One Hundred and Seventy Eight

Gash Collective - Halloween Free Party 2009

http://gashcollective.com

Sorry if you wern't there... S'all I can say.







ends

One Hundred and Seventy Seven

Crypt Sewer, London

M.C Sewer

The same thought flooded my mind as did when Zero and Loops first popped down. Wow. Crypt is officially known as the Frogmore Storm Relief, it's hard to believe such a structure exists below the area. Spoogetastic curved brick arches span the length of the main chamber, into which two inverted egg shaped RBP feed a constant heavy flow of London's finest sewerfresh. The separate flows eventually meet at a small drop and enter the central bottommost relief. Sewage flowing into the central column is carried further downstream.

photo: siologen

Crypts M.C Escher-esque chamber is a marvel of underground engineering. Who would really know if it was built purely to the satisfaction of the engineers. The attention to detail is staggering and it would seem at the time of construction that money was indeed no object. Personally, I could have spent another hour or so photographing the chamber, everything from the subtle changes in brick colour, to the double arched central section. Crypt delivers.

Doctahh

Shouts to Zero, Littlemike and Doctor Tooth. Aside from that, our waders seemed to drag out a load of fresh. A lovely pile of babywipes lay on the road, all skidmarked by London's Finest, and henceforth our waders smelt a treat. Peace y'all.

Here are some clickable 1up's of interest with imagery from Zero, Dsankt, Siologen, Jon Doe & Doctor T: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Ends.

One Hundred and Seventy Six

City of Manchester Stadium, The Roof

structured chaos

I remember a night, many moons ago when Stepping Lightly had suggested the particular access up the mighty stadium. Myself and Scott initially dismissed it as mad, then again, the building itself is mad. It made perfect sense. The two scaled the structure over the summer during my absence from Manchester, Squatting would have been plausible and quite achievable in the position I was in, but none the less, Southwards would be my residence over the summer.

photo: scott

Upon arriving back, I'd been meaning to pay a visit. I imagined the access and indeed, still thought the two were mad bastards for attempting such a climb. I mean, It isn't your usual, find a fire escape, bop to the top and pop the door open job. It was infact a fully external climb, in the full view of anyone within the surrounding area, and the penalty for failure was a topic I avoided addressing like the plague. Thankfully.

silent grin

Some time later, Myself and the likes of Scott and Doc-T stood at the base of the Stadium. He outlined pretty much how the access worked, yet that was the easy part. Conjuring the courage to free climb a structure over 8 stories high with no protection takes a fair amount of mental preparation, For some of my friends, nervousness appears absent, who really knows. I shan't delve into the psyche of ones mind before doing something stupid.

photo: toothdoctor

Its not uncommon for some to tell you not to look down, yet I find myself always doing it. It used to freak me out, but now I quite enjoy seeing the ground appear smaller and smaller. I continued the climb suppressing the shankey leg. Shakey legs are more annoying than the uBer Lycra sporting climbers at Manchester's centre. Stepping on the roof was good and I walked over to the very edge. I paused for a moment and took in the surroundings, I leaned over, the buzz in my chest put a huge smile of my face.

le cleaners

Initially, the first thing that hit my mind was "fuck! the lights are on!". The second thought was in regards to how high, and how huge the stadium was. The noise from behind me was Doctor T, He walked over to the next beam and crouched over the edge. This was insane. Upon closer inspection, we found cleaners in the executive box. The lights must have been on due to the fact there was a game on the very next day. I took a few photos, the particular view of the pitch from our point would be highly sought after by the avid football fan. Unspoiled views of the entire pitch without having to turn your head, Good much?

photo: toothdoctor

Biggest shout's to Stepping Lightly for access, Shouts to Scott for the climb, Shouts to Doctor tooth. Damn I missed Manchester...

Peace, Paix, Xool,

Ends.

One Hundred and Seventy Five

S.T.D Drain, Manchester

down in the Underground

Is it appropriate to listen to "Underground" by David Bowie whilst writing this post? Some time ago, Myself and LittleMike decided to check out STD. Officially explored back in '86 by JonDoe, the drain had seen little photographic coverage other than that from a 2004 visit by Sub-Urban.com, and so, thought it should be duly paid a visit. However, when you lose your Manchester A-Z, Finding drains in large meadows with dozens of Chickens cluckling and flying around your feet becomes quite troublesome. A week later, prioritised with only the best electronic maps, Myself and Concrete Jungle finally found the unsuspecting outfall.

Callipygian Umbra

The drain commences with a back-breaking 4 foot stoop lasting for what seemed as far too long. Memories of traversing Cornbrook flooded back, but none the less we continued up the Corrugated Metal Pipe (CMP), reaching two shafts along the way. One shaft is damaged, with timber sleepers covering the entire adit. Finally leaving the CMP, we were greeted with 6 foot of brick pipe.

Drainmeal Food.

After quickly passing through the most notable chamber in S.T.D, featuring a 6 Foot Pipe and an adjacent 4 foot Pipe, we continued to the end before getting some happy snappy's for the photo book. The brick pipe changed into a "U" shape, and then into a 4 foot square box. At the very end were two small 3 foot pipes which fed into the drain, and a 30 foot tall inspection chamber with few railed guards. The manhole at the top seemed to have grown into the shaft as most things in nature do.

YouPipe

Overall, S.T.D is rad, It's been a while since I've seen an interesting drain. Shouts to Concrete Jungle, You can catch some of his photos here, Tunnel running fo' the win! Word is bond. Shortly after leaving, I headed back into town, and skanked for four hours to DnB, and 'Step with bits of Stalactite in my hair, Funny.

"Down in the underground A land serene A crystal moon, ah, ah" - Bowie.

Peace, Ends

One Hundred and Seventy Four

Assorted Photographs, Manchester

can't remember where this is

Moonshine

junc

quite literally stepping lightly

Oh this building

gunchester riots

again, can't remember

Concrete J & I

parkinn style

that thing near afflecks

stockport

High

usrsctt

somewhere

says it on the tin!

illegal raves

bw chill

Shouts to all the random people in these selections of photographic recentste's. Userscott, Fraindawg, Sneak, Lazlo, Conworth, Lugh, Stepping Lightly, Zero, Toothdoctor, LittleMike, Concrete Jungle, Cass, Rookie, Gone and Appo. Peace y'all

Ends

One Hundred and Seventy Three

Packing Heat, Sewer Chamber, Manchester

mobiledraintog

With sewers, trawling through old city engineers photographs are a given, one of few techniques used to find sewers. Generally, few clues are easily found, which is why I have respect for anyone who can successfully find and explore them. A particularly good example of this are the London Drain Explorers. With London though, it's different, Bazalgette's sewers are something else, and finding equally drainworthy places in other cities is no doubt harder, not impossible though.

photo: city engineers

photo: LittleMike, p6

When LittleMike sent me the old engineers photos of Packing Heat, we knew something good was knocking about. Consequently, many attempts to find access were thwarted for many reasons. I remember one night, four of us attempted to lift a manhole immensley compressed by the constant pressure of vehicles. Eventually, LittleMike and Userscott had found it. The tales of brick chambers and huge penstock gates were true.

photo: city engineers

photo: toothdoctor. Myself, userscott & zero standing above p7

The chamber itself houses two penstock gates, none like I had seen, these covered pipes 20 foot in diameter. These are ofcourse half full of heavily flowing brown water, and are most certainly not somewhere to venture down. The two trunk sewers that flow through Packing Heat carry the vast amounts of sewage to the treatment plants in the Davyhulme/Barton area of Greater Manchester. I couldn't help but think Trunk sewers make Interceptors look like streams.

Penstock control

Shouts to the many people involved in this, LittleMike for his drain finding, Userscott for his GRID (yes siologen) lifting skills, shouts to Slippy Snake Snappella and Ds for one of many failed attempts. Also, out to Toothdoctor for busting mad photos, and lastly to Zero from SilentUK for making an appearance (took your time).

Peace, end

One Hundred and Seventy Two

The Light, Rooftop, Manchester

panoramius picadillium

I never tire of seeing Manchester from high up, or indeed anywhere high up. It's my own way to assess my surroundings from a single viewpoint. I've lost count of the different rooftops in Manchester, but certain locations tend to stick in the mind like epoxy resin. The Light, is a prime example of this. At 20 stories, it most certainly isn't the highest building in the city, nor in general terms of rooftops. The view however is something else, towering high over other buildings in the near by area, 360 views unrivalled, unspoiled by others in the family. The weirdest thing about this place, was that I climbed the crane around 2 years ago, and only realised when I recognised the view!

frainular ponders his time spent in the pool

southeast-wards

on the edge

Shouts to Frainular, true player.

peace, paix, ends.

One Hundred and Seventy One

Limoges Mission, Limousin Région, France


I'd snuck into Gareth's room via his window at quarter passed midnight. The dopey cunt fell asleep with his phone in is hand and I managed to obtain 4 hours of sleep before the morning was disturbed by the ugly voice of the alarm. We'd secured a lift to a town, 10 miles shy of London Luton Airport and began the early walk, mostly through abandonned train track into the shithole town. Naturally we were armed (to the teeth) with sweets, passports, £10, €1.25, sleeping bags and a 15pence energy drinks. I can't stress the importance of a good sweet collection when travelling.

trackwander

ryan

It was nice to be back in an aeroplane, Ryanair still amazes me. The scutters, the expensive whack food, the evidently overworked cabin crew and ofcourse, the pilots who always seem to fly in a similar fashion to wooden rollercoasters. We landed at Limoges airport, in the middle of fucking nowhere and in an airport smaller than most UK bus stations. With fuckall money. I pulled out a marker, Limoges sil vous plait, printed on card in drippy black letters. Off we went down the French Motorway. Pro Hitch bitches.

hitch hika

It took about half an hour for the first lift to arrive, A hippy dude in a green van. Somehow he knew we were English. I wasn't quite sure of the Hitch Hiking attire in France and could only compare it to Hitching in England. Our second ride was caught on a major motorway. We legged it over and opened his door, and shouted "parlez vous anglais? parlez vous anglais!?" to which he replied "non! En France, vous parlez Francias." I tried my best to converse with the man, but I got as far as telling him my our names and where we were from. To be fair it's completely justified with my D grade in GCSE French. The guy was sound, and dropped us off right in the middle of Limoges City. Worrd.

in the middle of somewhere?

grab dem lifts

Landing in France on Bastille Day was completely unplanned, but I can't argue with National Holidays and the French certainly know how to celebrate them. We spent a few hours exploring the town, and then made our way to the largest Public Jardin where apparently some shit was going down. At 5 minutes passed twilight, the streetlamps we extinguished and the town was covered with pretty fucken rad fireworks for 2 hours. After eating with Floreon and his mates, we went in search of a suitable place to sleep. The river banks of the Vienne were looking promising.

opposite palais de justice

bastille crunk day works

la gare de Limoges

As I woke up a Dog walker passed by and had to double take, we'd slept in a nice cove of trees on the banks of the beautiful River Vienne. We spent the day exploring more of the town and climbing street objects. Limoges is famous for its porcelain, so we busted out mad poses in various museums. It was hot too... Fucking hot. Lazing around in another country couldn't have come at a better time. We checked out a sewer before dusk, in flip flops, using a keychain light, Cave Clan style.

le wake up

porcelain pose

sewerfresh

When night had fallen, I figured we should check out the huge train depot in the city. I was surprised to find out how easy it was. Even in Limerick, Ireland, it was generally harder to gain access. It was good to not have to worry about palisade fencing, or infact fencing in general. We didn't stay long enough to get caught, but the attitude of authories seemed pretty lax to say the least, not to mention the complete lack of CCTV pretty much all over Europe except for England. We busted out drainor poses on the high speed TGV lines and then headed for food and checked out the next spot.

chicken

tracksides

The Cathédrale Saint-Étienne de Limoges is Huge. Earlier in the day we went inside to check it out, I hadn't been somewhere this big in a long time, and naturally I was looking for access to get high up on the towers. Master Wikipedia tells me the construction of the cathedral began in 1273 and finished only in 1888. The Renaissance loft and octagonal bell tower was built in 1534. We sat outside for two hours, waiting for the remaining tourists to disperse. A bar nearby would be shutting soon, and so we planned our access up to the top. The plaza was fully empty and we made our way over and up, deliberately looking away from the view until I was at the very top.

dang.

thas high

By the time I was down it was nearing 2am. Our flight was in 7 hours, we were miles away from the airport and the only route was through pitch black empty motorways. We decided to get going, we had no idea when the buses would resume in the morning and know from experience to not trust them. Just before leaving the city, we saw a baker in a small boulangerie. As he prepared for the next mornings bread, we knocked on the window and he let us in for some water. Onward we continued through the starlit motorway. Royksopp was blasting through my earphones, keeping me awake. My feet had deteriorated, they felt like sandpaper, but we had no choice but to carry on. I passed out in my sleeping bag next to the ATC tower at the airport.

cathedral toppa

high above limoges

Getting woken up to a landing plane is fucking annoying. Limoges was fucking rad. Shouts to Gareth Brown, Gay Airhostess Man, Green Van Dude, Mr Second Lift Dude who didn't speak English, Really annoying museum woman, Floreon and his crew, Bitchy tourist guide who wouldnt let us follow, everyone partying in the Jardins for Bastille. To this date, Limoges has been my cheapest trip, I spent £16.50 on flights (£8.25 each way) and spend €20 on food (basiclly £20 at the current exchange rate). We hitched to the city and therefore didn't pay any airport transfers, and slept rough, so £0 on accommodation too. Total expendature for a 3 day trip, £36.50. Fucken Word.

Paix, Ends.

One Hundred and Seventy

Le Touquet Paris Plage, France

signage

doing flips n shit

la plage

le coucher de soliel

sunset drama flux

le touquet

baguette

Spontaneity is a beautiful thing, so Gibbon's drove to a port and we ended up on a ship. Moore had brought nothing more than a bottle of water, suit jacket and £1.50 which was infact spent on the ship on a portion of chips. Spending a few days avec oreos, le vin, le baguettes de pain et la coucher de soileil at la plage is most definitely the perfect prescription to wind down. Why wind down you ask? Well, when you bust mad shit on the regular, it's nice to chill the fuck out for a while and kill time eradicating clichés. Having slept rough in a number of odd places, train stations, the streets, river banks, an air traffic control tower, barns, in trees, lift-operating rooms, rooftops, public parks and Doge's Palace to note a few, I'd still never slept on a beach. When you can make your own pillow with sand, and shape mother nature's mattress to the contours of your body, It's a sure sign of win on all levels. Biggest shouts to Gibbons and Moore. France is dope yo.

Peace, Paix

One Hundred and Sixty Nine

Bugnell, Sewer, Manchester

Fat. It's well talked about in modern health culture today. Don't eat this, don't eat that, It'll block up your arteries. Blocked arteries and high cholesterol can invariably lead to myocardial infarctions, angina and strokes to note a few, but what the fuck has this got anything to do with sewers?

mysel' riding the surf of fat - photo by littlemike

Well, sewers are like arteries and capillaries of the city. Most cities tend to have an area dedicated to fast food joints. Oh you know them?! Those luscious places that sell deep fried chicken and donner kebabs so mouthwatering, it's practically criminal to walk away from at those rock bottom prices. Manchester for one has many areas dedicated to cheap fatty foods. This is where the problem starts.

userscott finds somewhere to sit that isn't covered with poo at the plughole - photo by snappel

The leftover fatty oils used to cook your Friday night shitheap of kebab end up plonked down the drains and eventually end up in the arteries of the city. Just like the body, these too get blocked. Now imagine trying to walk through one of these, 6 deep in a 2ft wide 6ft high horrible ass sewer. To give you a better idea, it's like walking on brittle polystyrene (this is ofcourse, old fat collected and compacted). You'd think poo was the worst thing sewers could hold? Fat can only be described as pure concentrated uncensored hatred for the world.

Shouts to Userscott, Siologen, Snappel, Littlemike and Curlybean.

Ends, paix.