Industrial history: Remembering the Cobb asbestos quarry
Brian Reilly holds a chunk of asbestos ore he once helped to mine. Photo Gerard Hindmarsh.
Now that the Golden Bay Cement Company reunion is over, it's timely to reflect on another relatively recent extractive industry in the Bay.
Who hasn't driven past the AA sign on a hairpin bend up the road to the Cobb which points to the remains of the old Asbestos Quarry? The Hume Pipe Company operated there in two stints between 1949 and 1963, and in the latter stages some 5,000 tonnes of high-grade asbestos ore was trucked out each year.
This was a pioneering industry because no manuals existed on the subject and asbestos millers worldwide were notoriously secretive about their technology. Fred Clapcott led a crew charged with the job of inventing and constructing a whole new asbestos milling plant on the slopes of a steep mountainside in the middle of nowhere.
Brian Reilly of Takaka worked there for around five years, much of it as foreman.
"We always got covered in dust, especially if we were working in the shed," he reflected. Some of his work involved tunneling to establish where the best ore lay.
Though misgivings were already being expressed about asbestos posing a possible health hazard, its positive use for insulation, fireproofing and as an additive in cement products overruled any medical concerns until well into the late 1960s.
Concrete pipes spun with a mix of asbestos fibre made for a strong yet lightweight and superfine finish, enabling (in the case of culvert pipes and water mains) the production of a near-perfect product not even remotely obtainable before.
The process of extraction was quite simple. After the soft asbestos-bearing serpentine was blasted out of the hillside, it was crushed and put through a series of screens until the fibre was separated out. In the early stages of the operation, this was bagged up and taken up by pack horse, tractor and trailer to a waiting lorry that transported it out to Waitapu Wharf for stockpiling and eventual shipping.
When the works shut down for a while, Brian stayed on as caretaker, filling in his spare time hunting and exploring the surrounding terrain while living in one of the single man's workers' huts. These all featured an open fireplace for warmth, not that that helped much in winter.
"If we had a bucket of water in the hut we'd wake up to it frozen over with an inch of ice! I recall one night we got over 10 inches of snow. It could be so bitterly cold working up there."
The existence of the asbestos was common knowledge long before it was worked, thanks mainly to the prospecting of Henry Chaffey, whom Brian got to know well. "Sometimes I'd carry in stores for him in my spare time. I recall arriving one day at their cottage and seeing this deer standing staring at us just 60 yards up the hill. Henry handed me his .303 so I took the shot, which hit a rock six feet too high right, so I fired again six feet low left and got the animal. When I looked at Henry's rifle, the front sight was completely loose and just held on with wire. It never bothered him because he knew exactly what adjustment to make when shooting it."
Another time when Henry offered him a bottle of home brew to swig on, Brian had to spit out a weta that had obviously been pickled in the making. "Dunno how that got in," said Henry, fairly nonchalantly.
After working at the asbestos quarry, Brian started at the Golden Bay Cement Company as a fitter's labourer, but three months later moved into the office and eventually became the works accountant until his retirement.
A few years ago, a health worker checking on asbestos workers around the country visited Brian. "The first thing he wanted to see was the palms of my hands. Presumably they must provide some indicator of asbestosis. But he pronounced me OK."
That diagnosis obviously still stands. Brian still maintains a high level of fitness, doing his own vegetable gardening and walking the 4km around the Takaka "block" from his Willow Street home every day it isn't raining. In December he intends tramping up Mts Peel and Limestone with his son.
Not bad for an 86-year-old!
Gerard Hindmarsh
