Tower Bridge, from The Shard

Picture it. December 2010.  Christmas Eve.  A meal with the family, then slipping away on a 120-mile round trip, to stand, shivering, on the top of a crane.  Suffice to say, my family thought I was mad.

Towers Of London, from The Shard

Arriving at London Bridge Station and parking my car, the night becomes a blur.  I can't even remember exactly who I was supposed to be meeting.  Either way, I was early. A lap of the site couldn't be a bad thing though, so I set off on foot, looking for obvious changes from our previous reccys.

It occurred to me at one point that there were rather a lot of people loitering around the base, and it took me a minute to realise exactly what was going on.  Half of London's exploring scene was doing laps of the hoarding, leaning on lamp posts, waiting for that clear moment...

London Falling

It was obvious that nothing was going to happen without co-operation.  I think there were about 12 of us, and any slip-ups would probably mean disaster for all.  We rounded each other up and set about entering the site in pairs and threes.  Somewhere in the middle, I went in.  75 flights of stairs later... And we were at the top! That easy... hmmm...

The wind was bitter, icy even.  None-the-less, I wanted my "money shot".  Not the most impressive photograph, by most standards, but the counterweight on the crane was to be mine.

For me, the money shot.

Tensing myself to stop the shivering, partly to get a sharp photo, partly to stop me falling off, I hit the shutter release and held.  Legs dangling the 330m down, the 12 seconds felt like minutes, hours even.  I sat for a few shots, just to be certain, and then climbed back down to the slip-form.

Back on the Slipform

Reflecting back on that night, in some ways The Shard was a photographic let down, just too high, too much to see, most of my photographs just too vague.  As an experience, slogging up 70-something flights of stairs and ladders, not knowing if you would be caught around the next corner, not knowing if the top would be locked, alarmed, guarded... Amazing.  The feeling of elation when at 20-to-midnight on Christmas Eve, I burst out of the hatch on to the slipform, knowing that not only had I done it, but I was about to share the experience with a group of others, all feeling the same elation, adrenaline and desire to explore that I had...

Amazing.

The Shard

The main deck of the bridge

Designed by a French engineer (Ferdinand Arnodin), and opened in 1906, it is one of two transporter bridges in the UK, the other being in Middlesbrough.

The bridge spans the river at a height of 54 metres, and the towers reach 74m.  Cars cross the river without ramps, on a gondola suspended just above the water on a plethora of steel cables.

A Grainy shot showing the gondola, 50-odd metres below.

Having climbed to the top of the towers, Goblinmerchant and then myself made the traverse out onto the suspension cables.  I can't begin to describe how this felt.  70 metres up, lying across the cables, looking down at the river below.  It was thrilling, terrifying, beautiful and bonkers.

Cable Frotting on the Newport Transporter Bridge

Back up the cables from about half way, on the Newport Transporter Bridge

Continuing all the way down the cables, back to the deck, I had to re-climb the tower to it's full height to retrieve my bag and tripod.  I took this final snap before joining the others to mooch across to the other side and simply explore the structure...

Newport Transporter Bridge from the top of a tower

Anyway, the building I climbed on the evening in question is called "The Heron" ... Not the taller "Heron Tower".

Barbican Towers

I met up with Hydra, and we skulked around the permiter of the site, looking at the camera positions, and the steady flow of people from within the Barbican.  The streets being as busy as they were at 11:00 was not part of the plan!

During a brief rest in the flow of people, the noisiest gate in the world was climbed, and the crane was located.  Up we went!

Across the City

The tower itself will stand at 36 floors high.  The crane is obviously slightly taller, although I couldn't say exactly.

In the cab, all the equipment was on, and screens live.  Spot the man walking past on street level!

Long way down!

The Shard, in the distance

The original Abbey Mills Pumping Station (Station A) is located in East London and was built between 1865 and 1868.  designed by engineer Joseph Bazalgette, Edmund Cooper, and architect Charles Driver, it is cruciform in shape, and in the elaborate Byzantine style.  Known by many as Bazalgette's "Cathedral of Sewerage", it originally had two Moorish styled elaborate chimneys, a relic from the pumping stations steam powered past (pre 1933).  However, these were demolished during the Second World War, as they presented a landmark for German Bombers.

"Station A" The old Abbey Mills Pumping Station building at night

Wow.  What a building!  And the inside is pretty spectacular to boot!  Fitted out in the 1930's with electric pumps to replace the original steam ones, the interior is ornate and still bears reference to the original beam engines.

Just on the edges of shot in this image, you can see a pair of "Dalek" like pump heads.  The red light found throughout the night time visit shots is provided by banks of heaters glowing, keeping the temperature nice and toasty!

Flow meters for the pumps, just in shot on either side

The pumps themselves are far larger than apparent from the "ground level" within the building.  The part visible in this next shot is just the motor; below runs a driveshaft, connected to a centrifugal pump within the nether levels of the building.

A Dalek shaped motor housing, again lit by heater elements

The upper floors of the building contain seemingly wasted space; Gantries criss cross, with large voids.  Reality is that these once provided access to the huge arms of the original steam driven beam pumping engines which once graced the building.  You can see, the central void leading to the cupola.  Met on all 4 sides by the pump galleries.  You can spot the pair of center voids above each gallery, with their ornate railings, simply for decoration.  To the left and right of these, there is another pair of voids, the original beam engine arms would have swung in these.  The railings here are much less ornate and much more open.

An overview of the upper level, showing cruciform shape, and openings for the beam engines

It is worth a closer look at the railings, and one can see the ornate cast iron, painting and woodwork.  Bearing the crests of the 7 civic bodies who funded Bazalgettes' sewer network, it is a true work of art;

The crests of the 7 civic bodies financing the project

The building was apparently named after an abbey with a waterwheel, historically present on the site.  Built as part of Bazalgettes' solution to the "Great Stink", a side effect of Baz's work was to greatly reduce the cholera and typhoid death tolls within London.  Many hundreds of thousands of peoples lives have been saved as a result!

The view from the roofspace

We can look down the voids at the more modern, much smaller but still marvelous electric pumps;

A pump from the gantry above

From the ground floor, looking across the main hall, the intricacies of the iron work can be further noted.   The astute among you may have noticed that some of the images are taken in daylight.  That's because I made two visits!

A view across the pump room

Gauge showing sewerage levels

We wrap up with a final shot across the length of the building, taking in a pair of pumps and flow gauge, as well as the ornate cupola ironwork.  One can also see, on the ceiling and floor, voids for the steam powered beam engines used for pumping when the building was first opened:

An overview of the ground floor

Abbey Mills Pumping station is still a very live site.  Home to the new, modern Abbey Mills pumping station and a head chamber of the Lea Storm relief.  The old pumping station, photographed here is still in use, and very much a live, active site.  The pumps are used in periods of very high flow, and are liable to start and stop without warning!

Up the jib taken by the nice chap over at Jim Gillette

That's the crows nest, and here's a photo of Gary.

Naughty.

I don't ever seem to have taken a good photo up here.  So here are two crap ones instead.  A slightly fuzzy big three, and the jib.

The big 3

Jib

Before we begin, I maintain that this is the stupidest and most worthless piece of tube exploring I have ever done. The risk-to-payout ratio was way off the scale, and unfortunately, in totally the wrong direction. In short, Bull and Bush is one of the shittiest derelict stations I have had the misfortune to run to. 800m of zero clearance tunnel running, for no platforms, no posters, no tiles, no period features and no atmosphere. Just bags of rubble and tube dirt. Over 200 feet down, it is one of the deepest stations in the whole network, bored out in 1907, and never opened.

Rubbish. Literally.

Turned off. Yup, I was.

Featureless.

The most interesting thing down there. My mates.

Rubbish. Did I mention rubbish?

A blast from the past, one I have been sitting on.  No particular reason, just sheer lazyness.

This isn't the first visit to Down Street.  I can't claim credit for discovering the way into this station, others came before me, and others followed after.

Despite having been visited the previous night, upon approaching our access, it had been boarded.  No issue for one of the guys I was with produced a DeWalt cordless drill and removed a dozen screws.  Meanwhile, I was stood across the street, every time a passer-by drew close to our alley-way, I would signal to someone at the front of the alley, who would signal to the unscrewer.  No nosey passers by were going to hear our drill and spoil our night!

Down.

Squeezing through the hole left, we then cable-tied the board back over the hole from the inside.  to a passer-by, nothing had changed!  Alas, within the room we had just accessed, much had changed.  An access hatch and a cage had been chained shut.  Hopes were dashed.  At least, for the pessimistic among us.  After brief investigation, we were able to climb around the cage, and down into the shaft.  Once in the shaft, we free-climbed down, and into the station.

Passage.

Periodically, we were graced with the famous tube "blow job"  The air rushing past us, a reminder that we were still in active service.  Deeper into the station complex, we got to the platforms, or rather, what remained.  Like so many of the derelict and abandoned tube stations, the platforms have been walled off from the track, preventing the unlikely curious commuter from peering into the station...

Current.

Commuter.

Climber.

We discover the emergency exit stairwell,and by the time we make our way back to the trackside, service has ended, and current has been cut.  We made an end to our night by taking some quick snaps at track level.

Spaced.

Overshadowed.

Fast-forward 6½ years, and I am in the pub with friends, and my phone rings;  It's Patch.  I listen with disdain as he explains to me that he thinks we can top out the British Museum.  I'm used to occasional madcap schemes from Patch, some of which pay off, some of which don't...  It seemed foolish at the time, but I agreed to join Patch and Alex in London on the Friday night to check out his idea.

As we rounded the final corner, it became obvious what he had in mind.  On Montague Place, there is a building site, part of the museum is being rebuilt.  There is scaffold up one side of the building.  The perfect route onto the roof.

Returning to the car, we racked our climbing gear up, harnesses on, scaffold hooks at the ready, rucksacks stuffed with rope, descenders, ascenders and camera gear, we climbed the hoarding and navigated around the first of what turned out to be many, many alarms.

Patch and Alex on the first section of roof, just after our climb

Like a flying saucer, hovering in the distance, we wondered if we would ever discover it's secrets...

Straight off the scaffold, I pulled out my camera, and started shooting.  ISO pushed up to 12800, quick and dirty handhelds were the name of the game.  we had no idea if we had missed an alarm, or if we were still undetected.  With urgency, we pushed on.  Moving away from the edge of the building, we nearly made our first mistake.  Narrowly avoiding tripping a sensor, we altered course and traversed a different part of the roof.  we had to move away, in order that we could move nearer undetected.

I can't decide which of these I prefer. [Black and white] [saturated more]

Having navigated the sensor, we now had a second issue to overcome.  The wing of the museum we had climbed onto, was some 10 to 12 metres taller than the main building that we were aiming for.  A quick climb around enabled us to ascertain that there were no ladders, and no stairs down.  Fortunately, we had planned for this eventuality.  40-odd metres of rope was uncoiled from a bag, and an abseil was rigged.  we silently descended onto the lower roof.

We paused for a group shot.  Standing perfectly still, the three of us in silence.  As the shutter closed, we all breathed, and one by one, laughed.  The sheer elation one feels when you have conquered the seemingly unconqureable is almost indescribable.

Elation, pride, mastery!

We pushed on.  Every alcove, every corner and at every change of direction we stopped, observed, looked and tried to spot sensors, cameras, anything that could impede our progress.  To my shock, there was nothing.  The only explanation I can find for this, is that nobody expected us to get that far into the museum roof.  An open window served to confirm this... We were able to look down into, and potentially climb into one of the halls containing Egyptian artefacts.  Needless to say, we didn't - Doing so would mean almost certain capture and arrest.  We made do with photographs, cameras held through the windows...

Priceless!

We pressed on.  Artefacts, no matter how fascinating, historically important or valuable were not our aim for the evening.  A short ladder, some stairs and we were there.  The famous glass roof over the Great Court.  Designed by Lord Foster, and opened in 2000, we were walking on top of it!

On your roof!

Undulating below us...

As the sun begins to rise...

It was swiftly getting light.  The time was well gone 3:00am.  We had to get down.  Priority became leaving, before the sun came up, before the streets got busy, and before the parking nazi's put a ticket or worse on my car!  We swiftly climbed to the top of the dome, where sadly, I didn't take any photographs worth posting.  Rushing down, we skirted around the glass, to enable us to leave via the same building site we entered by;  We planned to abseil off the building into a different area of the site.  This is where we started to make mistakes.  Tired and rushing, at some point in the 90 minutes between leaving the glass atrium, and finishing the abseil, we triggered a sensor.  Sadly, we were apprehended by the Museum security who called the police straight away.  After a search and a dressing down from some of the most reasonable, calm and composed police I have ever encountered, we were allowed to leave.  Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the museum security guards, who were intent on "seizing our cameras" or having us arrested for "...anything.  In my day, they would have been locked up straight away" and the classic, yet sad "Arrest them for trespass", "We want to press trespass charges".  It's not unusual to see security guards with such a poor grasp of the law, there really is no excuse.

As a final note, I would like to remind the reader, that all of the images in this post are copyright.  My activities on the night that this trip took place were not breaking the law, and that none of the images on this page or website may be used without the express permission of the owner of the copyright.  Unless otherwise specified, that person is me, the author.

If you wish to use any of the images for any reason, be it commercial or personal, please contact me for permission by e-mailing unknown[at]eofd.co.uk or using the images for sale page.

in the middle of "Gone Fishing", Looking upstream, towards County Lock

Of late, we have discovered some previously un-photographed water courses within Reading.  First came "Holy Brook" which we did not have the privilege of naming; it's had that name since about 1086.  We follow this with the discovery today of another (far smaller) section of culvert, again related to the Kennet.

Those colours are real. This photo is straight off camera. The colours are from the "mood lighting" on the main channel, through the town centre

Just past County Lock, "Gone Fishing" seems to serve no real purpose, other than to catch shopping trolleys, pallets and other detritus, and house hundreds of roof dwelling spiders and, as the name might imply, fish.  Stand still for more than a few seconds, and you will feel the nudges of fish ranging from under an inch, to some well over 8, swimming into, and nibbling harmlessly at your waders!

Downstream at the wier

And that just about wraps up "Gone Fishing"  Not even 300m long, this tiny diversion is unlikely to ever be visited by anyone again.  Such is it's insignificance.

Goodbye!