For two years, I’ve spent a portion of my Spring Break coming down to Juneau, taking advantage of the hospitality of Greg Culley and Heather Bryant, and photographing the ruins of Juneau’s mining past.  I blogged last year about the Van Dykes that I created from 2013’s trip, but have yet to have a chance to talk about the trip this year.  In ’13, I focused my efforts on Treadwell and Gastineau, not having time nor connections to venture further – and, unfortunately, very little remains at both sites – especially in the way of artifacts.  This March, however, I planned things out a little better, spending an extra day in Juneau and dragging Greg all over the place for my four-day stint.

The first day was a relatively quick photo shoot to coincide with low tide in the Gastineau Channel; I had been haunted by my VDB of this iconic Southeast ruin from the year prior and intended to one-up myself by reshooting it.  My initial shot didn’t work well in the overall narrative of my series, and I aimed to change that.  A terrible 30-40mph wind kept whipping up sand and nearly throwing my gear and upright tripod into the channel, but we eventually got the shot I needed:

The constant challenge of this project has been to link what’s left behind with the stories of the miners – especially when very little remains.  I’ve found many gorgeous scenes of decay but little remains of the hidden narrative – that lifeforce left behind by the miners.  Without connecting the two, the history remains separate from the remains – and the artifacts mean little more than scraps of paper – mere refuse in our modern world.  In ’13, I left Juneau empty handed – not photographing a single artifact – places but no personal effects.  After scouring the beach, however, the ruins of the cafeteria provided a way to link the two together; shards of porcelain litter the west shore of the channel below Treadwell’s mess hall, once housed on the company’s expansive dock.  Having a lunch break below the docks at low tide seemed like the perfect narrative to link the two.  To round it out, a random dog walking down the beach added flavor to the image.  The corresponding diptych links the story of the dining miners to the porcelain and utilizes pattern, line, shape, curve and symmetry to bring the two halves closer together:

Unlike my first trip to Juneau, I managed to obtain permission to roam through the ruins of AJ Mine; a prominent part of Juneau’s cityscape, these ruins are little more than the remnants of a concrete superstructure, stripped of much of its personality.  Although I learned later of some secrets that might make another adventure to AJ in the future worthwhile, I didn’t photograph anything for my ongoing series while I was there.  Similarly, a planned trip to Gastineau Mill didn’t work out as well as I had hoped, leaving us very little time to photograph there.  I managed to shoot a single roll of film, laying the basis for a single apparition shot – but I still hesitate to say it’s a good piece:

Yet, leaving Gastineau prematurely was a great change of plans.  Prior to leaving Fairbanks, I was able to get ahold of local mining history legend, Brian Weed, to show me around to a few local mines.  After acquiring the necessary ice cleats (something I’ve never used in Fairbanks), we met at the head of Perseverance Trail and hiked up into the mountains, searching for a couple abandoned tunnels.

Now… up until this point, my only experience being underground in mines had been a short trip to Clutch Lounsberry’s 300-foot tunnel on his property in Ester.  Historical mines in Interior Alaska are notorious for having collapsed portals – and, on top of that, very few remain, as much of Fairbanks’ early drift mining ventures were dug up long ago from the Gold Dredges that scoured the valleys around Fairbanks.  To say that I was excited to go into a couple mines would be an understatement – and when Brian casually made a left turn off the trail about a mile and a half into our hike, I felt a little like a kid again and welled up with anticipation.

Humboldt Adit #3 went into the side of Mount Juneau 400 feet – and as soon as we were done exploring it, Brian pointed out #1 and #2 – adits just a couple feet away from the lower #3 entrance.  Although we didn’t explore the other two, I quickly took advantage of the gorgeous setting to chirp off a couple photographs for my series.  Mine portals are one element I knew my series was lacking and these were, by far, much more visually enthralling than the collapsed ones I had discovered in the Interior.  After about a thirty minute break photographing, we were off toward the Jack and Russell mine – which went into Mount Juneau a staggering 4000 feet.  Determined to reach the end even though my borderline closterphobia started getting the best of me, I got all the way to the end, taking a couple pictures to prove my accomplishment.  Although ill-prepared for photography inside mines (given that my project utilizes only natural light, I’ve excluded all flashes and artificial light), I’m doubtful that the trip inside the two mines provided a completely successful image – but I am fairly happy with the apparition shot of Greg outside Jack and Russell:

The next day provided us with yet another adventure – Brian offered to take us up to mining ruins off of the East Glacier Trail at Mendenhall.  Already showing up late and forgetting my ice cleats, I felt horribly ill-prepared but I made the best of it and came out with quite the experience.  I was amazed at the size of the massive machinery left behind, the determination of the men to bore a hole through a mountain from a dammed creek to provide ample power for Juneau and the surrounding mining operations and, even in a relatively mild March, I was in awe of what these men endured – all for gold.  Brian was an outstanding host, a patient guide and a great model – and I hope to be able to connect with him again in Juneau for additional adventures:

Enjoy – and, as always, please feel free to comment, critique, like on Facebook, follow me on Twitter or Ello!