so we had no issue getting inside and exploring them.

In fact, some buildings even had extra windows where kids had broken through walls.

As can be expected in a place like this, each building was covered with graffiti both inside and out. I have mixed feelings about that. I'm no fan of vandalizing, but I found myself taking pictures of some of the more eye-catching work.

On the other hand, the place had more than its share of garbage from people like this genius. I was happy not to run into him during any of our travels.

Built as company housing for a local a coal company, these days Concrete City is used for police training as well as paintball & pellet gun wars. One of our goals was to climb onto the roof of a building, and it was up there that I found evidence of this latter activity. Fortunately, this is just a toy :)

Being built out of concrete is what eventually caused the abandonment of these buildings, as the community was built without plumbing and not easily adaptable to the installation of it. Being built out of concrete is also the reason they remain standing nearly 100 years after being deserted, rather than being demolished. They tried - dynamite was used in the attempted destruction of one building - but because they are so sturdy very little damage was done and the idea was given up on.

And so fortunately for people like myself, here they remain.

Elephant Mountain B52 Crash Remains

Once a year our family makes the 4-1/2 hour drive from the Seacoast of New Hampshire to Moosehead Lake in Maine, where Tina's mother and husband spend each summer. The lake is beautiful and our time is spent hiking, kayaking, and exploring in a whirlwind of fun throughout the never long enough time we're there.

A few years back we were told of a site on Elephant Mountain, perhaps 15 minutes from where we were staying, where a B-52 had crashed into the mountainside back in 1963. Extreme turbulence had snapped the vertical stabilizer of the plane causing it to crash into several feet of snow, with only three men being able to eject. Interestingly enough, one of the men who ejected landed on the ground before his parachute had time to deploy, but because he landed in such deep snow he survived the non-parachute landing, the only person ever to do so. Nine people in total were aboard the plane, but between going down in the crash and huddling through the night in extreme cold only two survived by the time a rescue helicopter found and retrieved them the next day.

The property is owned by the Plum Creek Timber Company and they have opened the crash site for public viewing. It is maintained by the Moosehead Riders snowmobile club who hold annual rides to honor the victims. On the day we went there were perhaps 20 people walking around viewing the wreckage, which is spread over a large area of hillside.

This was the first plane crash site I had visited and a real eye opener as to the devastation they cause. In my mind I had pictured, perhaps naively, that the carcass of the place would be relatively intact and maybe I'd even be able walk into it. Some crash sites might look like that, but no such thing here - this nearly 200' long bomber had been reduced to an absolute scattering of shredded and crumpled metal. One piece that did look big enough to crawl into was apparently used by the survivors as a shelter during their night on the mountain.

Some of the wreckage has been removed from the site, although no more is allowed to be taken as it's officially been deemed a "no salvage" area. In fact, some of the wreckage that had been hauled away was actually brought back.

We came across one of the original four sets of wheels. They were warped but still relatively intact. A second set of wheels that broke apart was further in the woods.

Pretty much wherever I turned there were more pieces of wreckage, both large and small. I found myself going through a range of emotions that afternoon; from my initial chills, to amazement, curiosity, then almost a desensitization from having seen so much devastation. Processing what I had seen ended up taking a lot longer than the time I spent actually viewing it.

This is a very well maintained and respectable site, with various plaques and signs informing you of the tragedy and the men involved. There is very little walking to reach the site from the parking area, the bigger difficulty is in making the long drive to get to Elephant Mountain in the first place. But if you ever have the urge to visit a plane crash memorial and pay your respects, this would be first on my list of recommendations.

Livermore Falls Abandoned Mill

We keep a Google map with pinned locations of interesting places we want to visit someday, which comes in handy not only for planning trips in advance but for those last minute instances where we find ourselves driving with extra time to kill.  I visited Livermore Falls during just one of those times, when I was returning from a trip down Route 93 and realized I was early and would have a few hours to myself. Off to my map I went, and 20 minutes later my GPS brought me to the parking area of Livermore Falls.

I wasn't sure what to expect other than that Livermore Falls was described as an abandoned pulp mill sitting on the Pemigewasset River. The website I'd found about it didn't say whether it was open for exploration or gated off with no trespassing allowed, but the pictures had looked interesting enough for me to add to the map. Turns out that not only is the site all open, it's actually been turned into a state park and perhaps a dozen people were wandering around or just hanging out by the water that day.

The first thing to grab your attention when entering the park is this large, partially deteriorated bridge spanning the river. You will find many references to it as the "Pumpkin Seed Bridge", which according to the Campton Historical Society is due to its unique design.

This is an impressive yet very dangerous structure, something I'm glad to never have come across in my younger and more reckless days. Many young people have been injured or worse jumping from this bridge and hitting rocks or metal beams in the water, but even after these tragedies YouTube shows that the practice continues to this day. Needless to say, I admired this bridge only from a distance.

Although much of the mill building no longer remains, a portion of it is intact and viewable from the path above. This is no place for young children, however - only sections of the path's railing remain and are little protection against a very long fall to the ground. If you tread carefully though you will be rewarded with this view of nature overtaking the remains of the mill and claiming back her land.

Not satisfied with just an overhead view, I decided to try and climb down and look inside the building. There is a safe passage below if you turn around the follow a path down to the river, which is where I passed various people both sunbathing and returning with fishing gear. From this point it became a little trickier climbing to make it over a rock ledge that skirted the water, but nothing I wasn't able to handle.

Finally down below and at the far side of the building, I found my entrance. Not the kind I was hoping for, though. Rather than a nice open doorframe I found only this crawl space leading under the building. Different images of what I may find under there - from wild animals to wild kids - gave me pause, but I hadn't come this far for nothing. Down on my hands and knees I went and crawled inside.

There was nothing wild to greet me inside, but there was plenty of evidence to show that this was a popular hangout for kids, between the broken bottles and graffiti. This inspirational message became perhaps my favorite picture of the day, and the spelling error (which I didn't realize until that night) only added to its charm.

Although I was solo that day, Livermore Falls also contains walking trails that would have been fun for our whole family. The mill itself is not a place I'd bring young children to, but if you enjoy abandoned structures and buildings it's a fascinating place that will provide you with some hauntingly wonderful photo opportunities.

Links:
Photo Album
State Park Website