Indianapolis' Thunder Island
- The murky waters of Thunder Island. Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
Let's pretend it's the summer of 1993. In the rear view mirror, the Indianapolis skyline centered by the recently completed Bank One Center disappears as the car trudges down US 31. Baltimora's re-released 80s single 'Tarzan Boy' is blasting from the radio as the automobile hooks a left into the parking lot of Thunder Island. Finally, our fictional character made it to the local water park to the life that 'Saved By the Bell' portrayed. Girls in 'Bay Watch' style bikinis, amusement park junk food, and oiled up dudes braving the water slides. It's a summer this man recalls fondly, this hypothetical man in a stereotypical and fictional narrative of 90s nostalgia. The memories stick with him as he peers out of the window by his office cubicle, gazing across the highway towards the woods that now hide the remains of those Hasselhoff-inspired summers. Twenty years older, the office is where he spends his summers now. As he puts the memories away and returns to his desk, a car pulls into the office lot. Not new clients or potential sales, but two people in search of the same water park - two explorers from Cincinnati.
- Exploring Thunder Island. Photograph by Cameron Knight.
I was born in 89. I guess you could technically classify me as a '90s kid' given that the early years of my life were spent watching Ninja Turtles and wearing L.A. Gears. During the last decade of the 20th century, my summers depended on my mom taking us to cool places. We had Surf Cincinnati passes and when that closed we had Kings Island passes. In America at that time, community pools were falling to the wayside. Who needed them when you had the waterpark?
- A typical 1990s waterpark as seen in the Disney 'classic,' "Honey, I Blew Up the Kid."
Surf Cincinnati in particular holds a special place in my heart. I loved it as a kid, and when it was eventually closed and abandoned—it became the first place I explored and shot as a photographer. Kings Island's water park was cool too, but as a teenager, the last thing I wanted to do was expose my pasty white skin and results of a poor diet to the people around me. I eventually worked at Cincinnati’s Kings Island for eight seasons, albeit as a manager on the dry side of the park. The only time I visited the KI water park was to meet up with my boss. I loathed those trips outside of my usual work space, sweating in cheap khaki pants, a faux denim shirt and a company logo emblazoned tie as the guests around me enjoyed the cooling water. These days, I'm not a visitor to waterparks. I don't find taking a bath with complete strangers appealing, sun screen smells terrible and enclosed slides scare the hell out of me, but I'll make an exception to visit one when it's abandoned.
- Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
We heard about Thunder Island after receiving a tip from a reader (shout out to Quinn, thanks man!). After the Frisch's breakfast bar, we made the two hour journey to the northern Indianapolis suburb of Westfield. We couldn't find the park, even though Google maps said we were in the right place. After passing by the area for the third time, we saw what appeared to be the old entrance. We parked the car at a nearby office (where the fictional man from the post intro works), walked up to the state highway, ran to the median when it was clear and crossed the opposite direction. You'd have to know what you were looking for in order to find Thunder Island, there's not much you can see from the road.
- Thunder Island's abandoned entrance. Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
We ducked into the woods, pushed our way through the brush and came out through a clearing. Instead of the sounds of waves, park goers and "Tarzan Boy," the only thing you hear on the grounds of Thunder Island are the birds, the highway and the sound of a nearby farmer tending his field with a combine. Ahead of us was a shack that looked like some sort of cabin. Beneath the weeds were well faded mini golf greens and bricks leading to the putt-putt holes.
- The cabin in the island's woods. Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
We pushed through the woods some more, eventually finding nature slowly taking over the old parking lot.
- What remains of the parking lot. Photograph by Cameron Knight.
- Faded parking lot lines. Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
Pads of concrete and debris gave clue to old buildings.
- Building foundation. Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
- Debris. Photograph by Cameron Knight.
And then came the pools. If it wasn't for the cement, perfectly squared shape and paint - you'd think these bodies of water were actually real ponds, not remnants of human construction.
- Photograph by Cameron Knight.
Despite the lack of humanity that once flooded this park in the summers, there's still many living things. The birds constantly chirp in the trees, spiders infest the old filters near the pools and frogs jump into the human made ponds when you get too close.
- Photograph by Cameron Knight.
And then there's the creatures - tadpoles I assume, but I've never seen tadpoles this big:
- Mutant sea creatures? Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
Given the amount of wildlife and brush, I made sure Cam was up to date on the "snake policy." The "snake policy" is a rule I have when exploring any abandoned place. No matter how much we joke around, you don't joke about snakes. If you see one, you need to inform me in a polite, calm manner so that I can escape.
I hate snakes. More. Than. Anything.
- The dock. Photograph by Cameron Knight.
There wasn't much left of Thunder Island when we were there. In the day and age we live in now, waterparks are typically found at corporate backed theme parks or feature ultra high-tech attractions. It was hard to judge what a lot of the attractions here once were. One of the pools had piers and a piece of a now rotting wooden dock. We assumed it once lined the whole thing, with a fountain in the middle.
- Dock piers. Photograph by Cameron Knight.
The United States of America has the largest collection of waterparks in any nation. That boom began in the 70's at Disney (there's a fascinating read on Disney's abandoned water park here). I assume Thunder Island was a result of that 1970's water park trend as an article archived from the Indianapolis Star claimed the park was 19 years old in 1995, making its opening some time in 76.
- Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
Information about Thunder Island is hard to come by though. I haven't been able to find any photographs of when it was still operating, hardly any mention of its history, but there's a little bit on why it closed. One internet blogger claims his uncle owned it, some kid met an untimely end on one of the slides and the resulting lawsuit closed things down. Another Indianapolis Star article points to bankruptcy. I'm inclined to go with the article over urban legend.
- The L-shaped pool. Photograph by Cameron Knight.
Apparently one of the park's former owner, Mike Maio, filed a personal bankruptcy after being fined by the Securities and Exchange Commission for insider trading. After receiving a $1.6 Million fine, he filed the park for bankruptcy in September of 1994. A July 1995 article mentions the bankruptcy proceedings, but doesn't state if the park ever reopened. Judging by the land's current condition - I'd say it never did. Exactly when, though, is still an unsolved question.
- Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
Towards the back of the park was a large, L-shaped pool. How deep it was, we had no idea. The water is too murky and even in the areas you can see down, there's too much vegetation growing down there to see the bottom.
- Photograph by Cameron Knight.
- Photograph by Cameron Knight.
One the rest of the grounds are smaller, round pools - ghosts of attractions that are long gone.
- Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
- Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
- Photograph by Cameron Knight.
Overlooking the 'island', atop a hill, is the lasting ruin hinting to its nostalgic glory. As ancient civilizations have left behind stone monuments, so does one remain for Thunder Island. Although probably just fake stone and fiberglass, the rock structure at the top marks what must have been the key attraction - a concrete slide built into the ground that flowed back down to the park.
- The stone monument. Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
- The sole remaining slide. Photograph by Ronny Salerno.
We followed the slide back down to the main park, made our last photographs and tried to find our way out. We pushed through some more brush, back to the highway and ran across back to our car. In the end, there were no snakes, but hours later back in Cincinnati I got a text from Cam:
"I picked up a tick while we were out today. You should check your head."
Instantly I dropped my phone and began scouring through my hair. Sure enough, I felt something, grabbed it, ripped it off and flushed it down the toilet. Some small, ridiculously evil looking spider creature - a god damned tick. I never had one before. That night as I tried to sleep, I just kept reading Web MD about Lyme Disease. The next day I felt awful and after a few days of not getting better, I finally went to the doctor. Just a sinus infection, thankfully.
At Thunder Island, the people have been gone since the mid-90's. Now, wildlife reigns supreme as nature reclaims the abandoned waterpark hidden from the highway - a slowly eroding monument to 90's summer nostalgia.
- An overgrown pool. Photograph by Ronny Salerno. Over the years, several of QC/D's urban exploration stories have focused on abandoned amusement parks: