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Coal loads ease through Alma a short distance from their destination. The old generating station (the building at left on the horizon) was retired and razed a few years ago. January 1, 2000.
Longannet power station is a large coal-fired power station in Fife capable of co-firing biomass, natural gas and sludge. The station is situated on the north bank of the Firth of Forth, near Kincardine on Forth.
Its generating capacity of 2,400 megawatts is the highest of any power station in Scotland. The station began generating electricity in 1970, and when it became fully operational it was the largest coal-fired station in Europe. It is now the third largest, after Bełchatów in Poland and Drax in England, and the 21st most polluting.
After failing to win a contract from the National Grid Longannet is set to close "by March 2016". The station was opened in 1973 and operated by the South of Scotland Electricity Board until 1990 when its operation was handed over to Scottish Power following privatisation.
The station is a regional landmark, dominating the Forth skyline with its 183 m (600 ft) chimney stack. Longannet lacks cooling towers, instead using water from the River Forth for cooling
This along with a handful of other images was created by me during the mid- and late-90's. They were generated by a 3D software app called Bryce, which was designed to create landscapes. Of course, I along with a number of other devotees pushed it into other services as you'll see by these images. Almost all these pictures required repainting (using Fractal Design's Painter) or post production of some kind. This is where I gained many of the skills that I use in working on my photos today.
Note: this photo was published in a Nov 11, 2011 blog titled "Extreme plumbing: Pumping water up the Shard."
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In the 1800s, New York City encountered an infrastructure problem it had not anticipated: far more tall (i.e., more than 6 stories high) buildings were being constructed than city planners had anticipated. The city's water-supply system, which brings water from reservoirs in upstate New York and relies on gravity to deliver the water, couldn't generate enough pressure to force the water up to the high floors. So the city mandated that any such "tall" buildings would have to have a water tower on the roof; water was pumped up to the tower, and gravity could once again be used to bring it down to the various floors below, with sufficient pressure to keep the residents happy.
At the beginning of this decade, it was estimated that there were 10,000 water towers in the city, with over 100 built or replaced each year. Most of them are built of wood, because wood resists temperature changes and corrosion. The towers are designed to hold a day's supply of water for the building, and more water is pumped up each night.
Like most New Yorkers, I've unconsciously accepted the existence of these water towers in the same way I accept the existence of subways, yellow taxi cabs, and skyscrapers. But the pervasive nature of water towers struck me for the first time just yesterday, when I sat out on the terrace of my Manhattan apartment building, eating breakfast on a cool, quiet summer morning — and realized that I could see at least a dozen water towers without even moving. Big ones, small ones, some standing alone, others clustered closely together with towers on adjacent buildings; it seemed that they were everywhere. For the first time, I appreciated the enormity of the statistic: ten thousand water towers in this city of mine.
To illustrate the point, I fetched my camera and tripod, set it up in a corner of the terrace, and took these shots. Though I swiveled the tripod around roughly 180 degrees, I never had to move it to see all of the water towers you see here; and if I could have rotated it a full 360 degrees (which might have been possible up on the roof), I'm sure I could have found a dozen more.