Background
The Swanbank Powerstion is located just outside of Ipswich, and a 30 minute drive from Brisbane. Nestled around the cooling lake, the complex is comprised of multiple stations - A - F, each exploiting a different resource - coal, gas, landfill, etc, to produce just under 900MW. Commisioned in the early 60s, Swanbank A, a coal fired station, used to be supplied by the surrounding local mines. The oldest of the plants, it was decommisioned in August 2005, and had its stacks tragically, but spectaculally, demolished on August 20, 2006.

Heavy Industry such as these have tendancies to influence local culture and history - most people who lived in Brisbane and the surrounding areas have stories relating to Swanbank, or Tennyson Power Station, be it a father or grandfather who worked in the plant, or even fishing or picnicing with their families by the cooling lakes.

The story that I'd heard was from my father, speaking about his family who worked in Swanbank, at the time of the Ipswich Box Flats Coal Mine explosion, July 31, 1972. In the way that it was retold to me, the explosion was so violent that "limbs rained down". Whether this is an embelishment or not, quotes from surviors, such as "I could hear the screams of one of the men…when I found him he had half a brick hanging out of his head. I said to one of my mates who is going to pull this out you or me." [source] paint a fairly grim picture of the flipside of mining.

2006 - 2007, Exploration
We'd been aware of Swanbank A being abandoned for much too long before we finally got out there. After relentless nagging at the [now regretful] dsankt to have him cart us out there, dozey and I mounted bicycles, and began the 10km ride under a baking summer sun towards the powerstation. Arriving, and stashing our bikes, a few things were immediately apparent. Initially, that Swanbank A didn't look like traditional coal-fired stations. In direct contrast to the square-cut redbrick approach, Swanbank A had adopted a 'country' approach - that is it say, it was a behemoth of galvanised iron, looking like an oversized Aussie farmer's backyard shed. With three giant stacks planted at the back.

Secondly, as illustrated by the attached image, we were quickly aware that the hamlet that said shed lay upon was a hive of activity. To the right, the gas powered station, E, and to the left, and connected by a walkway, Swanbank B, all populated by the 100 odd permanent staff.

Sliding around the side of the lot, we slipped a fence, to the ventilation stacks, magnified in the inset. They were nothing short of amazing. For starters, there was a family of curious cats that lived inside, who stalked us around for the rest of the afternoon, dashing out of sight when we turned to catch them peeping at us. Secondly, and even more striking than stray cats, was the fact they were constructed entirely of wood, despite housing heavy, rusted and very unfriendly looking fans on top. Very observant viewers might note from the picture there is one fan sitting on the ground, and might go on to compare that in terms of dimension, to a 2 pixel speck that is a car - and realise that this thing, if it indeed flew off the top, would have been a gruesomely brutal sight to behold.

Doing out best to avoid tetanus, sulphiric acid burns and omnipresent feline stares, we made our way towards the powerstation itself. Bear in mind, this was midday - the crackling of a very active switchyard could be heard, and the hum less than 200m away in the active stations was weighing heavy on us, as we rounded the corner into the powerstation floor. Before us - of half dismantled turbines were strewn lewdly across the floor, stripped of their metallic skins. The hall was vast. The gantry was powered up and beeping. The mercury vapour lights were beating down on our already furrowed brows. We pushed on, skirting the cool concrete turbine supports for cover.

Our confidence grew with each corner that didn't reveal a surprised worker with a monkey wrench, and soon enough, we had the entire station at our disposal. It was everything that a powerstation should be, and more. A vast turbine hall, complete with boilers, hazard tape and asbestos warnings. Three control rooms - more switches than even the most acture case of OCD could master. Battery rooms with leaking acid. Huge mezzanine levels that houses the switches, bathed in an eerie purple half-light. Giant blue tanks, and tangles of pipe - intentional and otherwise - the back half of the station was in the process of being systematically torn down.

As night fell, we made our way to the roof, and there, as our eyes followed the spiderweb of high tension cables meander into the crepuscular glow on civilisation on the horizon, the sky painted in a spectral gradient, punctuated by the lazy rise of steam from Station E, we were lucky enough to bask in one of the rare, but highly pursued exploration 'zen' moments.

We returned two weeks later with an eager dsankt and ekweleks, and once more with Eli - the only interstater along w/ Mr India to witness the location - but after the intial visit, it was subected to heavy dismantling, which was finally marked by the toppling of the three stacks, via means of perfectly, but for us, painfully orchestrated explosions.

RIP Swanbank A. What follows is an intense photo essay of the trip.