The streets were still with swirling wind and snow. It was a thick blizzard we drove through, the already failing headlights struggling with the mad zigzagging patterns of a thousand snowflakes. There was no danger though; our course was straight and true, fueled by new information having come to light. We had been down through the NSP Tunnels before, at least two or three times, but there lye something more for us to find on this particular trip.

The information was cloudy, surrounded in rumor, and barely upheld with poor flash photos. Was the place we were seeking actually as it had been described? Or were we heading out on a rather dangerous wild goose chase? In my mind, I knew the chamber we needed to traverse in order to see the fruits of the NSP Tunnels. It was a treacherous expanse, with little forgiveness for failure, but I suppose that secured its majesty. Only the brave or the stupid would learn of its existence, and hopefully those who have, treated it kindly so that we could observe its full beauty on this snowy night.

The car came to a slow stop near a row of expired meters. The engine killed and we sat watching the blizzard unfold before us. It would have been eerily quiet, but the broken seals around the car doors leaked the sound of a howling wind into the cabin. We didn’t bring too much gear, nothing out of the ordinary besides a small length of rope. What else would we possibly need besides our wits? To answer my own question, we had cameras. It was time this place received some due recognition, should it prove to live up to the stories we had read.

Our path took us down into a small patch of woods. We made our way across stairs and then dirt, observing conversational homeless to the right. Climbing down a few concrete slabs to the left, our entrance was staggered between fallen I-beams and tree limbs. A cinderblock wall about the size of a tailrace tunnel held a small metal hatch at its center bottom. Here was the rabbit hole. I suppose the system is more widely known as the East Bank Tailraces, but considering the bounty, we gave NSP the spoils in title ship.

With a cautious entrance, we found ourselves gathered upon dirt floor. There were timbers just above our heads that resembled a walkway, and further down the tunnel, we could hear trickling water. It was time for a battle plan. As par usual, we hoisted ourselves up onto the wood above. It proved to be a much dryer method for walking the length of the tunnel than the floor below. Of course, the timbers themselves were not entirely safe, nor recommended for walking on, they simply allowed us access to the ledges along both walls. Just a little longer than a foot, and covered in sand, we hugged these ledges and grabbed along the rocky wall until we reached a bridge spanning left to right across the tunnel we were in.  Standing on the bridge, we made our way to the left, following a great old pipe.

As we walked with our heads slightly bowed to avoid hitting the ceiling, we passed another tunnel that runs parallel to our entrance tunnel. This one was rather dry, and mostly dirt and rock. A quick inspection revealed burst pipes at both ends, and nothing more.

Just a bit further along, the third tunnel parallel to the first was full of water. We stood on the bridge crossing over its width, and remarked on how it stretched beyond our view. At the end was our oasis, but getting from here to there seemed impossible. Similar to how we had entered the tunnels, the best idea seemed to be hugging the wall ledge. This time, we couldn’t afford to fall though. Instead of a short drop onto wet concrete, it was a six foot drop into water that looked like mercury. Our flashlights couldn’t penetrate the first few inches of the stuff, and the light was reflected back upon the ceiling. If this flooded tunnel was anything like the ones we had seen in the West Bank Tailraces, it was anywhere between ten to fifteen feet deep, and full of razor sharp machine parts just below the surface.

We climbed off of the bridge, and began walking along the dirt ledge. There were pillars here and there that we could squeeze behind, and after a few of them, it was time to lower ourselves to the next ledge down. A rope tied off on a rock provided ready assistance, preventing anyone from going right past the foot catch and into the diseased cess pool. One at a time, we all made it down upon the concrete and began shuffling to the right, flashlights either strapped to our heads or in our mouths. The pillars began appearing again, providing the real obstacle for the night. With a hand swung around to the other side, I eased myself around the block carefully and easily. Another ten feet or so to the next pillar, I provided light for the others, and made sure my weight stayed forward, facing the wall.

The going was slow and steady, and in due time, we all made it to the very end. The ledge terminated in a wall of wood, but a plank traversed the crossing, and lead into a hole cut out of the deterrence. Dropping down onto a solid walkway, my first sight was a large machine, with massive wheels. Wrapped around the wheels were thick ropes rather than cables, and they lead upwards into the higher levels of the basement.

We were finally here, the abandoned sections of the NSP Power Plant basement. A few floors above us, the active part of the building was humming away. We stayed on course and followed the tunnel to a larger room. Resting in the middle was an even bigger machine, with cogs and gauges sticking out all around it. How great it was to be standing in the middle of the stuff of legends.

I took a minute to appreciate the scene. A hydroelectric power plant has a few levels of basement that they’ve sealed off. It’s an underground abandonment in building form, only accessible through flooded tailrace tunnels and crazed antics. The plot was thickening like delicious gravy.

Snapping back to reality, we spotted a staircase behind the giant machine dwarfing the room around us, and headed for it. It was in nasty shape, full of holes and covered in nothing but rust, but it would do the job much better than a worse off ladder we had spotted at the other end of the place. Each step was carrying us closer to some miraculous urban treasure I mused, what we had already seen was well worth the trip.

At the top was a twisted steel mesh door, which back in the day must have stopped people from getting any higher or further into the building. As we had found it, it was easy to slip through the bottom corner that had been upturned. There, to the right, was a heavy door with light coming out from underneath it. We figured it to be a way into the active plant, and ignoring it, went straight towards another room ahead of us. It was a long hallway, with concrete walls jutting out here and there, making stations or spaces each labeled with a different main street. I found Hiawatha in a moment of awe, the street I used to live just off of. We were in some kind of main switch room that would have directed energy to the respective areas labeled in each section. Oh, the power!

Back out towards the staircase again, we headed off in another direction, up about 10 steps alongside of a holding tank the size of a small submarine. Caged in wire mesh, there was a large generator, or at least, was labeled as such. The ceiling grew lower, and the floor was dirt. Concrete ledges and platforms were scattered all about, making us walk in single file through the beautiful and rather large maze of a room. The smell was familiar, a mix of steel and rust, bagels, bonfire, and museums. But where had I encountered this before?

Down another set of stairs, we found an area where we could peek down to the floor we had entered on. There were a few more doors that lead into the active plant, all locked up, wired and welded shut. We took it all in slowly. There was no real need to do anything besides stare. Of course, we were on time constraints as usual, so we picked ourselves up and moved to the last part of the building we had yet to have seen. Moving alongside of the submarine sized holding tank, we came upon a charming area with an old door, tubing on the floors, and a nice 12 step ladder standing near the brick walls. The whole scene didn’t seem to belong in the basement, but damn was it gorgeous.

The nearby room had a few catwalks and ledges that could be climbed to take a peek through a hole in the ceiling. Sticking my compact camera through, I took some short video, and reviewed it quickly. There wasn’t much above us, storage and the like, but it was just as beautiful as down here. It would seem we had seen what NSP Basements had to offer. Well pleased, we made our way back down the stairs and through the hole towards the tailraces with a wave goodbye, and the intent to return.

Photo Courtesy of Averna

Upon emerging from the rabbit hole, the winter storm was still blowing, but it seemed to be deadly silent. Even as we approached the car near the road, there was a stillness we hadn’t noticed prior to entering the tunnels. Perhaps the gathering snow had muffled the echoes of the city, or perhaps we had simply emerged from underground to a world vacant of people. NSP Tunnels held a magic that had me believing this idea was not too far-fetched. To enter a place deep underground, to pass the challenges presented, to take in the visual rewards offered, and then, to be spit out into another world alternate to your own. This is the nature of a fickle legend.