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From the disappointment of Big Head, I moved onto the other cylindrical towers. Scrap metal was strewn
all around the site, particularly at the base of these shafts, where it’d been thrown and pushed from the
plateau above.
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These hoppers were still filled with ore, brought up from the mine over 900 meters below. Winched up
via the headgear, it was tipped down these cylindrical tubes.
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At the base of the hoppers, this machine portioned up the ore, depositing it into waiting
trolleys. Now rusted and seized, the machine was still waiting to nip off the next
bite. The water dripping through the hoppers and collecting around us was red with rust.
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Everything was rusty and seized. Piping and machinery laid scattered about, bits of boilers
and catwalks. Even an empty soft drink bottle had taken on the metallic hue, now stained
red with all the other debris.
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A trolley remained waiting for its next consignment of ore. Partly buried with rusting scrap,
it was still identifiable; unlike the other tangled and torn pieces scattered around it.
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It made sense now to follow the journey the ore took, from the base of the towers, and into
the mill building itself.
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