Tour Report: Children's Home "Lunberjack"

Looking back, this was without a doubt one of the best winter explorations we've ever done during all our years of urban exploration.

Everything came together perfectly: beautiful weather, great company, and a huge, almost unknown abandoned site filled with natural decay and countless photographic opportunities.

On the morning of January 31st, 2021, we set off before sunrise to explore an abandoned children's home. We had only recently heard about the place by chance and had never seen any photos of it before. Our research suggested that the complex had been abandoned for many years, so it seemed well worth the trip.

A few days earlier, winter had arrived in full force. Temperatures had dropped well below freezing, and the region had received a generous amount of fresh snow.

Early that Sunday morning we drove out to meet our friend Andreas from Pixelcracker. The sky was perfectly clear, and the drive through a frozen landscape covered in sparkling white snow only increased our anticipation of what we hoped to find.

During our planning we had identified what appeared to be a public parking area near the site. When we arrived, we were pleased to see that it was indeed a more or less official car park, probably used by locals heading out for walks in the surrounding forest. On this cold winter morning, however, it was completely quiet - except for Andreas, who was already waiting for us.

After a warm greeting, we spent a few minutes discussing our route onto the property. Then we unpacked our equipment and put on every warm layer we had brought. The temperature was around -10°C (14°F), the forecast offered little hope of warming up, and with several hours of exploring ahead of us, staying warm was essential.

We still had a few hundred metres to cover, so we started making our way through fresh, knee-deep snow. Before long we came across a narrow farm track that didn't appear on any map but headed directly towards the children's home. Fresh footprints and dog tracks showed that the path was regularly used, so we continued.

After a few minutes we passed a small group of people walking with a dog. We assumed they were simply returning from a morning walk and greeted them politely. They answered, but rather reluctantly, sounding noticeably unfriendly. We didn't think much of it and carried on.

Eventually the open fields gave way to a small woodland. Just a few minutes later, the first building appeared between the trees - a beautiful red-brick structure dating back to the early 20th century. Standing there in the middle of the snow-covered landscape, it made quite an impression.

Now all we needed was a way inside.

Our excitement grew even more when we discovered that the entrance door was standing open.

Inside, however, we found... almost nothing.

The buildings had been completely cleared out. There was no furniture, no personal belongings, and hardly any relics from the past. What we did find was something that often makes abandoned places especially interesting: no graffiti, almost no vandalism, and an abundance of natural decay.

The same pattern continued throughout the rest of the site. Nearly every building was accessible, with no fencing or serious attempts to secure the property. Yet there were remarkably few signs of deliberate damage. It appeared that the entire complex had simply been emptied after its closure and then left untouched for many years while nature slowly took over.

Only a handful of windows had been broken. Instead, most of the deterioration seemed to result from leaking roofs that had allowed water to slowly work its way through the buildings over time. It was decay at its own pace, shaped by weather rather than people.

We deliberately skipped one small section of the property. Although officially abandoned, we noticed several people there using chainsaws to cut up trees. They certainly didn't look like forestry workers. Our guess was that they might have been living illegally in one of the buildings and using the wood for heating. That would also explain the rather unfriendly walkers we had met earlier on the path - perhaps they belonged to the same group.

In any case, nobody disturbed us, and we were able to explore the rest of the complex without any problems.

Since every building had been constructed differently, the effects of time and weather varied from one structure to the next. Every corner offered something new to discover, and together with the bright winter sunlight, the decaying interiors produced beautiful colours and atmospheric scenes.

The outdoor areas added another layer to the experience. We found lonely swings, seesaws, and climbing frames standing half-buried in the snow. Scenes like these inevitably reminded me of photographs from Pripyat and certain post-apocalyptic films. Whenever I look at those images, my imagination still seems to add the faint sound of children laughing in the background.

In the end, we spent almost five hours exploring the site. We enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere, the winter sunshine, and the quiet beauty of the place so much that we almost forgot about the freezing temperatures.

It wasn't until we returned to the car park that we realised our boots and trouser legs were encased in thick layers of frozen snow and ice. Fortunately, several pairs of warm socks had done their job, and despite the bitter cold, everyone made it back with warm feet and a smile.

To find out more about the history and to check out all the photos from this place, click the button below.

Tour Report: Estate House "Field of Reeds" [Revisit]

Just three weeks after our first visit, we found ourselves returning to the old manor house once again.
Our initial exploration on Boxing Day, accompanied by my mother and mother-in-law, had been a wonderful experience.

Unfortunately, I hadn't brought my camera with me and had to rely on my aging phone for photographs. Since we still had a few weeks between our trips in early January and our planned holiday in mid-February, we decided to squeeze in one more small adventure.

A second visit - especially so soon after the first - is usually a rather relaxed affair. The surroundings are already familiar, and there are fewer surprises waiting around the next corner. Instead of focusing on navigation and orientation, you can fully immerse yourself in the atmosphere of the location.

This return to the abandoned manor was no exception. From the moment we arrived, everything felt comfortably familiar. And because we already knew the layout of the building - and this time weren't accompanying any first-time visitors - we could take our time and focus entirely on photography.

The weather was noticeably better than during our first visit. The sun occasionally broke through the clouds, casting beautiful shadows across the rooms and hallways and creating some wonderful opportunities for photographs.

For more than an hour and a half, we wandered through the manor once again, exploring every floor and revisiting our favourite rooms. Eventually, with memory cards full and another memorable exploration behind us, we headed home.

To find out more about the history and to check out all the photos from this place, click the button below.

Tour Report: Soviet Tropospheric Broadcasting Station L.

After thoroughly exploring the dusty brickworks - and making sure to stay out of the shepherd’s way - it was time to move on to the next location.

This site was one of several Soviet bunker complexes constructed during the Cold War near a former Third Reich air munitions facility. In addition to a large training ground, the area once contained various command bunkers, combat control positions, and several communications bunkers.

The structure we had chosen to explore was the site’s former tropospheric radio relay station.

As is often the case, we only had a rough idea of where exactly the bunker was located, or whether it would even still be accessible. We parked nearby and continued on foot toward the patch of forest where we suspected the complex to be hidden.

Before long, we realized we were in the right place: through the trees we spotted the ruined building that housed the entrance to the relay station.

At that exact moment, a black pickup truck drove past us and onto the property. An older man stepped out and began loading cut tree trunks onto the back of the vehicle. That immediately ruled out the standard approach to entering the site.

So we were left with three options: abandon the visit entirely, wait for him to leave — or simply walk over and ask.

We chose the third option.

The man turned out to be the owner of the property. He explained that the smaller section of the bunker complex - the crew bunker - had been sealed off as a bat habitat and was no longer accessible. However, he told us we were welcome to explore the communications bunker itself.

Simple enough.

We entered the decaying ruin, while the owner called after us that he still had an interesting story to tell once we came back out.

Inside the building, a staircase led down into the basement. One section looked like an ordinary brick cellar, while the other connected directly to the fortified relay station.

The bunker itself is relatively small. It consists of two prefabricated structures of the Soviet USB type and offers around 100 square meters of usable space. Given the remote location, the protection level was probably fairly modest by military standards.

What stood out most was the near-total absence of vandalism - the rooms were almost spotless - as well as the remarkably intact light barriers throughout the facility. These small plastic or rubber curtains were commonly used in bunkers instead of doors whenever full hermetic sealing was unnecessary, but light discipline between sections still had to be maintained.

After finishing our exploration of the bunker, the owner showed us something particularly unusual — a feature rarely encountered today.

In the cellar beneath the staircase, a small room had been separated off with a brick wall. You can see it on the second photo below. Between the top of the wall and the ceiling remained an opening barely 30 centimeters high. Rusted hinges on either side indicated that this gap had once been sealed with a barred hatch.

When the owner first took over the property, the tiny windowless room behind it still contained a metal bunk and a bucket.

It was, quite literally, a makeshift Soviet detention cell.

None of us had ever seen anything like it before, and it was difficult not to reflect on the conditions under which some Soviet soldiers must have served at sites like this.

On the way back to the car, we spent some time walking through the surrounding forest to see whether any remains of the former Soviet fuel depot could still be found. We had little success, though - apart from a few traces of the old roads, very little remained visible. Then again, perhaps we simply weren’t looking carefully enough.

To find out more about the history and to check out all the photos from this place, click the button below.