Man’s pursuit of the Earth’s mineral riches is yet another violent expression of his dominion over the natural world – practiced with the destructive force of explosives. With these powerful weapons we’re able to extend our influence into the Earth itself, thousands of feet below the surface we were meant to inhabit. But with this great power comes an inherent danger, demonstrating in the end that our dominion over the Earth may be nothing more than an illusion. For the Copper Empire this meant that the same explosives that provided them with their riches, could just as easily take those riches away.

That’s why the copper mines would store their explosives as far away from the mine as possible, while still having it somewhat conveniently accessible. To further protect the mine those explosives were stored in thick-walled bunkers known as Powder Houses, named after the black powder that once called them home. The very nature of these fortresses meant that they often out-live most of the region’s other buildings which were not built with such demanding requirements. In our explorations we have seen a few (Ahmeek, Central, and Mohawk our a few examples off hand), but we have never found one as intact as we did at the Trimountain Mine.

We might have completely missed it if we weren’t already looking for it (thanks to one of my reader’s having brought it to my attention a few months back), since it sat down in a narrow valley surrounded by a thick camouflage of green and yellow. Making out way down towards it I was reminded of the old tale of Hansel and Grettle, only this house was built of concrete and not gingerbread.

The building’s wall are built from poor rock, which had been covered in a thick layer of mortar. The mortar could have been original or added over the years as a yearly maintenance issue. Most striking of all was that the building still had its curved concrete roof – completely intact and covered by layer of green moss which gave the building it’s fairy tale appearance.

As would be expected, the building was completely windowless with only one small doorway available for access. Found along the end walls were a pair of brick-lined openings near the top of the roof. These would have been home to a vent which was used to expel the nauseous fumes created by the nitroglycerine.

Here’s a closer look at one of those vents. The vent itself is gone (probably grabbed by scrappers), but there does remain some metal strips which could have held the unit in place.

Interestingly the roof here is made of concrete, which is graciously curved out at its base before meeting up with the walls. Such a large (and shaped) piece of concrete is amazing to me.

Over the only door was a decorative brick header, along with brick facing along the opening. There would have been a large iron door attached to the building here, but it too was no doubt removed by scrappers. Apparently the building is used today for “smoking” as well as some heavy alcohol consumption by the looks of all the bear cans littered about.

Ducking inside the dark and foreboding structure we were met with a remarkable amount of space for such a small building. Light trickling in from the vent holes revealed very little of interest still inside the building. Just a simple dirt floor and smooth faced walls. I didn’t venture very far in, since the idea of such a large and old piece of concrete above my head made me a tad bit nervous. Its amazing the thing is in such good shape after nearly a century of disuse. I’m curious how much longer it will survive…