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Eliasville
The lone building that still stands at the main intersection in the
abandoned town of Eliasville. |
As
you look at these pictures, the question you’re probably asking is...
why?
Why would someone want to drive hundreds of miles across the state
of Texas to an old, abandoned ghost town,
risking encounters with rattlesnakes, scorpions, hostile locals, and
buildings that might collapse at the drop of a hat, all just to take
photographs of these forgotten
places? And on top of that, why on earth would you want to do it all
at night?
Most folks don’t understand the appeal, but for me, there’s a special
beauty and mystery to these places that just can’t be captured at
any other time of day. The long exposure times required to let the
moonlight take the picture brings out a whole new range of colors
and textures you just don’t see during daylight hours. An old jailhouse
by day becomes a surreal icon on the open plains after dark; a river
flowing by an abandoned mill becomes a smooth ribbon of velvet winding
through the Texas night. |
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Donnell
Mill
The clear fork of the Brazos River flows gently by the remains of
the old Donnell Mill,
built in 1895 in Eliasville. |
| Then
there’s the solitude…standing in the middle of a virtually empty field
of cactus, scrub trees, and sagebrush and knowing that, a hundred
years ago, you would have been standing in downtown Belle
Plain, Texas. Literally no lights to be seen in any direction…
only the full moon above, so bright you could read a newspaper by
it. You start to wonder what life must have been like for these people,
who lived out in the middle of nowhere… back when “nowhere” was the
middle of town. |
School’s
Out
The deteriorating home of the dean of Belle
Plain college, the ruins of which still stand some 200 yards behind
this structure…a distance I was not willing to venture without snake
boots. |
People
often ask if it’s “spooky,” poking around in ghost
towns in the middle of the night. It can be, for sure. Standing
in front of an abandoned old house in a remote Texas
ghost town, all alone… or at least you think you are…
Then you hear a noise, and you wonder, “Was that the wind, or perhaps
an animal…maybe just the creaking of one of these old buildings… surely
that’s all it was…” Your mind, as they say, can start to play
tricks on you.
Irrational fears notwithstanding, there is plenty to be wary of when
exploring these places. As I mentioned before, all manner of wild
animals can be found in out-of-the-way spots like these, including
mountain lions and even bears in some parts of the state; it truly
can be a jungle out there! |
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Likewise,
the buildings themselves are usually in some advanced state of disrepair,
just waiting for the unwary adventurer to step on a decaying floorboard
and fall through. It’s often difficult to see all the potential traps
into which you might step when exploring a ghost
town at night.
But staying alert is not as hard as you might imagine; in fact, I
find that all the senses become heightened when exploring these places.
Your hearing, your sight (once it adjusts to the dark), even your
smell is more acute than in daylight. |
Jailbreak
Inside the old strap-iron cellblock of the Kent
County Jail in Clairemont.
The jail was pitch black; photo was lit with multiple green-gelled
strobe flashes during the time exposure. |
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I’ve
outlined some of what appeals to me about ghost
towns at night, but any explanation would be incomplete without
mentioning the intangible elements: those elusive, often indescribable
details that irreversibly brand the experience into your memory. I
come from a quiet little community in the northeast part of the state
called Dallas, so for me,
the sense of isolation in these forgotten places is rare and refreshing.
Standing alone in total darkness and total silence, only to suddenly
realize that the “silence” is in fact a near-deafening chorus of crickets.
Hearing a lonesome pack of coyotes howling in the distance. Seeing
a thin layer of wispy clouds blaze bright as they glide past the moon.
All of this contributes to a remarkable sense of place, a vivid awareness,
an awakening to the beauty and tranquility of a Texas country night.
You need a place to think? Get in your car and drive to Eskota,
Texas, pull off the road, get out, and lie down on the hood of
your car. Look up at the moon and stars. Whatever’s on your mind will
find perspective pretty quickly. |
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Motel,
South Bend
This old motel court sits just west of the intersection of SR-67 and
FM-701 in Young County. |
So
ultimately, I suppose I enjoy taking these photographs for a variety
of reasons. On the one hand, I immensely enjoy the creative process
associated with night photography, as well as the experience of simply
being in these remote, deserted places. And while the experience is
for me a solitary one, I do want to share it with others, so these
pictures also represent my attempt at conveying the incredible sense
of history, beauty, imagination, and mystery that these ghost
towns conjure up for me. I hope you find these places as interesting
as I do, and that you enjoy my pictures of them.
Copyright Noel Kerns
October 2007 |
The photographs
in this essay were shot at night and in total darkness aside from
moonlight and, in some cases, artistic effect lighting. The only exceptions
to this are “Eliasville” and “For Sale,” which were partially illuminated
by sodium vapor lamps on nearby private property.
The luminescence and color saturation in these images are a result
of the lengthy exposure times, ranging from one to ten minutes, and
belie how dark the scenes really were.
For the effect lighting in several pictures, I used hand-held strobes
with colored gel filters, and an arsenal of flashlights varying in
intensity from a Mini-Maglite up to a 2,000,000 candlepower spotlight.
All pictures were taken with a Nikon D80 digital SLR camera.
More Photos by Noel Kerns |
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