I was all of thirteen years old when I was introduced. It was late at night and pouring down rain. My friends refused to go in, but I had my own agenda. I would return. I memorized the roads we took and assured myself that my next trip would be worthwhile. Indeed it was. The next time my eyes fell upon the Equadome, I was a few months older, and much more excited. I was scared, but infiltration-minded. After a lengthy walk down a heavily secluded and well-worn path, I reached my destination.

    What a site it was. I was in awe. Lofty, ominous buildings stood high above my head and spoke softly of discarded stories. I wondered what had happened to the place, to its people. I wondered why it had closed its doors, and I wondered about all the things that went on when I wasn't there. I couldn't get over the feelings I was experiencing. I was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed. I was scared like I had never been before. My physiology changed, and I was reduced to a living reservoir of adrenaline. I wanted to go in so bad I could taste it.

    My friends and I stepped off the glass-shattered ground and into the concrete unknown. We passed through darkened passageways and moonlit rooms. We climbed numerous staircases and scoured endless tunnels. The Equadome seemed colossal that night, and I had every intention to return. I wanted to know that place like the back of my hand. I wanted to spend hours exploring its depths. I wanted to know all of its untold stories. I was hooked. The mix of fear and fascination, of adrenaline and awe, was all it took to jump-start my addiction.

    Throughout the years, I made numerous trips to the Equadome. My first was in early 1995, and I was sorry to see it go in the summer of 1998. The Equadome was a local eyesore, and host of many unholy activities. There were reported murders, rapes, suicides, ritual activities, and a sniper had even taken to an Equadome tower (shooting at people driving on the road below). Many people wanted to see the Equadome fall. In August of 1998, the Equadome was imploded, cleared of its rubble, and a police firing range was erected in its place.

    I mourned the loss of the Equadome, but found ways to compensate for my loss. I began looking for other abandoned buildings in the area, and was pleased with what I found. I discovered something I truly loved that fateful night in 1995. And although I was horrified to see the Equadome go, I was left with great memories and an insatiable curiosity that has given way to many exciting explorations.

If you know anything about the Equadome (also called the aqua dome, echo dome, etc...) I would love to hear from you. I am especially interested in any old photos, video, memorabilia, and old newspaper articles about the place.

More Information:
Jason's Beautiful pictures of the Equadome
Representaion of an Equadome article