Last July, my late* trubbamaking companion was trying to find a path down to the beach when he noticed a hole in a fence across the road, where someone had cut it away to allow a tree limb to grow through.
Characteristically unable to resist, he climbed through it to explore, and, in a fantastic piece of luck, deep in the woods behind this fence he stumbled onto the surface entrances to Battery D_________, a sprawling underground military facility dating back to World War 2.
Several weeks later he brought me there, camera in hand, to explore the corridors of this creepy subterranean relic...
*Repeat visitors to this gallery will notice the change in epithet. In summer 2005, my former intrepid trubbamaking companion was killed in a freak dating accident. Don't mourn for him. He knew the risks.
Don't mourn for him. He knew the risks.