It’s something of a local mystery. What befell the Hurdville Mill?

 The uncertainty surrounding the ultimate fate of this historic landmark has propelled it into the realm of folklore. With the passing of each year, its legend grows and the facts surrounding its life and death become shrouded by the mists of time. At the heart of it all is a fascinating story that spans more than a century and begins in Hurdville’s earliest years.
In the latter half of the 19th century, with the Parry Sound District experiencing a lumber boom, sawmills sprang up like trilliums in a springtime forest. In every community someone would seize the opportunity to install a sawmill to supply local needs. In the young hamlet of Hurdville, that enterprising individual was Peter Weller.
Weller, an immigrant from Germany, saw great potential in the rocky chute of water that emptied Lake Manitouwabing into the Seguin River. He knew that the cascading water would provide ample power to run a sawmill, so he went about securing rights to the falls and the surrounding land. Around 1882, Weller built a sawmill on Lot 35, Concession 4 on a foundation of rocks beneath the falls. A wooden dam was built at the outlet of the lake to control water flow. Though ambitious, Weller was a minor player compared to the Parry Sound Lumber Company (and its successor, the William Beatty Lumber Company), which operated massive sawmills downstream in Parry Sound. As a result, when the Parry Sound Lumber Companywith government blessing-made demands regarding the operation of the Hurdville Mill, there was precious little Weller could do about it. He could only smile and agree when company offi cials stressed that the water going over the dams could only be used at certain times, specifically when their own mills didn’t require the head of water. He also had to make assurances that the spring log drive, during which timber that had been felled all winter was sent down the swollen river to Parry Sound, would in no way be impeded by his own operations.
But though Weller’s mill may have been overshadowed by its far-larger brethren, it was an impressive industry all the same that did steady business. In fact, for the area settlers who relied on the mill for emplpyment and the lumber with which to build, it was a Godsend.
Interestingly enough, throughout its existence the mill was entirely water-powered, never making the switch to steam as did so many other sawmills. A fl ume carried the water down to a turbine, from which a shaft arrangement transferred power to the sawmill machinery which included not just the huge circular saw but also a chain that dragged logs up from the river, ready to be rolled onto a carriage and cut. Being tied to the whims of nature could be frustrating, as winters with little snowfall and dry springs could severely cut into the operating season because there would simply not be enough waterflow to turn the turbines.
Still, most years the sawmill employed 10 to 12 men throughout the summer, and an even greater amount during the winter months cutting wood from the forested interior further up the Seguin.
Boards cut at the mill found their way into homes and barns across the region. Railway ties were also produced in vast numbers, and sawdust was gathered for use as insulation in homes. The mill had a capacity of 10,000 board feet of lumber per day, a not inconsiderable amount, though it’s said that in one busy season a million board feet was cut by its buzzing blade.
For a time in the late 1800s and early 1900s, grist stones were also occasionally installed in the mill to make course animal feed. Farmers would arrive with sacks of grain which they would empty into a hopper on the second floor, where it would pass through the grist stones. A few minutes later, the ‘chop’ was ready for shoveling back into bags. When the need had passed, the grist stones and associated apparatus could be easily removed and the mill returned to its primary function of cutting wood.
Despite the prosperity the mill provided, numerous owners came and went over the years. These included: Matt Leach, John Sir, Alf and Jim Parton, Jim and Andrew Hardie, George Magee, and Bernard and Walter Johnson. Of them all, Jim Hardie left the greatest impression on the Hurdville Mill, if for no other reason than because he was responsible for the extensive renovation that resulted in the mill today remembered by old-timers and most commonly seen in photographs.
Milling ran in the family. Jim and Andrew’s grandfather was a sawyer by trade and when he came over from Scotland he brought a primitive pit-saw with him. Their father, a cabinet maker by trade, continued the tradition, operating the pit-saw to provide the wood required of his trade.
The Hardie association with the Hurdville Mill began when Jim formed a partnership with then-owners Alf and Jim Parton in the early 1900s. He later became sole proprietor and extensively rebuilt the structure after a disastrous fi re in 1912. Most of the equipment came from closed mills in Parry Sound, while the water wheel main pulley and belt, along with its turbines, came from the old Parry Sound Light Company power house that had been built in 1894.
After reconstruction, the sawmill was far better equipped to meet the demands of the 20th century. Only a decade later, Mother Nature came perilously close to undoing the renovation and serving the industry a premature deathblow. It had been a harsh winter with extremely heavy snowfall, and the spring that followed was unusually wet. The Seguin River was swollen by meltwater and rainwater, becoming a raging torrent that threatened everything in its path. The racing river was thick with logs and debris, which began to jam at the Hurdville dam. Men worked feverishly to free the detritus, fearing that the dam would collapse under the pent-up stress and sweep away the mill below. It was man versus nature, and man lost. But instead of the dam collapsing, the water simply broke free of its confi nes, sweeping around the flanks of the dam and pouring into the river below.
The strength of the water was such that it literally tore a deep gouge into the earth, carrying away trees and shrubs, rocks and soil, and anything else in its path. Thankfully, the raging water chose to cut its path on the opposite side of the dam from the mill. Had it not, the mill would have surely been swept away as fl otsam.
The loss of the mill, even at this relative late date, would have been devastating for Hurdville. The village was still largely agricultural, but the land was hardly bountiful and farmers relied on employment at the mill or cutting trees on its behalf during the winter to survive. Without the mill, many residents would have had to flee their land in search of work.
As it was, the sawmill still had another three decades of life in it. The end only came in 1955, when Walter Johnson made the painful decision to shut down what by then was no longer a viable business. For the first time since 1875, the sounds of whining blades did not echo across Lake Manitouwabing.
But the story doesn’t end there. Far from it. In 1964, Robert and Mildred Tait purchased land adjacent to Lake Manitouwabing to open Tait’s Landing, a general store and marina. The derelict mill came with the sale. “Bob was born and raised in Hurdville, on a property next door to mill, and his first job was in the mill,” explains Mildred, noting that her husband has been gone nearly six years. “He knew a lot about the mill and had good memories of it.”
Robert explored various avenues to have it preserved, offering to sell it for a nominal fee to anyone serious about restoring it. He thought he had found a willing partner in the Townships of McKellar and McDougall, that as early as 1970, expressed an interest in preserving what was then the last intact sawmill in the area. But the deal fell through and the historic building languished.
As the years passed, the mill naturally degenerated. By 1974 the support beams were rotting and no one could confi dently predict how many more spring fl oods it would survive. Worse, it was a safety hazard and the Taits were constantly chasing off people who were eager to explore the haunting structure but were ignorant of the danger it posed. Robert and Mildred knew it was only a matter of time before someone hurt themselves and they would have a lawsuit on their hands. So, with heavy hearts, they decided they would have to demolish the building themselves.
Enter Parry Sound North Star columnist Irene Morel, who launched a personal crusade to save the mill from the wrecking ball (these selfl ess efforts form the basis of her book, Half a Loaf…My Love Affair with the Hurdville Mill). After weeks of feverish work and tireless campaigning, she managed to interest the Hamilton Conservation Authority in the idea of reconstructing the mill as a living history display. The Taits agreed to the terms of the sale and the mill’s death sentence was revoked.
Though more than 30 years have passed, Mildred vividly remembers the day the mill was dismantled. “It was in October that the mill was taken apart. Each piece was numbered and photographed so it could be rebuilt later. Bob supervised the work and was asked to be involved in rebuilding it in Hamilton at a later date,” she relates. “It was a lot of work, but it was a good feeling because it meant the mill was being saved.”
No one could have known at the time that their faith had been misplaced. The mill was never rebuilt, nor did it ever resurface. The ultimate fate of the historic building is shrouded in mystery and controversy to this day. The Hamilton Conservation Authority (HCA) intended for the mill to be a highlight of its Dundas Valley Conservation Area, providing an opportunity for people to see a real sawmill in operation. In addition to being an education tool focusing on the logging industry, the Authority also anticipated that it would be an ideal centre for other wood-related displays, such as pioneer wood working tools and a cooper’s shop. It was an exciting plan with considerable merit.
The groundwork for reconstruction was laid in 1975, with detailed drawings, cost estimates, and site plans prepared. But it went no further. “The last mention of the mill in the annual reports was in 1976,” explains Chris Hamilton, information officer for the Hamilton Conservation Authority. “The mill was stored in the barn on the Slater property (within the Dundas Valley Conservation Area). During this period a reduction in provincial funding, year after year, forced the authority to abandon some plans in order to divert funds for more necessary conservation and land acquisition programs. This was the case with the Hurdville Mill.”
Where is the mill today? No one knows for certain, not even the HCA. Portions of the mill were sold off, and, according to Hamilton, some pieces were returned to Hurdville. To whom, exactly, wasn’t recorded. There are also rumors that the mill, in whole or in part, was lost in a barn fire. Some versions of the tale say that the pieces were burned on purpose by the man who owned the barn in which they were stored because he has not been paid the promised rent.
The truth may never be known. After 1975 the mill never again appeared in official HCA documents, and all members of the Authority from the period – the only people who might truly be able to shed some light on the story rather than add extra layers of complexity – have long since retired or passed away. It seems the Hurdville Mill is destined to remain something of a mystery.
What is known for certain, however, is that the imposing Hurdville Mill stood, both literally and figuratively, at the center of the small McKellar Township village for more than a century. Its absence has left a scar that hasn’t yet healed.