It was approximately 1910 when Father and Uncle Albert, financed by Jones and Co. of Hobart, set up a much larger saw mill at Collins Cap, some six or seven miles from the Bismarck mill. I can vividly recall a huge boiler being hauled all the way from Hobart by a steam traction engine. It was a mighty load for those narrow precipitous roads, and an escort had to go well ahead to warn other traffic, as there was little room to pass or maneuver, because of the steep embankments. Looking back I must give my father credit for doing a mammoth job in getting this boiler, weighing many tons, off the wagon and setting it up level in a place carved out of the hillside. Added to this was a large steam engine set up near the boiler. The huge flywheel, cylinder and other heavy machinery was hauled some 19 miles from Hobart by a team of Clydesdale horses, six magnificent draught stallions. They belonged to Fred Eiszele and were the pride of Molesworth. They were especially valuable animals imported from England for stud purposes and were always exhibited in the shows. Their coats were a bronze – bay color with white feet, always beautifully groomed to glisten in the sunlight. They were mighty samples of the animal kingdom, mountains of quivering muscle, with massive arched necks and prancing half the time, impatient to release their pent-up energy. They always captured the admiration of onlookers as they stepped with dignity and spirit as if self-conscious of their proud breeding.
The boiler was set in a brick and concrete foundation with the large horizontal engine mounted on a concrete base nearby. As a boy I was awed by this huge engine with its great flywheel, which carried the piston over the centers. It was the most impressive piece of machinery I had ever seen. Such was the construction of steam engines of that era: one cylinder, but of great capacity. The large vertical frame saw for breaking down the massive logs was set up on log formations cut into shape with a squaring axe. This was an axe with a blade twelve inches or more wide, with a straight edge on one side so that a good craftsman could square a log almost as if it was planed. They were sold for righthand and lefthand cutters, and were commonly used for cutting railway sleepers, or ties. The main ripping bench next to the breakdown was designed to rip the flitches which came off the breakdown into specified sizes of timber. Other smaller benches were set up with spindles, belts and saws, and the whole area below the benches was filled with machinery. The sawdust was carried away in large bins on rails running out beyond the mill where it was dumped. All this construction entailed an enormous amount of planning and work, and while father had men working with him, he appeared to be the only one who had the know-how.
At long last all was complete and it looked an impressive piece of construction and engineering. Nothing could happen, however, until there was steam in the boiler. There could be no steam without water, and there was no water up there on the hillside. The only water was down in the valley. There was no electric pump or mechanical way to bring the water up the hill to the boiler; we had to carry it. This we did in four-gallon kerosene tins dangling from a wire on each end of a yoke on our shoulders, Chinese fashion. We had to climb a long steep bush track, climaxed by a ladder to the top of the boiler. When we poured it into the manhole it looked like a teaspoonful in a bucket. We had scores and scores of trips to make to satisfy that thirsty maw. Gordon and I had left school by now and had become part of the working team at the mill. We certainly did not carry all the water, but the dragging of that water up the hillside lives in my memory as one of the worst chores of my childhood. Later father discovered the use of a hydraulic ram, which used the power of the steam to force the water up a two inch pipe to the boiler and also to supply our living quarters with water.
It was not necessary to fill the boiler to the full, but just enough to create a good head of steam, after which the machinery would take care of the problem. Looking into the chasm and measuring the height of the water mark with his eye, father pronounced it sufficient and screwed down the manhole. Then he lit the fire and stoked the furnace with a plenteous supply of wood. It was a long firebox and could take wood over six feet in length. When the water turned to steam and built up pressure in the boiler showing on the gauge, almost 100 pounds to the square inch, father gently turned the wheel that opened the big valve and the steam surged into the cylinder, forcing the piston to the other end. The flywheel carried it over the center, another valve opened and again the steam rushed in to drive the piston back. There was power and there was life in all the machinery so meticulously prepared. Those pulleys, belts, and saws began to move, picked up speed and at last sang the music of a sawmill that we knew so well. The mill was away, and a cheer went up. Here we produced building timber and box timber for apples in quantity. The mill down at Sorrell Creek was leased out to some other aspirant.
To accommodate the workmen huts were built, then a house where some of our family lived during the working week. We would always go back to our home in Valley Road on weekends, and of course to church. The men would also desert this area at the same time. There was no action or entertainment here. The place was attractive only to hermits. Who wanted to remain confined to the forest? We were seeing it every day and were glad to escape it at weekends.
