pyestock | something old, something new

I took a spiral staircase up the side of the CECA Plant but found the view disappointing and there was far too much piping in the way (the usual problem with Pyestock). I met Marlon on my way down and then bumped into Tom as I was investigating the catwalks which traversed the eight huge pipes from the Air House.

It was proving to be extremely fruitful and even on my fourth trip I was finding new parts in buildings and areas previously unexplored. Tom suggested trying a door in the side of the Air House and I ventured in.

Suddenly it got very dark and cold. Pigeons cooed in the darkness and the place was rank with pigeon shit. I quickly found a torch and found myself in the depths of the Air House, a cavern which stretched the entire length of the building which housed pipes, gauges and equipment. Somehow we’d all managed to miss this before.

The pigeon messed areas appeared to be for storage and were partitioned with chicken wire fences. Old fridges, desks and chairs, now covered in guano didn’t inspire us and the smell was terrible, but we found several old Christmas trees amusing; they were both out of place and out of season. Further into the mesh of pipes revealed pits where the pipes connected through from the compressors above us to the blue pipe array which eventually led outside. It was cold and stank.

Marlon followed me in and we set up some shots before deciding to venture into the turbine hall of the Air House above us. Just as we were leaving, the door at the far end of the corridor opened and a figure walked in. He paused. No doubt his eyes were still acclimatizing to the darkness of this pit, but he didn’t seem too worried about us.

Marlon and I simply continued partway down the corridor and then crossed into one of the pits in the main turbine hall. We simply assumed the figure was one of the guys we’d met previously.

Inside the turbine hall the normally quiet Air House was loud and noisy. Given the wind, loose metal was flapping and banging against the side of the building, but there were also the additional noises of footsteps and voices. I set up a shot to try and capture the depth of this engine bed and the height of the ceiling above me. We weren’t concerned about the noise now; so far we’d seen nothing at Pyestock to be worried. Although there had been dramas every trip, they’d all been unfounded in the end; we’d never seen security let alone have to take precautions.

Our approach to being seen was getting laxer and laxer and we were now getting stupid and sloppy. And, from past experience, this would be our downfall.