Take only photos, leave only footprints

“I think that a lot of people assume that women shouldn’t be urban explorers because it’s sort of a dirty thing,” Melanie says. “You get really muddy. You get rusty. And you have to take the right precautions.” Precautions for Melanie include pepper spray, a respirator, thick-soled boots and a friend who accompanies her on most of her expeditions.

I pull out my video camera and try to copy the others, but it’s clear I’m a first-timer. I try to hold my camera steady in my outstretched arm, but I’m paying far more attention to what’s going on around me than what’s in my viewfinder. The beams of sunlight reveal swirls of dust particles. Although captivating, the dust is irritating my eyes. I stay far away from staircases or unstable-looking platforms, and I’m constantly looking over my shoulder at the entrance to see if the police have shown up yet. Melanie’s words of encouragement run through my head: “Stay safe, don’t do stupid things, and appreciate the place you’re in ⎯ because it might be gone next week.”

An abandoned Milwaukee building, ripe for urban exploring. Photo by David Kettinger

Adrenaline pumps throughout the factory. For the explorers, it’s because of the thrill of adventure, the excitement of capturing a fantastic photograph. For me, it’s the uneasy feeling of being somewhere I don’t belong. But that’s something experienced explorers learn to put out of their mind ⎯ they focus on being in the moment. “You are indeed breaking the law, but it’s not in an immoral sense. You’re still paying tribute to what has been and what is,” says Melanie.

We make our way down a long hallway, past the aged graffiti, and travel deeper and deeper into the factory’s core. We decide to take the path to the right, down a narrow walkway surrounded by walls that threaten to collapse. We finally enter a small room with a half-opened door inviting us to explore the basement. In a matter of moments, we’re swallowed by the darkness. With only Melanie’s flashlight guiding us, we explore Madison’s forgotten past.

An hour later, we’re hopping the same spot in the fence where the barbed wire is cut. Exhaustion immediately replaces the adrenaline throughout my body. My adventure is over, but for the urbexers, this was only the beginning. They’re already planning their next exploration that same day and will eventually visit four more sites. But for now, they disappear in the opposite direction, leaving behind only white, dusty footprints and maybe a small scrap of denim.