Having received an invitation from Messrs Bostock and Warren to visit their new sawmill, situate some three and a half miles out of Lilydale, I chose a bright frosty morning for the venture.
Starting from the site of the old mill, situate one mile from the township, I proceeded along the old wooden tram, which leads on through uninteresting country, towards the watershed of the Piper River. The bush all along this route has a deserted and dismal appearance, the large timber which used to fill the valleys and crown the rises having been converted into milling timber years ago. After an hour's climb along a grade of about 1ft in 6ft, the tram comes to an abrupt end, the site of its terminus being marked by a strong platform on to which thousands of feet of splendid timber have in the past been dragged prior to its loading on the trucks. The scrub is simply scored in all directions with wide muddy tracks, showing where the many monsters of the forest have been dragged from their stumps; in fact, as far as the eye can reach nothing can be seen but the stumps of the vast trees which once reared their heads heavenwards in stately grandeur. Now the place is dead — dead beyond recall; dead timber encumbers the ground in every direction. The dead and dying trees alone are left standing, and all animal life also seems dead in these stilly solitudes.
However, it is not with the dead that I have to deal, but with the living, and so I press on through wild scrub of every description, over rough, rocky country and frowning gullies.
Another hour passes, and then the scene begins to change. I am now on a semi-circle of hills, and looking down into the vast plain below, a pleasing panorama gradually unfolds itself. Here the destructive hand of man has not yet been, and what looks like a solid wall of timber appears in the near distance. A gradual and easy descent is a pleasant change from the past two hours' continual climbing, and now the lover of nature is well rewarded by witnessing with what lavish profusion the hand of bountiful nature has clothed the hills and plains. It is timber everywhere— huge, stringy-barks greatly predominating. These trees constitute the king of milling timbers, and it is an awe-inspiring sight to view their stately trunks, straight and round, "in naked majesty arrayed," stretching up some as high as 300 feet into the clouds above.
The loneliness of the Tasmanian bush is indeed strangely apparent ; not a sound comes out of these gloomy depths; not even a bird's note. Even the devastating bunny seems to shun these places. There is very little undergrowth indeed, the perpetual shade caused by the huge tops of thousands of close growing trees almost everywhere shuts out the brightly shining sun, and a universal gloom seems to claim the place for its abode. Now I am on perfectly level country, like the arena of a vast amphitheatre, and through these solitudes I press onwards always keeping in an easterly direction.
Suddenly a shrill whistle is heard, apparently about half a mile away, and with a feeling of almost disappointment I am reminded that it is business I have come to transact even in the heart of such a forest. Shortly I am at the mill. This is situate right in the middle of the plain, and within about three chains of the Piper River.
A large, well-built mill it is, the word permanency is typified in its erection alone, its huge beams and studs, new iron roof, and general appearance of extreme stability showing that it has been put up to stay. On arriving I find the proprietors (Messrs. Bostock and Warren) both hard at work, but as it is Saturday, the mill will soon be closing down for the week. The interval I spend exploring the mill. This structure is in every way up to date. The huge stacks of waste, generally a source of great trouble, are satisfactorily dealt with by the completion of a light tram, which, starting from the saw bench, carries the waste about five chains away from the building, where, when fairly dry it can be fired with perfect safety.
The huge accumulations of sawdust from the benches and saw pits, also in general a fruitful source of trouble and expense, are dealt with by a couple of races, each carrying a few head of water from the adjacent river. These open races are guided through the sawpits under the floor of the mill, where the sawdust, as it falls, is rapidly and silently carried away into a dismal looking swamp of some 10 acres in extent, situate about 300 yards away. The engine is a powerful machine of British make. It was merrily humming away at the time of my visit, and all saws, vertical and circular, cutting for all they were worth. It is a most interesting sight for any one unacquainted with the trade to watch the huge logs coming in behind a team of bullocks, which drag them close up to the vertical or break ing-down saw. Here they are grappled by a powerful winch, worked by hand, and rolled on to a moving platform, which automatically keeps feeding them up against the saw.
From here they come on to a row of well-greased wooden skids, from off which they are rolled on to the saw bench which feeds the hungry circular. This saw requires the attention of two men, well trained in their respective duties of benchman and tailer out. The benchman, only by skilful handling, can make the most out of each billet, and cuts all sized timber from huge beams, 24 feet in length, to the tiny fencing stays, or droppers, as they are known by in the trade. The tailer out has also a great deal of responsibility attached to his position. He has to stack away each board as soon as cut, discharge all waste, and generally assist the benchman. Extreme care has to be exercised by him in handling everything directly it leaves the saw at his end, as many a serious accident might easily be caused by letting a piece of timber touch the quickly revolving saw; this meaning that the piece so dropped would in all probability be shot straight back directly in the direction of the benchman with sufficient force to transfix him. After leaving the saw, the timber has to go through a rigid examination, when all heart and sap wood is rejected. The wood is then classed as first and second quality, and stacked according to its various sizes. This part of the trade requires the supervision of an expert, and is under the direct control of Mr W. Warren, who learned his business in the lumber camps of Canada, and has gained a varied and extensive knowledge of Tasmanian timbers during his many years connection with one of the leading mills down south.
Shortly after 1 p.m. the whistle sounded for lunch, which opportunity I seized of seeing Mr Bostock and completing my business. Next followed an invitation to dinner, which was partaken of in one of the firm's substantially built huts, after which my host kindly showed me all over their timber reserve of over 600 acres. The timber right throughout this selection was of splendid quality, consisting mainly of stringy barks, with a sprinkling of white gums. A most pleasing feature of the timber is its freedom from borers and woodmen, both of which insects cause immense damage in many parts.
''There," exclaimed Mr Bostock, pointing to a huge tree just felled, "is a fine sample of most of our timber." An inspection showed a mighty tree lying prostrate on the ground, having just been felled by the axe. It was a stringy bark, about 6 feet in diameter at the butt— just on 90 feet of clean milling timber was exposed to view, leaving 110 feet of head. Presently up came a team, consisting of fourteen well-conditioned bullocks. One of the lengths cut off this log, was fixed firmly on to a shoe, and away sailed the log straight for the mill.
For the information of the uninitiated, I might here explain that such a shoe as just mentioned, consists of a sheet of tough wrought iron, about 3ft 6in , in length, by 2ft 6in broad, bent in the shape of a huge shallow spoon. The log to be shifted has one end made fast in the bowl of the shoe by being tightly gripped by iron dogs. At the end corresponding to the shank of a spoon a strong chain is made fast. To this the bullocks are harnessed, and then away goes the log up hill and down dale, over stumps and stones or whatever might happen to be in the way.
Some three hours quickly passed traversing this bed of timber. The more one looked the more bewildering appeared the supply of timber available; every tree sound as a bell, and the trunks splendidly proportioned, carrying their bulk well up. From a rough estimate of the timber in sight, there must be from eight to ten years cutting as yet untouched. Messrs. Bostock and Warren have also had a large amount of 5ft and 6ft palings split, as good split ting trees are numerous; some dozen or more stacks, each containing several thousand palings, were to be seen dotted about different parts of the bush.
At about 4 o'clock, we started for home, this time by a new route, as I was very anxious to see the new tram which carries the timber down to the main road. Starting from the mill yard, amidst large stacks containing thousands of feet of ready stacked timber, the scene reminded one more of a busy railway siding. The tram itself is a well laid wooden one, the rails being of especially selected 4x4 quartering, each rail being made fast to the sleepers by several holes, each l¼in in diameter, being bored through rail and sleeper, and through these are driven hardwood pegs, which are found to be far more satisfactory than iron spikes. Climbing on to a loaded truck just about to start, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible, our cargo consisting of 1600ft of sawn boards, including four huge slabs, each about 9in in thickness. The passengers were Mr Bostock, the truck man, and myself. The motive power was supplied by two powerful horses, which without much effort drew the truck along at a sharp trot. The grade for the first half-mile was as near level as possible. Then comes a short rise of about 6 chains. It is here the horses show their mettle. Strong and clean of limb, with legs as hard as nails, it is a pleasure to see them respond to the shout of the truckman. The trace chains tighten sharply as their full weight is thrown forward Into the collar, and the load glides upward without the slightest pause.
Soon the top is reached, and the horses are unhitched and made to follow on behind, as the rest of the journey is a steep down grade right to the road. Before describing our headlong down hill career, a word concerning the trucks will not be out of place. These consist of two short trucks, known as bogies, coupled together by strong chains. Each bogie is massively built, as great strength is most essential. The brake on grades like these has to be made as powerful as possible. It is made of a large block of the hardest and densest wood procurable. Strong iron bolts fasten this on to the iron lever which controls the brake, the lever being assisted by a short block and tackle. We are now ready to start, and holding on tightly, we await developments. The brakeman at once slacks the brake, when the whole contrivance gently slides forward, smoothly, and noiselessly. Presently the steepness greatly increases, and the brakeman grasps the tackle firmly. The truck is now under perfect control, gliding onward at about eight miles an hour.
Suddenly a startling accident happens — the iron lever directly connected with the brake by some mishap became unshipped. A warning cry comes from the truckman, and next instant the three of us spring from the truck, alighting on the ground with much more force than is pleasant. However, we were extremely lucky to get off without any serious damage. The truck, now completely uncontrolled, rushes down at a tremendous pace. Open-mouthed, we await the catastrophe about to happen. We have not to wait long, as the truck continues its wild career, one of the huge slabs on the top of the sawn timber starts a little forward. About 100 yards ahead of the truck is a hard dry stump, about 4ft through, close alongside the right hand tram rail. With a sharp and sudden report the end of the beam of wood strikes this full in the side, cutting out a large piece of wood. Indeed, a third of the stump had disappeared into space with out causing the truck to stop for one instant. On thundered the two bogies, gathering way every instant, until a fearful speed is generated. But its course is now nearly at an end. Right in front is a sharp curve, where close up to the line is a large stack of timber. The track darts on with a dull roar. When the curve is reached the whole structure seems to leap into the air, and with a long resounding crash, smashes into the stack, scattering it to the four winds of heaven. Absolute silence succeeds, and the extreme tension of our nerves is relieved as we start forward to view the damage done.
A few minutes suffices to take us to the place where the trucks are to be seen, both standing on their heads in the midst of a mass of splintered timber. The wheels of the topmost truck are still revolving as though to protest against such unnecessary delay. With the aid of some of the mill hands, the trucks are unloaded, replaced on the line, and partially reloaded, the site of the disaster being marked by shattered wood and furrows scored deep in the earth. At length all is ready, and my friends proceed to mount the trucks, but at this stage I am seized with a desire to complete the journey on foot, and the others good naturedly give in to me. We are now near our destination, and the remainder of our journey is uneventful.
When within about half a mile of the terminus I notice a great litter of timber close to the tram. On enquiring what accident had happened here, I am advised to calm my excitement, as the place indicated is merely the site of a rail splitter's camp. Shortly afterwards we arrive at the main road, where we find a couple of timber wagons busily engaged loading from the huge piles of timber stacked at the side of the road. The remainder of my journey consists of a ride on on of these wagons, which safely convey me to the Lilydale railway station, a distance of about two miles.
In concluding this short sketch, I might add that any one desiring a pleasant day's outing cannot do better than visit this locality, being sure that they will receive a cordial welcome at this mill from the proprietors, who are just a little proud of their plant, tram, and timber bed.
THE TIMBER INDUSTRY (1904, June 16). Daily Telegraph (Launceston, Tas. : 1883 - 1928), p. 4. Retrieved September 11, 2018, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article153931788
See a lovely image of Bostock and Warren bullocks working in the bush at Historical Photographs Tasmania