For those who might not be familiar with this whole thing (like I was), Clocktoberfest is a weekend in October where urban explorers come from all over the Midwest to visit veteran UER member Clockwork’s family farm out in the beautiful boonies of Galina, IL. A handful of cool local urbex trips are loosely orchestrated for anyone who wants to come along, and there’s plenty of beer and other goodies for every moment of down time around the fire. On October 21^st, I hopped into the cramped confines of some ambiguous 1980s beater, along with Boots, Captain Stormy, Cara, and Matt, and embarked on the 150-mile trek from Chicago to Galina. I had never been to an urban exploring convention before, so I didn’t know how things would play out, but my hopes were high. Five hours later, we were at the farm with only a few dozen pieces missing from Matt’s car.

To Stormy’s dismay, we failed to make a grand entrance laden with fireworks, but the Clocktoberfesters were relatively mellow upon arrival anyway. The darkness, and immediate consumption of booze hindered any accurate estimates, but the group looked to be about 40 strong. It was mostly 18-45 year old men (apologies to any outliers), but it was nice to see a few ladies scattered about. We were a day late, so unfortunately, we had already missed a draining expedition, but there was plenty of exploration yet to come.

It wasn’t long before firecrackers randomly launched out at everyone from the fire, and the semi-sober were being designated to drive to the illustrious “Floaty Boaty” cave. Unfortunately, Floaty Boaty was a fucking bust. There was a kop laying in wait on nearby the entrance road. The squad car followed our seven-car procession to the limits of his jurisdiction before leaving us alone. Clockwork was smart to advise everyone that it was too risky to try Floaty Boaty that night, but no one was too broken hearted about going back to get smashed around the fire.

I was the last to stumble out of bed the next “morning,” but I managed to get this shot of the night’s carnage just before running into our car full of anxious explorers yelling “get your ASS in the car, you SMEG…” or something like that.

I fell asleep in the back seat expecting to avenge Floaty Boaty when I woke up, but the Savanna Military Ammunitions Base was an equally pleasant surprise. Savanna is pretty low key, so getting over the fence with ~30 people wasn’t a problem. Once inside, everyone took off in little groups to explore as much of the 500-acre facility as possible in the dying light of that Saturday afternoon. Thelma took to the skies on a derelict smoke stack:

Stormy and I followed his lead with our eyes on the great white water tower in the distance. We had to cross a few train tracks, and scale three additional fences, but the views it had to offer were well worth it.

It was indeed a very nice view from up there, and it really emphasized the massive scale of the site, but due to its possibly active nature, we only stayed for a few minutes before heading back down the partially inverted ladder.

By the time we got back to the car, most people were still off doing their own thing, so I chased the sun back to one of the warehouses for a few more pictures.

By the time I came out, our car was the only one left, but there was still some other building on the southern end that was supposedly worth seeing. So, in the dim twilight, we raced to the final frontier, and caught ThisGuyHere, Nick, and a few other trespassers on their way out. Though relatively empty, we did manage to find some awesome .50-caliber “lunch box” souvenirs, making this final excursion totally worth it. On our way in, we saw Thelma scaling the tallest ladder available on the premises, and again, I was inspired by that mother fucking FUTT SLLLLLUTT, though I climbed the janky ladder with Matt this time. The crows nest at the top was extremely rotted, and it was hard to keep the structure steady enough for a 4-minute exposure, but it turned out ok.

In that last shot, you can see the headlamps of the rest of the group enjoying a rusty old grain chute as a slide. WEEEEEEEEEE! Matt and I were waiting in the car for the rest of our crew when an ominous truck pulled to a halt on the other side of the gate just as Stormy and the others were hopping the fence. They ditched their lunch boxes and stood around nervously as the man in the truck got out to unlock the gate. I shouted something to the effect of “lets GO, you SMEG,” and they were in the car just in time to speed away as the guy got back in his car… It was a strange interaction, or lack thereof, seeing as the man clearly had keys and a right to be there, but said nothing to the trespassers ten feet from him… Savanna was a success, and a place I will definitely have to revisit, but it was dark, and a feast of Walmart hot dogs, beer, and Gatsberry Juice pulled us back to the farm.

Back at camp, everything short of humans was hurled into the fire, and we could hear the delighted drunken crowd cheering us on as we shot countless fireworks into the stars.

We told them to come up, but they never actually did. Fuck them anyway though, they wouldn’t stand a chance where we would soon be going.

Pits Cave is a classic spot located off the side of a hiking trail somewhere in Wisconsin. A narrow little ass crack in the side of a hill offers access to what’s left of an abandoned mine.

Pits Cave got its name from the treacherous watery pits scattered throughout the mine, which is only about half of a mile long. Sporting a beer in every available pocket, Junkyard schooled us all on the only necessary supplies for the job.

After reaching a long channel filled with every kind of vile garbage, it was clear there was no way around swimming if the end was to be reached (though I was told there was one explorer who did manage to chimney the entire length). More than half of the group turned around at this point.

I’m very glad that I brought the Pelican case to protect my photo gear, and (judging from the number of phones that people asked me to harbor) so were the rest of the swimmers. I should have charged rent. Stormy jumped in first, and I followed close behind. The frigid liquid instantly found its way beneath all my clothing, devouring any the warmth I had left. Being a soaking mess was less than comfortable, but it made the rest of the exploration feel pretty epic.

The end of the mine wasn’t very climactic, but we made it there, and that seemed to be satisfying enough. Who knows how long the mine continues underwater after that final pit at the end… Memo for next year: BRING SCUBA GEAR. On the way back, I managed to catch a ride on some of the debris floating in the channel, so at least I avoided getting soaked both ways.

Ahh, Clocktoberfest… It was a fantabulous weekend of intoxication and exploration. It’s too bad that it only comes around once a year. My first urban exploring convention was a lot of fun, and I’m pretty excited to head underground again for Mouser Week. See you there!