Post 1
I'm sure some of yall will dig this...
Source: sankt.one
Behind the raging horseshoe falls of Niagara there lies a secret like no other, a century old redbrick tunnel painstakingly laid. There is no recorded tally of its human cost but in 1906 it would be the biggest tunnel of its type in the world. A dangerous rappel through the treacherous bowels of a decrepit powerstation is the single entrance into this supervillain stronghold behind the crashing waterfall.
With great confidence the three foreigners converged upon Niagara Falls in search of great adventure and challenge. Their hearts brimmed with equal measures of excitement and anxiousness in attempting what less than a fistful before them had achieved. So it was scribed: the unabridged tale of how Jondoe, Stoop and dsankt laid their bold plans to conquer the mighty Confluence, infamous tailrace tunnel of Niagara.
(tailrace tunnel during construction. Source Niagara Falls Public Library)
Before this adventurous tale begins a quick primer upon the workings of a hydroelectric powerstation and the need for such a behemoth tunnel. Don't skip this or I'll have the student teacher spank you. Externally the building appears little more than an ornately built 2 story box. Peek through the windows* though and you'll see a long hall populated by large blue cylindrical generators. This is but a fraction of the building which extends another 10 stories below.
(this is important! diagram modification by JonDoe)
The water from the Niagara river enters the penstock which is a massive vertically aligned iron pipe descending into the wheelpit cavity below the generator hall. Layers of catwalks* encircle the penstock to allow workers/ninjas access to the turbines. Inside the penstock the torrent of water plummets 8 stories, gaining speed until it reaches the turbines. The water furiously spins the turbines and in turn the generators above to create electricity. This type of operation takes huge quantities of water which now robbed of their usefulness must be expelled from the turbines and back into the falls. The tailrace tunnels carry this water from the turbine exhausts and dumps it into the waterfall. The construction of this tunnel was a here (scroll to "THE ELECTRICAL DEVELOPMENT COMPANY OF ONTARIO,LIMITED"). Yes I know it looks like a penis you sickos. Primer end.
Night 1
Confluence is far more than a simple saturday stroll around a haunted barn or derelict powerstation, consequently requiring a tad more gear than usual. We trimmed our kits to the items considered essential for your average hundred year old, 9 meter tall brick tunnel enema and rolled out.
(pic by Jon Doe)
On route I learned the measure of Sub-Urban's meticulous planning, including the inclusion of driving music, most notably including Madonna's song Hung Up. I suffered in silence while contemplating the feasibility of using their entrails as rappelling rope. We rolled slowly into Niagara with an elitist smirk before the spectacle of lights, people and water. It is to be blunt: tourist fucking central. We are to be blunter:* l337 urbexors /sarc
Like three thrifty smut fiends crammed into a stripper booth our faces were stuck to the car windows, eyes wide and mouths agape as the scene unfolded in the glory of Hollywood slow motion. The powerstation and its surrounds were a conflagration of temporary fences, cars, halogen floodlights and workmen. All our planning concerned physical access to the tunnel not dodging workers in the "abandoned" powerstation. We had not even considered anyone might be working here. Murphy and his well known law was all in for the rectal reaming.
We set off on foot for a closer inspection, looking a strange procession indeed: me in ninja black; the dapper English chaps in overcoats and those silly Sherlock Holmes hats. We are of course the consummate professionals. The jackhammers echoed loudly from within the plant, tearing apart what one hundred years ago was the pinnacle of electrical technology. Jondoe and I observed the situation from afar while Stoop took the social engineer's approach.
He ambled casually towards the main gate, stepped into the brightly lit yard and approached a worker. After a brief discussion he slouched right back out. His body language spoke volumes, his words merely confirmed it. "I'm gutted, they're doing 24 hour works. Two teams - one working till 3am the other until 7am. The horrendous racket is jackhammers splitting open the concrete generator shells". This put a certain crimp on our plans.
2200
I dozed erratically in the car, assaulted by disjointed dreams of brick and waterfalls. I woke to Stoop and JD talking quietly. We agreed a live infiltration merely added to the challenge - it would not stop the parachuting juggernaut. To absorb a few hours we trudged around another nearby abandoned powerstation though to be honest none of our hearts were in it. We'd come to play in Niagara's belly.
0230
Four and a half hours later we resumed surveillance, then shortly after 3am a pack of workers left and It Was Showtime. Jondoe volunteered for the initial recon, wired up a small radio, adjusted his lip mic and slipped out the car. Stoop and I watched him scamper away and dissolve between the trees. The radios proved useful, though inconsistent and patchy. We sat tensely with radio clutched firmly in hand. The ability to hear the action but have no way to affect the outcome is frustrating. JD radioed in that all was clear as he'd found a small entrance into the PS and sighted a few workers still moving around. Semi-active or not, we had a fucking entrance.
(looking into the generator hall, courtesy of Jannx)
0330
Inside was a good start* but a blind run lugging all our gear without knowing the access to the wheelpit it was akin to painting a bullseye on our foreheads. The rudimentary nature of our search would mirror my early sexual encounters, lots of digging but not much finding. Social engineer Stoop voiced a far better plan. He primed his British accent, tourist photographer pose then slipped back into the building with a camera in hand. If he encountered workers he'd play dumb, lost and work that sexy British accent. Not genius I admit, but otherwise it was a bribe of the alcoholic variety.
0400
I passed the time of Stoop's absence by imagining what had befallen our companion. I ran through the possibilities over and over, failing to construct some kind of plausible excuse for all gear if the need arose. We'd seen a few police cars pass, probably just doing the border patrol thing. Reassuringly none paid us any mind. Suddenly a figure leapt into view like a man escaped of the encumbering shackles of gravity by some arcane magic. With a positive bound in his step and a grin upon his face Stoop raced through his sentences like a madman, sans punctuation, breathing or pause:
"Saw nobody heard workers outside none in generator hall got halfway through gen hall found steps heading down think found way to wheelpit found another entrance we fucking good lets go!".
A pot o' tea whack to the dome slowed him enough to parse his sentences to Proper English and decipher that he'd found a good way to get under the generator hall and probably access the wheelpit. JD and I reserved our celebrations as these endeavors have a nasty habit of being more difficult than they first appear.
(the lower generator hall, courtesy of Air33)
On further inspection our entrance was indeed swift and reliable but too late for this night. Shortly after 0500 we boarded the Durgano and drove for Toronto. It was a solemn drive, a flatline end to the emotional rollercoaster of the night. We were beaten, battered and exhausted but gained valuable information. We vowed to return the following night.
I'm sure some of yall will dig this...
Source: sankt.one
Behind the raging horseshoe falls of Niagara there lies a secret like no other, a century old redbrick tunnel painstakingly laid. There is no recorded tally of its human cost but in 1906 it would be the biggest tunnel of its type in the world. A dangerous rappel through the treacherous bowels of a decrepit powerstation is the single entrance into this supervillain stronghold behind the crashing waterfall.
With great confidence the three foreigners converged upon Niagara Falls in search of great adventure and challenge. Their hearts brimmed with equal measures of excitement and anxiousness in attempting what less than a fistful before them had achieved. So it was scribed: the unabridged tale of how Jondoe, Stoop and dsankt laid their bold plans to conquer the mighty Confluence, infamous tailrace tunnel of Niagara.
(tailrace tunnel during construction. Source Niagara Falls Public Library)
Before this adventurous tale begins a quick primer upon the workings of a hydroelectric powerstation and the need for such a behemoth tunnel. Don't skip this or I'll have the student teacher spank you. Externally the building appears little more than an ornately built 2 story box. Peek through the windows* though and you'll see a long hall populated by large blue cylindrical generators. This is but a fraction of the building which extends another 10 stories below.
(this is important! diagram modification by JonDoe)
The water from the Niagara river enters the penstock which is a massive vertically aligned iron pipe descending into the wheelpit cavity below the generator hall. Layers of catwalks* encircle the penstock to allow workers/ninjas access to the turbines. Inside the penstock the torrent of water plummets 8 stories, gaining speed until it reaches the turbines. The water furiously spins the turbines and in turn the generators above to create electricity. This type of operation takes huge quantities of water which now robbed of their usefulness must be expelled from the turbines and back into the falls. The tailrace tunnels carry this water from the turbine exhausts and dumps it into the waterfall. The construction of this tunnel was a here (scroll to "THE ELECTRICAL DEVELOPMENT COMPANY OF ONTARIO,LIMITED"). Yes I know it looks like a penis you sickos. Primer end.
Night 1
Confluence is far more than a simple saturday stroll around a haunted barn or derelict powerstation, consequently requiring a tad more gear than usual. We trimmed our kits to the items considered essential for your average hundred year old, 9 meter tall brick tunnel enema and rolled out.
(pic by Jon Doe)
On route I learned the measure of Sub-Urban's meticulous planning, including the inclusion of driving music, most notably including Madonna's song Hung Up. I suffered in silence while contemplating the feasibility of using their entrails as rappelling rope. We rolled slowly into Niagara with an elitist smirk before the spectacle of lights, people and water. It is to be blunt: tourist fucking central. We are to be blunter:* l337 urbexors /sarc
Like three thrifty smut fiends crammed into a stripper booth our faces were stuck to the car windows, eyes wide and mouths agape as the scene unfolded in the glory of Hollywood slow motion. The powerstation and its surrounds were a conflagration of temporary fences, cars, halogen floodlights and workmen. All our planning concerned physical access to the tunnel not dodging workers in the "abandoned" powerstation. We had not even considered anyone might be working here. Murphy and his well known law was all in for the rectal reaming.
We set off on foot for a closer inspection, looking a strange procession indeed: me in ninja black; the dapper English chaps in overcoats and those silly Sherlock Holmes hats. We are of course the consummate professionals. The jackhammers echoed loudly from within the plant, tearing apart what one hundred years ago was the pinnacle of electrical technology. Jondoe and I observed the situation from afar while Stoop took the social engineer's approach.
He ambled casually towards the main gate, stepped into the brightly lit yard and approached a worker. After a brief discussion he slouched right back out. His body language spoke volumes, his words merely confirmed it. "I'm gutted, they're doing 24 hour works. Two teams - one working till 3am the other until 7am. The horrendous racket is jackhammers splitting open the concrete generator shells". This put a certain crimp on our plans.
2200
I dozed erratically in the car, assaulted by disjointed dreams of brick and waterfalls. I woke to Stoop and JD talking quietly. We agreed a live infiltration merely added to the challenge - it would not stop the parachuting juggernaut. To absorb a few hours we trudged around another nearby abandoned powerstation though to be honest none of our hearts were in it. We'd come to play in Niagara's belly.
0230
Four and a half hours later we resumed surveillance, then shortly after 3am a pack of workers left and It Was Showtime. Jondoe volunteered for the initial recon, wired up a small radio, adjusted his lip mic and slipped out the car. Stoop and I watched him scamper away and dissolve between the trees. The radios proved useful, though inconsistent and patchy. We sat tensely with radio clutched firmly in hand. The ability to hear the action but have no way to affect the outcome is frustrating. JD radioed in that all was clear as he'd found a small entrance into the PS and sighted a few workers still moving around. Semi-active or not, we had a fucking entrance.
(looking into the generator hall, courtesy of Jannx)
0330
Inside was a good start* but a blind run lugging all our gear without knowing the access to the wheelpit it was akin to painting a bullseye on our foreheads. The rudimentary nature of our search would mirror my early sexual encounters, lots of digging but not much finding. Social engineer Stoop voiced a far better plan. He primed his British accent, tourist photographer pose then slipped back into the building with a camera in hand. If he encountered workers he'd play dumb, lost and work that sexy British accent. Not genius I admit, but otherwise it was a bribe of the alcoholic variety.
0400
I passed the time of Stoop's absence by imagining what had befallen our companion. I ran through the possibilities over and over, failing to construct some kind of plausible excuse for all gear if the need arose. We'd seen a few police cars pass, probably just doing the border patrol thing. Reassuringly none paid us any mind. Suddenly a figure leapt into view like a man escaped of the encumbering shackles of gravity by some arcane magic. With a positive bound in his step and a grin upon his face Stoop raced through his sentences like a madman, sans punctuation, breathing or pause:
"Saw nobody heard workers outside none in generator hall got halfway through gen hall found steps heading down think found way to wheelpit found another entrance we fucking good lets go!".
A pot o' tea whack to the dome slowed him enough to parse his sentences to Proper English and decipher that he'd found a good way to get under the generator hall and probably access the wheelpit. JD and I reserved our celebrations as these endeavors have a nasty habit of being more difficult than they first appear.
(the lower generator hall, courtesy of Air33)
On further inspection our entrance was indeed swift and reliable but too late for this night. Shortly after 0500 we boarded the Durgano and drove for Toronto. It was a solemn drive, a flatline end to the emotional rollercoaster of the night. We were beaten, battered and exhausted but gained valuable information. We vowed to return the following night.
Last edited by a moderator:
