1. No Stealing: Urban exploration is an adventure-based hobby, not a profit-based one.
Theft results in increased security, which makes return trips difficult or impossible. If caught, theft results in much more serious consequences than simple exploration.
2. No Vandalism: Urban exploration is about preserving locations, not destroying them.
Vandalism results in the same consequences as theft: increased security and greater penalties if caught.
3. No Backtracking: Because you’ve already been that way and it’s boring. Find another way out.
4. Dark Clothes Only: Stealth is key. Imagine you’re a ninja: blend with the shadows.
5. No Noise: Under no circumstances should music ever be a part of exploring, even with headphones. All five senses need to be alert at all times, especially hearing. Keep quiet. If you need to talk, whisper, and use gestures instead of vocal communication whenever possible.
6. No Drinking or Smoking: Alcohol dulls your senses and isn’t a good idea when you’re trying to keep your balance on rafters or scale up the side of buildings. It’s hard enough doing this sober. If you smoke, quit. Smoking decreases lung capacity, which can severely reduce your physical agility, and also makes it harder to run when you need to. Smoker’s cough always kicks in at the worst times, like when you’re trying to be quiet, and a lit cigarette completely gives away your position. Cigarette butts are also evidence that you were there.
7. No Large Groups: Bringing a friend or two along is recommended, but in the words of the legendary explorer Jeff Chapman (also known as Ninjalicious), “the group can only move as quickly as its slowest member, sneak as quietly as its noisiest member, squeeze through openings as small as its largest member and, often, behave as intelligently as its stupidest member."
8. Be Non-Descript: Distinguishing features like moustaches, tattoos, hairstyles or piercings should be covered up or removed for an exploration. The easier it is to describe someone, the more likely it is that they will get noticed, especially if they are caught on camera.
9. No Strangers: Randomly running into people and exploring with them isn’t strictly forbidden, but keep in mind that you never know if someone might have a criminal record or if they’re not as normal as you thought. Stick to exploring with people you know and trust.
10. Conceal Light: If you can see without a flashlight, don’t use it. If you’re faced with a situation where it would risky to turn on a light but you have no other choice, use a colored filter. Red filters can be bought or improvised (balloons, handkerchiefs, and ketchup all work well).
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Portals
Houses know you’re there. I’ve always felt this way as soon as I enter one: it knows I’m here. Many other explorers I've spoken to feel the same way; it's a well known fact that respect towards a property or location is closely connected to our adventure's success. Most explorers I know are superstitious, but never scared. The majority of them weren't superstitious before they began exploring houses, but every explorer learns something upon entering a one. After a few very strong vibes, strange occurrences, or perhaps strange objects and shadows showing up in photographs, every urban explorer who sticks with their hobby for more than a few months knows that there are different forces at work in the foundations of old houses, the stale air that permeates every room, and the essence of every framework they decide to explore.
It could all just be bullshit, too. I know several people who have looted and stolen from abandonments, stripping away the copper pipes to sell to a scrap metal yard or taking an interesting object I might later spot in an antique store. However, each person that has done so has also told me about the chill that went down their back as they laid a hand on an object, or the hostile feeling they got as soon as they stepped foot in a certain room. They ignored the signs and took what they wanted, and who knows, perhaps they'll pay for it later. As far as I know, they haven't mysteriously died or been injured recently.
I'm not saying that houses are alive. I can only tell you what I have learned from experience exploring houses. I can tell you about the time I entered through the backdoor of a rickety old abandoned house and a black cat with white splotches came padding down the stairs and rubbed against my leg. It followed me as I went from room to room taking photographs of shredded curtains and 1950s-era wallpaper. The moment my foot came down upon the floorboards of a room towards the back of the house, the cat went into a fit. It turned into a hissing, howling, spitting, wailing demon-cat from hell as it arched its back and flattened its ears against its black skull.
I can tell about the time I explored an abandoned mental hospital where I took a picture of a doorway with its reinforced glass panels broken into dangling glass shards. When I examined the photograph closer a few days later, I noticed what was unmistakably a noose hanging dead center in the background. The rope isn't actually visible, nor is it a shadow; it's like the idea of a noose hanging ominously behind the focus of the photograph. I found out several days later in my research of the hospital's different buildings that ward D3, the ward in which that picture had been taken, was the only wing that was occupied by suicidal patients.
I can tell you about numerous times where I've felt an intense chill run down my back upon entering a certain hallway or section of a building, as if I'm being told that there are limits to what I'm allowed to access. Other times I am suddenly struck by a strong hunch that I should leave; the feeling shoots through my body like lightning and makes me shudder, realizing that it's several degrees warmer outside than it is inside the building. There was only one time I ever ignored my instincts to leave; it was also the only time I've ever fallen down a flight of stairs. All of these occurrences could be reasonably explained, of course; I for one, choose not to take sides. I do not deny or insist that these stories are proof of anything, but I do acknowledge that the combination of all of these coincidences are undoubtedly strange.
The photograph of the house on Rockledge Drive was later part a series I took called Portals. The series consisted of ten photos that depicted different openings, doorways and passages. I recently organized my photographs and realized that doorways, long hallways, windows, and other openings are the subject of many of my photos. Most of the strange occurrences mentioned earlier had something to do with passing through a portal or opening of some sort. Perhaps I associate thresholds with the anticipation of feeling either welcomed or uninvited as soon as I cross it, and perhaps it's because of this that I see doorways, passages and windows as an important representation of boundaries.
This is probably why I also envision houses as people and talk about them like they have emotions and preferences. Each house I enter has, I feel, a certain personality that is very strong after having taken a self-lead tour of its rooms. Some houses feel lonely and seem to brighten up as you walk through their hallways; other houses seem quite comfortable with being empty and undisturbed, exuding a feeling of contentment and dormancy. Some of them mourn the loss of previous occupants; this feeling is most strongly felt when there is evidence of the inhabitants having left in a hurry, leaving behind objects one would think would be of some importance, like books and personal documents. Other buildings exude a feeling of superiority and decaying glory; crumbling mansions and private estates often feel this way. Just like people, some buildings have boundaries: secrets that they don't want revealed, and passageways that must be navigated and figured out before you can get a grasp on who they really are, what they care about, and what their hopes and dreams might be.
Perhaps portals are important to me because they represent what it takes to get to know someone. It takes entering their lives and truly exploring their personalities on their terms, not yours.
It could all just be bullshit, too. I know several people who have looted and stolen from abandonments, stripping away the copper pipes to sell to a scrap metal yard or taking an interesting object I might later spot in an antique store. However, each person that has done so has also told me about the chill that went down their back as they laid a hand on an object, or the hostile feeling they got as soon as they stepped foot in a certain room. They ignored the signs and took what they wanted, and who knows, perhaps they'll pay for it later. As far as I know, they haven't mysteriously died or been injured recently.
I'm not saying that houses are alive. I can only tell you what I have learned from experience exploring houses. I can tell you about the time I entered through the backdoor of a rickety old abandoned house and a black cat with white splotches came padding down the stairs and rubbed against my leg. It followed me as I went from room to room taking photographs of shredded curtains and 1950s-era wallpaper. The moment my foot came down upon the floorboards of a room towards the back of the house, the cat went into a fit. It turned into a hissing, howling, spitting, wailing demon-cat from hell as it arched its back and flattened its ears against its black skull.
I can tell about the time I explored an abandoned mental hospital where I took a picture of a doorway with its reinforced glass panels broken into dangling glass shards. When I examined the photograph closer a few days later, I noticed what was unmistakably a noose hanging dead center in the background. The rope isn't actually visible, nor is it a shadow; it's like the idea of a noose hanging ominously behind the focus of the photograph. I found out several days later in my research of the hospital's different buildings that ward D3, the ward in which that picture had been taken, was the only wing that was occupied by suicidal patients.
I can tell you about numerous times where I've felt an intense chill run down my back upon entering a certain hallway or section of a building, as if I'm being told that there are limits to what I'm allowed to access. Other times I am suddenly struck by a strong hunch that I should leave; the feeling shoots through my body like lightning and makes me shudder, realizing that it's several degrees warmer outside than it is inside the building. There was only one time I ever ignored my instincts to leave; it was also the only time I've ever fallen down a flight of stairs. All of these occurrences could be reasonably explained, of course; I for one, choose not to take sides. I do not deny or insist that these stories are proof of anything, but I do acknowledge that the combination of all of these coincidences are undoubtedly strange.
The photograph of the house on Rockledge Drive was later part a series I took called Portals. The series consisted of ten photos that depicted different openings, doorways and passages. I recently organized my photographs and realized that doorways, long hallways, windows, and other openings are the subject of many of my photos. Most of the strange occurrences mentioned earlier had something to do with passing through a portal or opening of some sort. Perhaps I associate thresholds with the anticipation of feeling either welcomed or uninvited as soon as I cross it, and perhaps it's because of this that I see doorways, passages and windows as an important representation of boundaries.
This is probably why I also envision houses as people and talk about them like they have emotions and preferences. Each house I enter has, I feel, a certain personality that is very strong after having taken a self-lead tour of its rooms. Some houses feel lonely and seem to brighten up as you walk through their hallways; other houses seem quite comfortable with being empty and undisturbed, exuding a feeling of contentment and dormancy. Some of them mourn the loss of previous occupants; this feeling is most strongly felt when there is evidence of the inhabitants having left in a hurry, leaving behind objects one would think would be of some importance, like books and personal documents. Other buildings exude a feeling of superiority and decaying glory; crumbling mansions and private estates often feel this way. Just like people, some buildings have boundaries: secrets that they don't want revealed, and passageways that must be navigated and figured out before you can get a grasp on who they really are, what they care about, and what their hopes and dreams might be.
Perhaps portals are important to me because they represent what it takes to get to know someone. It takes entering their lives and truly exploring their personalities on their terms, not yours.
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