Graffiti-covered concrete posts on top of the Beckton Alps, with the Canary Wharf skyline in the distance.
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№ 028·Jan 2026·Field notes·Beckton · E6

The Beckton Alps.

"Derelict land isn't bad — it's just been abandoned." — Julie Bargmann

Sat in the middle of a housing estate, a sprawling retail park and the A13 is a 36m high pile of industrial waste from the Beckton Gas Works, which operated between 1870 and 1970.

View from the top of the Beckton Alps looking out over rooftops, retail sheds and a distant East London skyline.
The view east — housing, sheds, pylons, and a horizon of towers.

In the 70s and 80s this toxic heap was reimagined into a dry ski slope — 'The Beckton Alps' — maximising the panoramic views over east London and the city beyond. An almost unrecognisable symbol of optimism by today's standards. Taking something unwanted and turning it into something remarkable. True alchemy.

Concrete-bag revetment on the old ski slope, tagged with graffiti, half-swallowed by scrub and bare winter trees.
Old slope armour — concrete bags stacked against the hill, now colonised by scrub.

Since the slope closed this heap now sits idle, enclosed by a spiked fence, acting as a bastion of ecological restoration.

A weathered timber gate on the perimeter of the site, with a pine tree behind it and industrial units below.
The perimeter — a gate, a pine, and the retail park beyond.
A muddy footpath winding through bare winter birches on the flank of the mound.
A worn desire line up the flank of the mound.

The slope is now covered in a sea of mosses, wildflowers and dense thickets of trees and shrubs. Scorched ground and graffiti scatter through the remains of the old infrastructure — moments of freedom and connection, shielded from the monotonous, surrounding urban sprawl.

A long, low graffiti-covered concrete wall set into the hillside, framed by bare branches.
A shelter of sorts — concrete, spray-paint, and a scorched floor.
A cracked concrete foundation with protruding rebar, half-consumed by saplings and brambles.
Old foundations, new saplings — the site quietly editing itself.