I had seen the building from the bridge the week before. It was a decaying shack precariously built on some rocks jutting out into the bay. When we arrived we discovered that there were several hundred yards of fenced-off access road between us the building. Most of us debated whether we could make it all the way out there without being caught, and I think we were on the verge of turning back when Cameron said, "I'll go out there and scout it out," and dove under the fence. Well, he didn't dive under the fence, he clambered (Sara) down some rocks and climbed through a hole in the fence but that didn't seem to really convey boldness and resolve, which he had while the rest of us were wavering.
After a minute he came back and said the coast was clear and we all went under the fence. We walked down the dirt road past some slag piles and came upon a deer. It was not afraid of us at all and let us get within 15' or so to take pictures. People shouted at us from the bridge and we waved at them.
We got to the building and crossed a concrete pathway with a broken railing that lead out onto the rocks and into the structure. Just as I was going inside the foghorn blew, and scared the hell out me! It was incredibly loud. Inside the building was crumbling. There were two huge rusting boilers in the far corner, possibly to power an older steam-powered foghorn. We stayed inside for a while taking pictures, recording a message for this proof and putting up some sf0 stickers.
We walked back and explored the bunkers a bit. Then we decided to go to Sausalito, which as Orion aptly pointed out, "is for douche-bags". His point was made even further by the pink dress-shirt wearing Biff that gave us the stink-eye as soon as we pulled into town.
Check out this
page for more pictures...
Basically, we snuck into this
underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. Quite a remarkable place to be with a great view of the bridge and a lot of fantastic sounds competing with one another. We most likely narrowly avoided our run-in with the police...word is still out if we were lucky enough to avoid lead poisoning, too.
There was some trepidation at first; but I was dead set as soon as I saw the building: a lonely little crumbled shack beneath the bridge, forlornly jutting out of the marin penninsula. A quick scouting expidition showed that the path to Lime Point was unimpeded, and we scuttled beneath the barricade, and hustled out ot the point. If we were stopped, I planned to tell them that I dropped my keys from the bridge... Not a great albi, but it turns out, we never needed it.
There was a narrow stone walkway out to the actual building on the point, with twisted metal handholds seemingly bent over in the high winds. This walkway opened into a small brick courtyard that preceded the structure itself. The buiding was in poor shape. It's masonry was crumbling; it's floors were cluttered with debris (including one debatably charged shredded wire), and it's walls were covered in graffiti. The wind whistled through the holes were window once stood, and two twin rusted boilers stood in the corner. The outside sported two newer pieces of scaffolding, where a small strobe light blinked, and a mighty loud foghorn wailed. A recording of this foghorn can be found here, for your listening pleasure:
Further thrilling evidence can be found here, via YouTube, in the form of video.
When we had had our fill, we made our back out and under the fence, having only been seen by a thousand tourists above on the bridge, and not a single person of authority.
Yes, the rumors are true. We did
venture into the homogonzied streets of sausalito to sup upon what we'd heard was "cheap" food (~30$ a head). Sausalito is a beautiful little lie of a seaside community; It looks like it was constructed for a Disneyland for the 40 and over set. There was a man balancing rocks on the shore, and a strange man with a parrot and a telescope like device. There were only four types of shops: Confectionarries, Boutiques, Expensive Cafes, and Art Galleries.
The town was packed that hot afternoon; full of city kids on rented bikes, and stumbling out-of-towners with children in tow. Walking among them all, like smug phantoms, were the locals
... Dressed uniformly in golf and polo shirts tucked into kakhi shorts; berkinstocks and suede billed baseball caps. My disaster of a car got more than a few filthy looks, and thier mirrored sunglasses did little to hide thier disdain.
Sausalito would be great, if you just forcibly reloacted the populace, and allowed residents of the Tenderloin to homestead.
in cameron's giant white car, we crossed the bridge through a cloud, parked somewhere nearby and walked up as close as we could get to the base of the bridge and the foghorn station, where a fence blocked the way, with warnings and threats to trespassers. we climbed down towards the water, where a gap between the fence and ground allowed us to slip through to the forbidden side. a pier full of tourists paid us some attention, and people up above on the bridge waved and shouted greetings as we walked down the dirt road closer to the base of the bridge. we startled a beautiful black deer with enormous ears, who sneezed at us from the bushes as we passed. up some crumbling stairs, across a tiny forlorn courtyard in a strong wind, down wooden steps on the other side, and into a peeling, flaking, empty little building that shakes with wind and the thrum of the foghorn housed there. the room was long and narrow, with glass-less windows open to the water. two great rusted boilers hulking in the far corner. several trapdoors in the floor, rusted shut. old beer cans, a tshirt, loose pieces of plaster that had fallen away from the brick walls. a long dirty table. a longer wire hanging from the ceiling of bare rafters. giant human and cat faces spraypainted on the wall, and corey XXXXX here. another room off to the right, with a mysterious ceiling. an amazing view of the bridge. i was sure for the first half of this that we were going to get accosted, but having not been accosted, felt invincible for the rest of the day.
jason scott hackman:
it seemed like it took us forever to get out of town. cam picked me up first in the sunset, then we drove to the haight fillmore to pick up orion and sara, and then to portrero to pick up britt. then up van ness through the slow stop start stop traffic of a sunny saturday afternoon. by the time we got to out task location it seemed like a couple hours had passed.
the point is, it was too long and too far to go just to be turned back by a fence and a couple of signs. so when cameron had come back from scouting for additional security and gave us the all clear, there was no question of us going back without completing the task.
the expedition has already been well decribed by others on our team and the pictures say the rest. my review: two thumbs up. awesome awesome awesome.
not mentioned, however, was a somewhat more dangerous venture into the well-charted, off-white painted wasteland britt was clever enough to rename stepfordtown (formerly known as sausalito). there we witnessed the horror of affluent liberal society in polo shirts and titlist caps. were it not for the fish and crab and blackberry lemonade and portibello mushroom towers and the incredible bay view from horizon's restaurant, i would have surely declared a class war that day. fortunately for them, after the big meal and all the walking i was too sleepy to start a revolution.
a sidenote: cameron accidentally left his flashlight with me. too bad. it would be a shame if something were to happen to it.... (to be continued.)