THE SITE OF AN INCREDIBLE RESCUE - ROSEVEARS - PART 2 (BEACONSFIELD) (19 DECEMBER 2017)

At 0926 hours on April 25 2006, as much of Australia gathered at Anzac Day marches all over the country, in the northern Tasmanian gold mining town of Beaconsfield the earth shook. An earthquake rumbled its way through the underground rock from which the precious metal had been extracted at the local gold mine for nearly 130 years.

The 2.2 order of magnitude quake was relatively minor, but the tremor was sufficient to trigger an underground landslide within the mine, a phenomenon initially (and quite erroneously) said to have been caused by blasting.

Small as it was, the quake's effects were to become the focus of world attention for the next two weeks and result in one of the most daringly conceived and stunningly executed underground rescues in the history of mining. Of the seventeen men working below ground at the time of the quake, fourteen were able to escape unharmed, but three were trapped. 

Larry Knight had been driving a machine known as a 'teleloader', a tractor like vehicle with an extendable front arm. Attached to this arm was a metal mesh cage in which Brant Webb and Todd Russell were being moved along the face of one of the mine shaft walls as they placed reinforcing mesh over the surface.

As the tonnes of rock dislodged by the tremor fell on the machine, Knight was killed instantly. Rock also fell on and into the cage, and although Russell's legs were initially trapped, with Webb's help he managed to free himself. But now both men were locked in a rock filled prison, crammed together in an incredibly small space. 

Although they were able to gather water seeping from the overhead rock in their helmets, with only one muesli bar for food and nearly a kilometre of rock between them and the surface, much of which was unstable, their prospects were bleak indeed.

But I am sure you all know the outcome, and I don't propose to present a blow by blow description of the way in which the two men were eventually brought the the surface on the late afternoon of 9 May......I doubt if any other single event in recent Australian history has been the subject of such intense media scrutiny and reporting.

Like the rest of the country, Liz and I watched the events unfolding in Beaconsfield in 2006 with avid interest, but oddly enough I had never really thought about where this small town was situated. Well, now I knew.....just over 20 kilometres north-west of where we were now staying at Rosevears (which was between Legana and Exeter)......it was time to go and have a look for ourselves.

As we drove in towards the main street of this small, almost non-descript, Tasmanian country town, we instantly recognised the sight in front of us. 

Goodness knows just how many times the image of the uniquely shaped Beaconsfield mine head (and there is a good reason for that) had been splashed all over the media during the rescue....certainly enough for us to have no doubt at all as to where we were.






We began our look around at the junction of the main road and that which runs up to the mine. 















Here a series of silhouette boards told of some of Beaconsfield's history.















Each had its own explanatory information plaque.

This one, for example detailed the history of the discovery of gold in the district, and the 

resultant mining operations. What a generous mob the Dally brothers were!








Needless to say the last of these boards related to Russell and Webb

and included this famous photo of the pair 'tagging off' when they were brought to the surface. 














After a quick stroll around this quite striking display, it was off up the road where we passed this impressive ceramic mosaic wall entitled 'Layers of Discovery' with one of the old mine buildings towering above it.

Opposite, an old miner's hut served to remind us that what became a very large mine had much more humble beginnings.









Just beyond the park and the miner's hut, we came across the local government offices, housed in one of the town's older buildings, where I was more than taken by the display of magnificent hydrangeas (and, of course, had to include them in this offering!).







But that was not what we had really come to see. We were here to look at the mine. 















And even here, looking across at the forbidding brick structure which was once home to the engine house of the Hart Shaft, there was another reminder of those extraordinary events of April-May 2006. 

in the shape of this bronze plaque which is self-explanatory.














As a quick side comment I have to say that whilst I don't have any argument with the concept of a public ceremony to pay tribute to those involved in the rescue efforts, I remain far less impressed by the antics of Bill Shorten. By all accounts he moved heaven and earth to arrange a flight to Tasmania at short notice in order to cosy up to Russell and Webb for a 'photo opportunity' at the nearby Beauty Point Hotel after their release from hospital, using his union position to somehow claim credit for the outcome.





But enough of politics....back to the present. The engine room buildings were almost a feature in themselves with their red brick columns and arched windows....solid and dependable looking.







Dotted throughout the old mine buildings, plaques such as this provided us gawkers with information about what we were looking at. So in this case, we learnt that there was a real connection (literally) between the old Hart Shaft building and the new mine head behind it.....

.........a great cage winding cable in fact (which we saw a a little later on our wander around.









Although all operations have now ceased here at Beaconsfield, it was a serious player in its day. One of the biggest mines of its kind in the country, its shafts and drives, extending over a kilometre below the surface and reaching out right under the main road, have delivered just shy of 2 million ounces of gold during the period of its operations.

Gold was first discovered here in 1847, but mining in earnest did not begin until the redoubtable Dally boys found the amazingly rich Tasmania reef near the surface of Cabbage Tree Hill in 1877. From then until 1914, when WW1 material shortages, high wage demands and lower labour availability saw the first of several pit closures, miners beavered away underground around the clock.

Costs and difficulties associated with the huge volumes of underground water extraction were constant impediments which continually plagued operations here, and between 1914 and the final closure in 2012, several companies re-opened and closed the mine for differing periods. 

Although the disaster of the 2006 earthquake and subsequent rescue did significantly dent the finances and credibility of the last company to operate the mine, Beaconsfield was finally closed once and for all because of a combination of reduced gold prices and high ground support and underground operating costs.



Since then there has been a major community push to save the rehabilitated site and to make the most of the tourism opportunities presented by both the old mine buildings themselves and, of course, the story of the rescue, as this plaque at the entrance to the mine museum proclaimed to all and sundry.





But, of course, we were already there, so for us this was a case of preaching to the converted!

As we were making our way past the front of these old mine buildings to the museum, 













we discovered that this mine was a world leader.....in getting rid of the pesky unwanted water that is. Mind you, given that it was developed in and over an aquifer, this could hardly be said to have been an unexpected problem!

And we were soon to learn that this site was used initially for more than mining.

Here poor old Dobbin and his many four legged mates spent hour after hour plodding in what must have been mindlessly boring circles (or is that a tad anthropomorphic?) providing what was literally horsepower for the various machines attached to the shaft gearing.

At this stage we still had not yet made it to the museum, but the plaques (and surprises) kept coming.

Now this one really did knock our socks off......Beaconsfield.......the Australian leader in the fluoridation programme we now all take more of less for granted (apart from some red-necked areas of Western Australia.....you may recall the stoush I had with the placard wielding idiots who haunted the Carnarvon markets warning all and sundry of the poisonous dangers we faced if ingesting this teeth saving chemical!)

What next, we were now wondering. Only one way to find out. The front doors of the modern mine museum building loomed,

and then opened to reveal just what we had expected......'tourist central',  

 

where clearly the hope was that the mine entrance fee would not the be the only dollars to be spent by those visiting. I really don't think any further commentary is needed!

But the miserly Mobile Marshies were not to be seduced by this treasure trove of tourist trinkets and we moved on empty handed into what turned out to be a most extraordinary museum of all sorts of stuff, of which I'll share a few snippets.

As was to be expected, the story of the 2006 rescue 

formed a major section of the exhibits (and was justly lauded), but as I mentioned earlier that is not something on which I intend to dwell for the reasons I stated, 

other that is, from sharing this with you. This odd looking structure is mock up of the rock

covered cage in which Russell and Brant were entombed. Visitors were invited to crawl through the large pipe opening on the bottom of the exhibit and plonk themselves in the tiny space above to gain at first hand a sense of just how small the area in which these two survived for two weeks actually was. 

We did not bother. Apart from the challenge this would present to one set of dicky knees, neither of us had any driving desire to curl up in a cage. But it was staggering to see just how cramped a space it had been.

Apart from mining stuff, this museum was home to a pot pouri of bits and pieces.

Old vehicles and standing steam engines, 

and displays of how we used to live came as no real surprise,

but a seemingly endless row of wooden knobs (in its own dedicated corridor, no less) was not something we had really expected to find.

What would the today's world be without the enterprise of good old Ray?

Less surprising and far more interesting (sorry Ray), and a reminder of the fact that mining was not the only enterprise which kept Beaconsfield afloat over the years, was this mechanical apple sorter,

where the fruit would be rolled down this table of holes of differing diameters which allowed each waiting box to be filled with apples of exactly the same size. I searched in vain for the patent sticker declaring this to be an invention of Woolworths or Coles!












And we weren't finished with apples just yet. This machine printed different case markings, and then came my favourite,










(apart from the spectator that is!). We were both equally nonplussed by this weird looking 

collection of pulleys, trays and assorted bits and pieces. Give up? We did, quickly, although there was a clue. If you look closely you might just spot the red blob in the top centre of the photo. Yep, an apple.

And there you have it!  So now we knew how the local product from the nearby Tasmanian

orchards was sorted, labelled and eventually peeled and cored....strangely fascinating and surprisingly local.

Another quite narrow corridor (disappointingly devoid of knobs but instead festooned with photos) 
















took us back to the great outdoors where towering brick walls and cavernous cement lined pits

were all that now remained of the massive engine house and the even more impressive engines and pumps which kept the Grubb Shaft free of the all invasive water.















Without wishing to dwell too much on these extraordinary machines, this diagram showed just how complex they were, with the thumping great piston which was driven up and down to extract the water having to be supported and balanced by all manner of angle beams and bobs as it plunged to depths of hundreds of metres.

















Even getting all this equipment out when the mine was closed presented a serious challenge.

This photo of the removal of one severed piece was impressive enough,












but I found the story of how this part of the mine was cleared of all these old pumps 

even more interesting. 'Ballsy blokes' was the term which sprang to mind. 

Little now remains, but we did find one of the old 'balance bobs' lying alongside one of the old workings paths,

together with this information board which showed how it fitted into the pumping scheme of things.

Looking at all this left me in little doubt that the claim made about the size of these water extraction pumps, that is that they were the largest in the world at the time, was true. I must apologise for having banged on so much about these, but they really were quite something, and utterly 'Beaconsfield mine' (as is the headframe).

Many areas of the old mine site have become overgrown with ferns and other plants (I suspect much of this may have been deliberately planted) which has served to soften the stark outlines of piles of rubble, bricks and cement casings,

and in this case, an old water wheel which was used in the days of yore to power ancillary equipment.

And finally, before I bore you all to death with mine junk, let me finish our mine tour with mine head itself. Its unique support frame creates a sight which I am sure is something which identifies the Beaconsfield mine more than any other. This gave access to the last of the working sections of the mine before its final closure and it was here that Russell and Brant so famously emerged after their rescue. 

The design of the headframe was created for a very good reason as this plaque explained.

Well, dear readers, that was our take on the Beaconsfield mine. There is a deal more I could share, but enough is enough.

By the time we had wandered hither and yon throughout what is a large and sometimes almost eerie complex, we had become a little overwhelmed by the scale of operations here and the massive machinery which had been necessary to extract the wealth from so far below the surface.

Now it was time for a final look around the town itself, or at least the main street, and here we found that Beaconsfield itself was quite unremarkable, particularly given the plethora of old and interesting buildings to be found in so many other small Tassie towns.

The Alicia Hall had been around for a while (circa 1899) and had been the site of one particular event of some note

according to the rather tatty information plaque on its front wall. (and we thought things became heated during the Vietnam conscription debate!)

The town's Anglican Church

and the building which is now home to the local newsagent, were of some architectural interest, 

but frankly it was the sight of the headframe standing starkly behind the buildings of the main drag which really set the scene here for us in the central street of a town that may well have remained relative obscure (certainly from a tourism perspetcive) but for a remarkable rescue.

And, as a final footnote to that, we later discovered that we had something of a personal connection with the events of 2006. One of my UN Forces colleagues, with whom we spent some time later in Devonport, related how he had been the Sergeant in Charge of the Beaconsfield police station in 2006 and was sitting at his desk at 0926 hours on 25 April. As the office vibrated and rattled around him he knew that his life was about to become very busy. In fact he recalled ringing home to tell his wife that he may not be home for some time....he has never spoken a truer word in his life!