Tales of the Urban Explorer: Rock Nook Mill

It’s a while since I wrote about anything Urbex; this solely due to lack of material and story. There are only so many places to explore in my local area and most have already been visited.

Starting a new role in a town 25 miles away presented more opportunities, and so having discovered Rock Nook Mill via www.28dayslater.co.uk, I pinned down the location and made plans for a visit.

I now work alongside @goblinknackers, so he joined me for this one. A mill solo would be a daunting experience as they can be really creepy places.

Rock Nook Mill is big and walking down the front of it presented no opportunities when it comes to access points.

All the windows were boarded up and doors filled with solid concrete. I struggled to gain a good panoramic shot of the building as between the mill and road there’s a canal and train line.

It was either too close or too far. @goblinknackers kindly let me use his zoomed photograph from the roadside (cover shot) as I can't zoom on my iPhone unless you want a pixelated mess.

Like many of these old places, Rock Nook Mill has suffered an arson attack, this one in 2015. The link has some dramatic shots of the place up in flames.

Built in the 1840s and acquired by Forthergill and Harvey in 1910, as a cotton yarn and cloth manufacturer. Rock Nook Mill is an odd-looking stone building and quite unique in appearance as far as cotton mills are concerned.

We walked up these dilapidated stairs and looked around the back.

That's Mr Knackers thinking about going in or not

I won’t disclose the access point but will add that you need to be really careful or multiple injuries may occur when heading in.

The first thing we noticed was a huge gap in the floor with a 15-foot drop, and was that the sound of crunching glass, and some barely audible conversation?

There was somebody down there, likely other Urbexers. I thought nothing of it at the time and started looking around.

The view of the mill from the first floor was similar and yet different from the Bradford mills I visited in February. The sight and image presented here was one of ravage and devastation.

It amazes me that more homeless people don’t shack up in these old mills. The windows are gone but it is better than getting soaked in the rain during our many wet nights.

The offices contained little in terms of personal belongings. I did check the file on the shelf but it was empty.

I took this photograph of the stairs leading up and then somehow suffered from memory loss and didn’t notice it again until I arrived home. Sometimes, things work in strange ways and for your betterment. Read on.

Walking through the first floor of the mill we saw evidence of machinery and some signs which were almost comical.

‘Please keep these premises tidy', right on, of course, we will!

There was a decent amount of graffiti and vandalism but no more than what we usually see at these kinds of places.

This bottle was covered in shit, and despite @goblinknackers' attempt to clean it off, we could only partially read the label.

‘Tygaflor’ appeared to be a company who possibly rented the part of all of the mill at some point. It was hanging off a notice board and required a finger to hold it up to take this photograph.

The far end of the floor revealed some Fallout style toilets, and despite the question mark on the door they really were what they appeared to be. I will spare you the photographs.

At this point, we were looking for the stairs to go up or down and failing to find any.

I love this panoramic shot of the floor with the large pipe in the foreground. The more you do of these, the more you appreciate the beauty in decay. Yes, I know that sounds strange.

As we started to make our way back to the access point I noticed a figure moving at the opposite end of the floor space. It was a teenager around 19 years of age or so and he appeared not to have noticed us.

Perhaps he was a fellow explorer? It really didn’t matter to me at this point.

Disappointed at not being to gain access to the other floors we left and scrambled up the bank on to the road.

We then saw four teenagers exit behind us a few minutes later with a strong aroma of weed, one carrying an air rifle. They did not seem interested in us, but I engaged them in conversation.

‘How did you get on the bottom floor’, I asked casually trying not to come across as some authority figure about to bust them.

There was a pause and then one chirped up, ‘It’s just left of the big hole when you enter’

Still my memory didn’t register, even though I had photographed said steps when entering.

‘Was there anything good down there?’

‘It’s quite bare, just some machinery and stuff’, he replied.

There was no friendliness nor was there hostility but this was certainly not the Urbex club, or we were not invited.

The guy with the air rifle started shooting at something, fortunately not our heads.

I left it at that after saying thanks and we departed.

Epilogue

Sometimes things happen for specific reasons. Why did it not register to me about the stairs?

Another scenario that may have played out was that we discovered the stairs, descended and caught these guys smoking weed and shooting pigeons.

Their party would be disturbed and it could have turned unpleasant. What made me forget that I had seen those stairs?

Sometimes it makes me wonder if there are forces at work that we are unaware of.

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