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The official photo blog of J. David Buerk Photography.

Patapsco Valley State Park - August, 2023

Back in August last year, I hiked a stretch of Patapsco Valley State Park with some friends - this trip was a local hiking version of “I know a spot,” because much of the hike took us off trail, through shoulder-high snake and tick paradise, and up and down steep mountains covered in thorn bushes I still have a few marks from.  But it was rewarding, worth it, and I now have some locations in mind for more creative ideas I’d like to coordinate.

Patapsco Valley State Park, nestled in the abandoned town of Daniels (formerly known as Elysville), Maryland, is a sprawling natural haven offering a blend of picturesque landscapes and historical intrigue.  Within its bounds, the park houses remnants of a bygone era, including two abandoned churches that stand as silent witnesses to the passage of time.  These forsaken structures, draped in vines and surrounded by the park's lush foliage, evoke a sense of mystery.

The small industrial town born in 1810 around a textile mill, however, its prosperity was short-lived.  The mill closed in the late 1960s, prompting the evacuation of nearly 90 families.  Tropical storm Agnes in 1972 further sealed its fate, flooding the town and leading to its complete abandonment.  Today, Daniels is a ghost town marked by crumbling stone ruins, decaying wood, and graffiti-covered remnants of its past, including the Saint Stanislaus Kostka Church, Pentecostal Holiness Church, and remnants of the old dam and bridge.  The town serves as a poignant reminder of a bygone era swallowed by nature.

After beginning the hike by immediately wading across the Patapsco River, we made our way into Daniels, and began seeing remnants of the ghost town.  Well traveled, and easily found, our first stop was at the graffiti and street art covered Pentecostal Holiness Church, which was destroyed, like much of the town, by Tropical Storm Agnes and the deluge of runoff water in 1972.  Only some of the walls remain as canvases for artists and taggers, and the bell tower stands tall, but decaying, among the trees.  Hidden in the back is a mural of a very posh woman with a bottle of champagne, which has sadly begun being defaced by other graffiti taggers.  Inside is a paper airplane; it’s not immediately clear if by the same artist, however the styles seem quite different so my guess is they’re by separate people.

Next was some off-trailing, which took us up a steep mountain, along a long fallen tree to avoid some of the deep grass likely inhabited by unseen predators, and finally to the first of several abandoned cars.  Many of the cars, which were washed downstream and deep into the woods by flooding, are nowhere near any trails, which either follow the Town of Daniels’ original roads or branch off in spots for utility and fire road access.  Making our way back to the main trail downhill, on a safer and more direct route, we headed toward the next abandoned church.  Along the way, we spotted the offshoot leading toward it, but decided to proceed to the end of the trail to explore the main trail before getting to the main attraction.

The St. Stanislaus Kostka Roman Catholic Church, dating back to the early 1800s, burned down in 1926, and were subsequently abandoned along with its adjacent cemetery that is home to local families and individuals, with some gravestones dating back to the Civil War era, and others obviously marking WWI losses.  The stone church walls remain largely upright and intact, and are mostly devoid of graffiti, and I truly hope it stays that way - graffiti and street art can be beautiful, but it needs the right place and to be self-aware of its surroundings: boring plain abandoned walls that are basically giant canvases with lots of foot traffic nearby?  Cool!  Beautiful antique stonemasonry covered in ivy and moss in a valley bathed in warm sunlight with barely any visitors?  Uncool; stick to the ugly bare industrial, and leave the antique beauty to be enjoyed as it decays naturally.  St. Stanislaus Kostka Church reminded me of The Forest Temple in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

As the sun began entering the golden hour, we made our way out of the dense woods and back onto the main trail heading back to the trailhead to go get some much needed dinner.

Rhode Island & Boston: Summer 2021

My close friend Alyssa and I have had a variably ongoing tradition of visiting one another to get up to some kind of local adventures most Summers.  Most recently Alyssa stopped by DC in 2020 while traveling to take care of her grandparents who needed help during the height of the pandemic, and this past Summer of 2021, since everyone finally had access to a vaccine and cases were at a record low since the start, I visited Alyssa and Megan for 10 days in beautiful Rhode Island.

Since this trip was quite long, and included numerous locations and photoshoots, I am breaking this post up into days and major locations, and including highlights linking back to dedicated posts I’ve already posted.

Be sure to see my highlight video of selected clips from this trip, found at the end of this post or at this link on YouTube. Or see the full Vlog on YouTube.

Black Tom Island, Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, & Manhattan

Like my last trip to Rhode Island in 2018, I chose to drive, both due to the safety risks of flying, and the logistical ease of having my car on hand.  With a new pair of Maui Jims in my signature color, a new dashcam installed, and Ginny, my plush Corgi Alyssa sent me earlier in the year, riding shotgun, I had my car freshly ceramic tinted the day before leaving, which made the Summer heat and sun much more bearable with the extended drive - a light smoky look, I regret not having my black car with black interior tinted the day I bought it in 2015.  Unfortunately, I was traveling on 4th of July weekend, which meant my ~7-8hr drive ended up being about 16hrs thanks to traffic the first half and severe weather from New York forward.

Approaching New York, I was driving on the border of a massive rainstorm the length of the Eastern seaboard, whose bands were spaced out like fingers but I somehow was able to outrun just enough to arrive at my traditional halfway stopping point of the Jersey shore overlooking Manhattan, this time at Black Tom Island.  The pavement was drenched from a band that had gone through probably not long before I arrived, and I knew from watching radar I didn’t have much time to go get a glimpse of The Statue of Liberty - this was my first time at this park, so while I knew I *should* be able to spot it, I wasn’t sure how great the view would be.

Black Tom Island’s park seemed very nice, or at least it would be when the facilities are open - I suspect the visitor center was a pandemic closure, but given the nasty weather the only people out and about were two couples dropping in to take a quick selfie with Lady Liberty like I was, and a runner so saturated he looked as though he’d just arisen from the Hudson.  Black Tom Island is a part of Liberty State Park I’d like to visit more in detail knowing a bit more of the history behind it - the site of the Black Tom Explosion in 1916, German spies set fire to the Lehigh Valley Munitions Depot housing 2,000,000 lbs of artillery shells and 100,000 lbs of TNT to be shipped to Russian and British allies during WWI.  The sabotaged stockpile detonated, destroying the manmade island, launching debris into the skin of The Statue of Liberty and buildings over a mile away, shattering windows up to 25mi away, registering 5.5 on the Richter Scale, being felt as far away as Philadelphia and heard as far as Baltimore.

The incident resulted in creation of The Espionage Act of 1917, and later would later be used by FDR as justification for the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII.  Today the site of the explosion is marked with a circle of flags with Lady Liberty holding her damaged and now restored torch high above her head, perhaps peeking over her shoulder at blast site.

I hurried to the Hudson’s shore to get a peek at the Statue of Liberty, Manhattan, and maybe Ellis Island before the storm caught back up to me.  I was lucky; I got there just in time to see Manhattan become completely enveloped in a wall of rain reminiscent of a disaster movie in a matter of a minute.  Ellis Island was visible but not discernible.  I didn’t wait to see Lady Liberty, parallel to my unsheltered position, to also be consumed.  I had another traveler (apparently also from DC on their way up to New England) quickly take my picture, shot a few Polaroids, and sprinted the 1/4mi back to the car as heavy raindrops began pelting me - it had been drizzling the entire time, but it was about to get serious again.

By time I got to my car the rain was just picking up; I spent only 10min at the park.  This would be the weather I’d drive in for the next ~8 hours on a trip that would normally only require 4; a long day of driving non-stop without even eating anything more than my morning coffee that would result in a migraine the next day after finally arriving.

Alyssa, Megan, and myself all grumpily went straight to bed once I finally got there and collapsed from a long day of hurry up and wait.  Isla quickly became my new best friend and kept me cozy and cuddled on Megacouch™ that was my bed for the trip every night.  The next morning I met Nova, who I’d only Facetimed with up to this point, and once my migraine had subsided enough that light and sound weren’t cracking my skull open, Megan and I got weird in her new plague reaper outfit.  I also might have accidentally scared a few people wearing this mask while walking around in a few spots that required masks - Megan and I share a love of dark humor and literally morbid curiosities.  We had several ideas for photoshoots with this getup, but didn’t have the time to pursue them, and had higher photoshoot priorities.

Slatersville

I’ve learned over the years that the best trips only have loosely laid plans; you need to be able to follow your heart, not an itinerary.  Rhode Island, and all of New England for that matter, has rich and interesting history, whether local or regionally.  Most days on this trip I started like most days at home, by knocking out a run - I kept them short to only 5Ks on the road, and this time had a running buddy: Isla, who is a bundle of energy.  None of us were sure how she’d do running that long a distance; our first few times out I stopped variably to give her a check-in and rest, but over the course of a few days I’d worked her up to the full 5K distance non-stop, and she did great!  After just a few runs she had even learned the new commands, “let’s go” to speed up, “slow down,” and most critically “cross” for knowing when I was deeming it safe for us to cross roads and crosswalks - she’s a very smart pupper, and I miss my running buddy after coming back home!

Typical of New England Summers, there were numerous dreary days, which I of course enjoy my fair share of, and they work perfectly for some of the photoshoot ideas Megan and I had bouncing around.  Once my headache cleared more, we set out to go scouting for some of the steampunk and vintage shoot locations.  This actually would have been a perfect day to shoot on, but neither of us were in the mood for more than just some casual exploration.

Fun fact; I hint at it in the Victorian Trenchcoat Photoshoot’s post, but on the other side of this wall Megan climbed onto and lay atop was this piece of power gathering equipment leftover from the textile mill’s spillway - the water rushing through was very loud and very dangerous, so I’m still surprised she scaled up, laid down, and closed her eyes without hesitation.

On another day, I went walking with Alyssa, some of her neighbors, and the puppers on a play-date-walk around Slatersville; I’d seen much of the small village from my runs, but certainly not all of it, such as the nearby reservoir’s feed into the mill’s spillway above about ½mi away where Isla and the other puppers like to go swimming before the current picks up.

That evening Megan and I went out stormchasing, one of two times we rushed out to try and catch lightning.  This is something we both do in our respective hometowns during the thunderstormy Summer months, but was the first time we’ve had the chance to go do it together, not just frantically texting each other about storms in our area.  As it turns out, we both have very different methods of photographing storms and capturing lightning photography; although my method is more traditional, I have to give the aptly named “@thestorm_witch” the win here, because she routinely catches more lighting more aesthetically than I do.  Don’t tell her I admitted she’s better than me LOL.

Independence Day

On The 4th of July I went with Alyssa to her mom’s for a BBQ and birthday party for one of the kids; not only were most of Alyssa’s family who I’ve come to know over the years were there, but also quite a few of Alyssa’s friends, which was nice to see again after 3 years.  This was also my first time seeing Hennessy, her sister’s pit who fell in love with me in 2018 just as much as Isla this 2021 - I have a reputation of stealing the hearts of everyone else’s pets 💁🏼‍♂️  Between the two, it turned into a flight of who would be my lap dog during the picnic, but since Hennessy has gotten a bit older, chubby, and lazy, Isla won this fight.  Alyssa brought her albino bunny Ghost, who was fed by some of the fascinated kids when he wasn’t exploring her garden and nibbling on the veggies ready for harvest.

After the party, a group of us met up to make smores and drink around a firepit after a dip in the hottub as fireworks went off in different directions around us.

Megan: Steampunk Textile Mill

The next day Megan and I shot our first session together inside the textile mill, which had some equipment leftover and restored for display; perfect for the steampunk vibe we were after.  This was Megan’s first time modeling in over 5 years, and her first time in a corset, so I’m glad she was comfortable entrusting me with photographing her and jumping back into modeling with me.

A few highlights are below, but you can see the full set and a more detailed description of our concept on this post dedicated to the shoot.

Paddleboards and Kayaks

For several months Alyssa had been excited about the inflatable paddleboard she had gotten a deal on, and this day was a great opportunity to give it a shot.  I enjoyed some kayak time along Saunderstown’s Narrow River while Alyssa quickly got the hang of her board - she has the goal of getting Isla to be comfortable riding along with her, but her first time on a paddleboard isn’t the time for that - the pupper stayed home.  Even I gave the paddleboard a shot after Alyssa was done, though it was beginning to deflate and become a bit floppy, but I am still impressed at how similar to a fully rigid paddleboard it is.

Wickford

After a day on the water, it was time to head over to nearby Wickford for drinks and lobstah rolls at Wickford on the Water.  Most of the shops in downtown Wickford were already closed for the day so while I walked around and took pictures with my Canon, so I came back a few days later to do some shopping with only my Polaroid.

Newport

After Wickford, I head over to Newport solo in search of sunset and to see what the nightlife was like this time around - I parked in the same spot I did 3 years prior, and walked Thames Street like I did in 2018.  None of the boutiques were open; just the touristy oceanwear stores that don’t offer the individualized type of gifts I was on the hunt for.  I wanted dessert; perhaps a drink, but definitely ice cream - there was a gelato place I popped into as a nightcap in 2018, and to my delight it was still there and one of the few places also still open at this hour.  A fitting tradition I’ve come to develop in this city.

Megan: Victorian Trenchcoat

This day we’d awaited foggy weather, and jumped at the fog offered this morning before the sun rose enough to burn it off.  The fog provided the perfect atmosphere to match the damp ruins of the old textile mill, a setting matched to the Victorian trenchcoat Megan and timeless makeup Megan sported for this photoshoot.

Enjoy some highlights below, but be sure to visit the dedicated post for more of the images we created during this shoot.  For this shoot I also brought my Polaroid and captured some true beauty in imperfection.

Boston

One of the biggest plans I had for this trip was visiting Boston.  I technically had been before, back in 2000, the same trip that I shot my September, 2000 photo of the World Trade Center which I revisited and replicated in 2018 on my last roadtrip up to New England.  But my only memory of Boston besides seeing The Old North Church is riding my Razer scooter through a busy market, one I remember as being Chinatown, but after this trip I must wonder if it was the Boston Public Market I walked through first thing upon arriving in the city.

Immediately after wrapping the Victorian Trenchcoat shoot, only taking the time to offload the pictures, I zipped off solo the hour drive to Boston, dropping my car next to Quincy Market to grab a lobstah roll before starting my explorations.  Passing through the Boston Public Market, I spotted Union Oyster House, noting it as a possible dinner option for later.

After some chowdah and lobstah, I began my exploration.  Like how I explore most new cities, I didn’t have any firm destinations - I happened upon nearby Christopher Columbus Waterfront Park and took in Union Wharf on my way up to The North End, where The Old North Church is located among a number of cemeteries.

Entering The North End, I was drawn down down Hanover by the residential architecture, and stumbled upon the All Saints Way alleyway shrine in Boston’s little Italy.  Owned by resident Peter Baldassari, this little known odditiy is a collection of photos, statues, prayer cards, and holy objects collected throughout his life, and partially on display in the private alleyway outside his home.  2021 has unironically been my year for Atlas Obscura, because I visited Centralia, a Pennsylvania ghost town expected to burn for the next 250 years, just a few months prior to this trip, and here I am visiting another registry in the Atlas Obscura.

But wait, there’s more!  After walking through Paul Revere Mall and The Old North Church’s grounds, I, again accidentally, stumbled onto the Skinny House, AKA The Spite House, another Atlas Obscura entry.  This 10 foot wide, 30 foot deep 4 story rowhouse is the result of a feud between two brothers following an inheritance / land-rights dispute after the Civil War.  One brother, arriving home from the Civil War prior to his brother, built a home on the site; when his brother returned later and felt the land leftover in the inheritance had been disproportionally taken, the Skinny House was built out of spite to block the first brother’s access and daylight exposure to his home and business.  Today the Spite House remains the skinniest house in Boston; the historic building is privately owned and occupied, and not open to public.

I walked by The Old North Church, but without plans to actually tour it - I couldn’t have if I wanted to anyway; it was closed.

Unfortunately all the cemeteries in Boston had also just closed by this time; 4PM is very early, but my understanding is the time is set this way to deter vandalism of the gravestones dating back hundreds of years, so the graveyards always close at least an hour before sunset no matter the status of Daylight Savings Time - this reasoning needs a citation to confirm, however.

I was still able to see into the many cemeteries I passed by, and poke my camera through the fencing to get better views.

Continuing on, I made my way to Converse - Lovejoy Wharf and crossed the bridge with the intention of visiting The Charlestown Bells, but the entire dock this musical public art installation is located on was closed for construction.

Since that was a bust, I decided to check out Paul Revere Park.  I didn’t think this was really the type of thing I was looking for, but I was thinking of heading the general direction of Bunker Hill, so it was worth popping into.  I’m glad I did, because it offered a great view of the city, including TD Garden and Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge.

Since this was a bit of a breather and I was figuring out where to go from here, I found that Bunker Hill, like the cemeteries, was also closed for the day, and there wasn’t anything else in that direction I was drawn to - I’m sure I’d have found something fun that way on my exploration, but I like having a general direction in mind, even if I don’t necessarily make it to the destination I choose to head toward.  I shifted my focus toward MIT, Southwest of my current location, and figured it might be interesting to walk through.  This lead to my favorite happy accident of my entire trip.

Crossing the North Bank pedestrian bridge, I wasn’t sure I’d made the right call, but when I got to the other side of the water under I-93, I knew I’d accidentally made an even better call than I could have planned.  The Lynch Family Skatepark came into view, and it was hopping.  After watching from the bridge for a few minutes, I made my way over to get a closer look.

The skatepark is one of only a handful in all of Boston, and is the result of a non-profit that built it was part of a waterway restoration project 6 years ago.  The park clearly attracts skaters of all ages and skill levels, from kids on their first set of rollerblades to adults older than me tearing up the bowls on skateboards.  BMXers and scooters also dropped in for some action in the brightly graffitied bowls and ramps with street art applied.  Looking through historical photos, the park was totally barren of color and art until recently, and I’m glad they now allow, or at least don’t seem to enforce, graffiti rules or removal, if any.  Like Centralia’s Graffiti Highway, the colorful expression through art and messages is important, beautiful, and hurts nobody.  Here is provides a beautifully textured backdrop for skaters’ athleticism.

I perched myself in a visible, but out-of-the-way position on the lip of the largest and most skated bowls, and captured skaters as they dropped in and let ‘er rip.  Several even made sure to incorporate paths and tricks up close to my spot for me to catch, and even came by to check out what my results were.

I spent almost an hour hanging out, watching, seeing what I could see, and enjoying the chill vibe here.  It’s stumbling onto awesome spots and experiences like this, through pure accidental luck while, that I love about aimlessly exploring new cities like this.

At this point it was getting toward the golden hour, and I didn’t want to be *too* far from my starting point once night fell; I have no problem staying out in a new city after dark (I actually enjoy it), I just didn’t feel like needing to hail a cab to get back to my start like I did on one of my Chicago trips - another time.  I scrubbed MIT and decided to go see the original Cheers pub, but without intention of eating there; not only do I prefer to avoid obvious tourist traps, but also looking at their menu beforehand, all they serve is crappy, super basic bar food and light beers - not worth eating there, especially if there’s a wait, which of course there was a line waiting outside when I did eventually get there.

Making a loop, I skipped the West End entirely and cut through Massachusetts General Hospital, which I didn’t mind because I love medicine and beautiful architecture.

I made my way through Beacon Hill, which I’d have liked to have spent more time in shopping and dining, however, like my time in Wickford, all the shops I was interested in visiting were already closed for the day.  Instead, I started ducking down interesting looking sidestreets to take in the historic architecture and househunt in this expensive residential area.

Exiting onto the famed Beacon Street, I poked my head into Cheers to at least see the interior for myself, and snapped a few pictures of the exterior before crossing into the Boston Public Garden across the street.

Boston Public Garden was a non-rushed shortcut for me on my way back to Downtown for dinner.  I made my way generally toward the other side, enjoying the scenery along the way.

After passing by another (closed) cemetery, I was drawn by Emerson College’s pretty buildings, and followed some interesting looking sidestreets.  This ended up landing me in Boston’s theater district, which I didn’t even know existed.  As the sun was just setting, I was here at the perfect time to capture all the colorful blinking lights with dusk’s vibrance in the sky.

Quincy Market had far fewer people on the plaza by time I made it back, and after some casual looking at my dinner options, I decided Union Oyster House was my spot - I had been curious since I laid my eyes on it at the beginning of my day, and it offered some of my favorite foods: oysters, seafood, and cocktails.

Oof, it hit the spot.  At this point, I was pretty beat from the day, and done with exploring, but I wasn’t done with the city.  I decided to walk around and find bar to see what the Boston nightlife is like.  I found myself a few blocks away at Lucca, a fine Italian offering whose entire front was open to enjoy the nice weather and music from their bar illuminated a dim pink.  I had several sidecars with my oysters and seafood platter at dinner, and switched to martinis to round out my evening.

Chill Day: Bunny Grooming, Farmer’s Market, Wright’s Dairy Farm

Although I was busiest, touring Boston, the day prior, everyone was on board for a day of leisure.  Alyssa groomed Ghost al fresco while Megan and I poked around with our cameras.

Next we head over to pick up Alyssa’s order from her farmer’s market, and said hi to the goats before heading over to Wright’s Dairy Farm (which you can see pictures of from my 2018 trip) for fresh ice cream, and to pick up a cornucopia of treats.  On the way back, we picked up pizzas and played shuffleboard for the night.

Last Day, Departure, Darien

My last day in town was another workday for both Alyssa and Megan; I grabbed lunch with Megan, then head back to load my car and hang out with Alyssa and Isla for a few hours before needing to hit the road.  Isla made it *very* clear she wanted to come home with me, but alas, all I brought home were some paw prints, fur, and part of a bouquet Alyssa assembled and placed in my cupholder to deliver to my mom.

The drive back home was MUCH easier than the drive up a week prior; I hit no traffic and no weather.  Around dusk I was getting hungry and decided to pull off at a convenient exit in Connecticut.  I parked at a Starbucks and opened my phone to see what local flavors were around and open - I lucked out, because I was in the mood for a burger, and had parked across the street from Burgers, Shakes, & Fries, and it was one of the few places still open in this small town.  Walking over is when I realized exactly *where* I was - this was Darien, Connecticut, which wouldn’t normally be notable except one of my best friends grew up here.  After sitting down and ordering my cholesterol special with extra onions and a side of onion rings, I texted my friend Patrick to let him know where I was and get his childhood home’s address - it was only 5min away.

After inhaling that delicious burger, I went for a quick walk along Darien’s Main Street.  The sun was setting and everything was closed, but this I expected, and wasn’t set on shopping anyway.

After documenting a very patinaed Chevy across from my car, I head over to Patrick’s childhood home to document it as night fell, because I knew he’d appreciate seeing it and it wasn’t out of my way at all.

After this I set back on my way South to DC, with a mostly uneventful late-night drive the entire way; how I’m used to this trip going.  This time I skipped stopping to view Manhattan, as I counted Darien as my mid-trip stop this time around.

Highlight Vlog

See highlighted video clips in this video below, or watch the full Vlog on YouTube.

I don’t know when the next time I’ll be returning to New England will be, but I do want to make sure to get out to Salem next time around!

Centralia, The Graffiti Highway, and Jaguar F-Type Car Cruise

This past June, a friend and I got together for a car cruise we’d been talking about for quite some time, and the timing was perfect - he’d just taken delivery of a 2017 Jaguar F-Type S Coupe in British Racing Green, equipped with the supercharged V6 outputting 380 angry horses.  With both of us hungry to book some miles, carve up country backroads, and get some schweet car pics, we decided to take our cars cruising North into Pennsylvania, heading the general direction of Centralia, PA - an abandoned mining town with a storied history and unofficial scenic highway… of sorts.

My friend and I have discussed the ghost down of Centralia for years, and since we’ve pretty thoroughly explored the entire Shenandoah Valley in Virginia to the West, the rural roads of Fredericksburg and Charlottesville to the South, and there’s no twisty mountain passes across the Chesapeake to the East, heading North to Centralia was the perfect choice.  On our way North, we only took interstates to cross into Pennsylvania to get into the state, then as a rule we only used country roads, and we didn’t even take direct routes, often ignoring Waze’s directions to instead take more interesting looking roads heading the general direction of the town.  We stopped several times, and even ran into a Porsche driver from our same hometown who was doing the same thing as us - taking his Cayman out to carve up some twisties.

This car cruise was in the midst of the Brood X cicadas’ descent upon the region in 2021.  Even with our cars freshly cleaned for this photography car cruise, I packed my entire detailing bucket, with an extra can of bug and tar remover, grimly anticipating the disaster that our front bumpers and windshields were going to become, and dreading the amount of Photoshop it would require to remove all the carcasses from the front of our bug-plows in post.  To our surprise, just after crossing out of Maryland into Pennsylvania, we stopped hitting cicadas.  Brood X just wasn’t present, or yet active, in Pennsylvania; a fact we sensed while driving, and would add a dash of spookiness to our destination. 

Centralia, PA

Centralia is weird; there’s no getting around it.  As of 2020, the total population of this once-industrialized mining town is 5.  If, like me, you’re into the weird, obscure, odd, and macabre, you’ve probably heard of Centralia.  If you haven’t heard of Centralia, let me summarize:

Centralia is on fire.  It has been on fire since 1962.  And it is expected to be on fire for the next 250+ years.

Dating back to the late 1700s, Centralia was settled in 1841 and officially incorporated 25 years later.  Coal was discovered during railroad construction in 1854, which triggered Centralia to boom into existence just like countless other mining towns across the Northeast.  In 1890, the single-industry town reached its peak population of 2,761 residents.

Centralia operated as the small mining town it began life as until the 1960s, when the remaining underground coal mining companies shuttered, although bootleg mining of coal reportedly continued illegally until 1982.  In its history, Centralia was home to numerous murders, including that of its founder, Alexander Rae.  In the mid-to-late-1800s, the Irish secret society, “The Molly Maguires,” had a strong foothold in Centralia, among many other mining towns across Pennsylvania.  The Molly Maguires advocated for unionization of miners and improvement of wages and working conditions, often by violent means.  Legend tells that the first Catholic priest to live in Centralia, Father Daniel Ignatius McDermott, who was famously assaulted by The Molly Maguires in 1869, cursed the land of Centralia, swearing that St. Ignatius Roman Catholic Church would be the last structure to remain standing in the town.

There is some dispute over how the fire started, but on May 27th, 1962, a fire in the newly-built Centralia landfill was not properly extinguished, and was able to breach the landfill’s fireproof barrier, which had gone unmaintained by the borough responsible for its installation, expansion, and maintenance.  As the landfill had been haphazardly dug out of an old coal strip mine, the fire easily accessed veins of coal the strip mine and its underground tunnels had been cut through.  In such a coal-rich area, the interconnected veins quickly ignited and spread the smoldering blaze underground across the entire town of Centralia, and into neighboring (and ironically named) Byrnesville.

The Centralia Council mailed the Lehigh Valley Coal Company a letter serving as a legal notice of the fire, however attempted to cover up the fire’s cause in hopes to avoid liability and garner remediation funding and efforts from the Lehigh Valley Coal Company; they described the fire’s cause as “of unknown origin during a period of unusually hot weather.”  Tests of the smoke now emanating from cracks in the ground around the landfill quickly indicated carbon monoxide concentrations typical of coal fires, and by August 9th, with still no remediation efforts having been made, lethal levels of carbon monoxide were detected in active coal mines, permanently ending coal mining operations in Centralia the next day; a fatal blow to the town’s lifeblood industry.

Numerous efforts to halt the fire were made in the remaining months of 1962 and into 1963, including digging up projected routes of the blaze, building perimeters around the burning veins, and pumping a slurry of rock and water into burning zones.  All efforts failed, due to inadequate funding, scope of work, and haste, with some efforts exacerbating the subterranean fire by introducing oxygen fueling the fire and accelerating its spread.

The fire wasn’t unbeknownst to residents, however the town council of Centralia continued to downplay the fire’s severity until the 1980s, when the problem became too large to proverbially bury any longer.  In 1979 John Coddington, then-mayor of Centralia, discovered that the gasoline in the thank beneath the gas station he owned was 172°F (77.8°C).  In 1980, Centralia residents began suffering the health effects of carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide poisoning.  Famously, on Valentine’s Day, 1981, 12-year-old Todd Domboski fell through a sinkhole into a former mineshaft that had been overcome by the underground fire.  Miraculously, Domboski held onto a root and was pulled to safety out of the muddy pit of steam and lethal levels of carbon monoxide by his cousin Eric Wolfgang.  It just so happened that when the incident occurred, state officials were meeting with Centralia borough-members, and the state officials witnessed the risks the ever-expanding fire posed to residents.

This would be a turning-point in Centralia’s history, and in 1984 the United States Congress allocated $42 million (equivalent to $105 million in 2020) to relocate residents of Centralia, and neighboring Byrnesville.  Most residents took the buyouts and escaped the fire hazard, starting new lives elsewhere in the state and country, but those few that remained would be the last to inhabit the town, as in 1992 Pennsylvania governor Bob Casey condemned all buildings and enacted eminent domain on all properties within Centralia.  In 1996 the neighboring logging town of Byrnesville, which also was forced to be abandoned due to the spread of Centralia’s burning coal veins, was flattened, with only a shrine to the Blessed Virgin Mary remaining.  The USPS revoked Centralia’s ZIP code, 17927, in 2002, and in 2009, Governor Ed Rendell formally evicted the few remaining residents.  By 2013 only 7 residents remained in 2013, and after numerous legal battles, by agreement with the state of Pennsylvania, these remaining individuals are allowed to live out the rest of their lives in Centralia, and their property will be forfeited via eminent domain upon moving or their death.  In 2020, only 5 of these residents remain.

Today, Centralia is a ghost-town.  Some days one can spot puffs of smoke, steam, and carbon monoxide escaping from cracks and collapsed pits in the town.  Most people don’t even know the town once existed, as they drive through on PA Route 61; there are no signs, and almost no buildings remaining - just a small maze of potholed roads with overgrown dirt lots and crumbling foundations if you take the right unmarked turnoff from Route 61.

The only indication that something might be off while driving by Centralia is the chicane Route 61 makes, which is actually a 1mi detour that was built in the 1990s to bypass a burning coal vein beneath the road threatening its collapse.  In the mid-2000s this abandoned ¾mi stretch of road began accumulating graffiti, that pace of which picked up in 2007 following the release of the Silent Hill movie based of the eponymous video game which was modeled on Centralia’s disastrous history.  This colorful stretch of Route 61 became known as The Graffiti Highway, and was a popular, if not questionably illegal, destination for seekers of oddities and offbeat landmarks.

Father Daniel Ignatius McDermott’s curse may prove true.

The Graffiti Highway

Located adjacent the Centralia cemetery, The Graffiti Highway’s entire ¾mi of pavement and surrounding guardrail was eventually totally covered in spray painted messages and art by visitors leaving their marks to commemorate their visit.  My friend and I have wanted to visit for years, to see the spooky, post-apocalyptic ruins of Centralia, and take in the vibrance of The Graffiti Highway; I ideally would have liked to shoot some kind of edgy fashion or car shoot there, as many people have used the splotched terrain as a vivid, polychromatic backdrop.

Sadly, The Graffiti Highway is another victim of the COVID-19 pandemic, as rowdy visitors looking for an escape from lockdown boredom were holding parties and bonfires at the offbeat destination.  Pagnotti Enterprises, a Pennsylvania mining company that owns the land, decided they didn’t want the liability, and sought to discourage visitors by covering the highway with 400 loads of dirt to bury the Graffiti Highway, rather than the more appropriate route of preserving it as a designated historic site.  This effort was quick, but only time will tell how successful it was; the resulting loss is less boring-dirtpile and more dirtbikers’ paradise.

My friend and I knew we’d missed finally seeing the Highway in its full glory by a mere few months, but we still wanted to see what Centralia is all about - what collector of oddities, visitor of haunted graveyards and ghost-towns, and reader of Atlas Obscura wouldn’t want to experience such a place for themselves?  Alongside my camera gear and car detailing bucket, I brought my Polaroid knowing the bright colors, if we found any, would show up great on film.

After our circuitous cruise to Centralia, with a handful of stops, and even purposely driving the wrong direction for quite a few miles in the pursuit of good roads, we arrived in Centralia… but not before missing the turn off Route 61 like I mentioned is so easy to miss - it’s basically a dirt road that looks like it leads nowhere.  But after turning off Route 61 you know you’re in the right place because tags start populating even the roads leading into what was once the heart of Centralia, which is just overgrown as nature is already reclaiming the little left of the town.  We parked on a dirt road leading into Odd Fellows Cemetery, which borders the tract where the fire originated; although its gate was open, we didn’t enter not knowing who technically owned it, nor who monitored the large security camera aimed at its entrance.  Not far from our cars was a monitoring station, with the message carved into its concrete base:  DO NOT BACK OVER WITH TOUR BUS.

After a little moseying around, we finally found a trail that led to The Graffiti Highway - nature is quickly taking back the entire area, so it was easy to get turned around without aiming yourself with a compass and satellite imagery.  Also, just follow the trail of dicks; phallic tags and the occasional pair of boobies increasingly blazed the trail until you reach an intersection with a collapsed coal vein one one side and the Highway down a steep embankment on the other.  We steered very clear of the collapsed fire vent, which just looked like a big sinkhole, not wanting to become another Todd Domboski or succumb to invisible and odorless carbon monoxide, and slid down the embankment to The Graffiti Highway’s clearing of trees.

To our delight, there were still some spots of the Highway that were left uncovered by the dirt mounts.  But it was impressive to see such an expanse of such uniform hills spanning such a distance; it elicited the sense of moguls on a piste, but dirt instead of snow - a dirtbiker’s paradise.  Something that was very striking, however, was the amount of raw, unburnt coal present and loosely floating atop the piles of dirt and rock; for a bunch of material excavated from the “depleted and burnt up” section of the original fire, there sure was an abundance of unspent fuel dumped upon this known tract of fire.  Some coal was definitely burnt, and it would break apart under your feet or crumble in your fingers, whereas unspent coal, while still fragile, holds its form and has a sheen across its surface.  Rocks were tagged with aliens, the unofficial mascot (and visitor???) of Centralia, along with hearts, stars, and all-seeing eyes.

F-Type Car Cruise

Once we’d seen most of The Graffiti Highway (we only hiked about half of it), we scampered back up the slippery hill, passed the cemetery, and took a look over the hill down into the former site of the landfill, where Centralia’s fire first began almost 60 years ago.  There wasn’t much to see, so we didn’t bother more than peering down, as a couple we ran into confirmed there was nothing of value down there as they exited past us.  A very muddy pickup and a few ATVers also passed by on one of the numerous dirt roads around the cemetery and the Highway; we were surprised that we encountered nobody on The Graffiti Highway itself, eventhough we heard ATVs and dirtbikes buzzing around while we explored.

The sun was setting, and after taking a couple photos where we initially parked, we moved on to find some graffiti on nearby roads to grab some tagged car pictures.  Centralia is dirt and decay, so while it’s not glamorous, there is beauty in dilapidation and decay.  In between pictures, we looked around the road to see what was nearby - some of the remaining slab foundations are so overgrown you trip onto them before you spot it.  One large one seemed to be an old gas station by its layout; I can’t help but wonder if it’s the spot where John Coddington discovered his gasoline stored at almost boiling temperatures.  Once we lost the good light, we called it a day and cruised away with new memories - I didn’t bring lights, and reader beware, Centralia isn’t the safest in way of crime in addition to land hazard.

I treasured my time in Centralia, and while I’m sad I never got to see it in its vivid prime, I’m still glad I got to visit before even more of the eerie ghost-town disappears.  I’ve been absolutely swamped with photoshoots and their resulting edits this Fall, and to concentrate I’ve been delving into new podcasts.  One I immediately latched onto is The Goth Librarian Podcast; it has everything I love: obscura, oddities, crime, scandal, mystery, medical madness, and hands-down the coolest theme music ever.  I’m so sad it ended last year after only 37 episodes due to the amount of work behind it being non-compensated (no sponsors).  I finished editing the photos from this fun trip months ago this Summer; they’ve been sitting waiting for me to compose this fitting history of Centralia.  So I’ve been working on edits of a lot of other photoshoots since then, but color me delighted when I got to Episode 035: Ghost Towns which discussed Centralia, PA, the historic fire, and the resulting Graffiti Highway phenomenon.  Eventhough The Goth Librarian Podcast seems to have also been another victim of the pandemic (the host is fine, don’t worry; just the show), I can’t recommend listening to it enough.  With only 37 episodes, it only took me a few days to work my way through from beginning to end, it introduced me to new occurrences of history, refreshed me on numerous tales I already knew of, and gave me a few new museums to add to my list to visit.  Give the episode containing the story of Centralia and other ghost towns a listen here.