Pyestock Diaries

I discovered I want not alone. There remained a yearning for Pyestock. As the years passed, and new sites cycled through abandonment, dereliction and demolition, there was a palpable mourning for Pyestock. New discoveries were never as good; or, if they somehow met up to Pyestock's exacting requirements, then they were deemed too small. A 'mini-Pyestock' became a phrase, revealing how Pyestock was now a metric by which new discoveries would be measured - but none would ever equate it.

Archival reports would occasionally cycle through the forums, gaining as many views as fresh new reports. My original view that urban explorers were a pragmatic bunch, not prone to bouts of sentimentality, was challenged. There was room for nostalgia, a recognition of certain key sites, and a hierarchy of experiences and locations where the new could be measured against the old.

So, witness this grizzled, old urban explorer taking his son on a pilgrimage to see what remained. Perhaps there was room for those cosy fire-side stories and reminiscing after all?

And it wasn't entirely over. There were still two parts of the old facility remaining. So, it was time to come out of my self-imposed retirement, dust down the old cameras and rough clothing, and regain that down-to-earth, adventurous spirit. "When the Anechoic Facility closes then we'll explore it" I told Haydn. The pragmatic 'we can do it' spirit was back.

Haydn and the northern span of fencing. Beyond the trees and hidden from view was the Anechoic Facility 31|07|17 © Simon Cornwell 2017