The Kreisel family is an old Austin family.
Leonard Kreisel was very proud of his family history and he wrote down many memoirs that he kindly gave to me and I am now writing in this blog. At the time I met him because I had a column in the Westlake Picayune. Most all of the articles that I wrote were about Westlake history, so he was happy to share what he knew with me. If he really is one and a half years old when this story takes place, chances are this is a recollection of his parents.
Early 1920s automobile travel West of Austin on the mountain road called Bee Caves Road. By Leonard Kreisel, March 1996.
These are the recollections Of a small boy accompanied by his parents as they ventured into the hills West of Austin along the mountain road. He thanks both his parents for assisting him in recalling these memories, as well as correcting any errors in his recollection.
1896 My great uncle Arthur M Kreisle acquired a peninsula of 27 acres of River land formed by Eames Creek on the west and north, and the muddy Colorado River on the east. Since the Granite Austin Dam was completed in 1898, Lake Macdonald began impounding water and soon Uncle Arthur had a 25-foot-deep lake as the east boundary of his property. He imported a new 22 foot long benzine which is also known as gasoline powered launch and was making the 11 mile trip to Austin Dam to his place in slightly over an hour until 1900 when the dam broke and he again had the two foot deep Colorado River as his east boundary of his property. This meant that he had to travel via land to his country place, a somewhat difficult and trying procedure considering the condition of the rudimentary roads West from Austin to Bee Cave.
In the spring of 1924,, Uncle Arthur and Aunt May invited my parents and me. I was an infant of one and 1/2 years of age, to spend the 4th of July. with them in the country at their place on the Colorado River. With two feet of water atop approximately 2 to five feet of the soft green mud. This is an account of our making the trip.
I recall that my father decided to employ our comparatively new 1922 heavy Willy’s Night closed sedan with a two-side mount spare tires to attempt the voyage. Even though Uncle Arthur and Aunt May had a reliable car, they elected to make the trip in a horse drawn wagon, which then was their usual mode of transportation to the country place, since automobile travel out to their country place often was marred with emergencies. Soon after breakfast, my father had the Willy’s Night automobile, thoroughly checked out by a reliable mechanic who insisted that in spite of our having two spare tires, we should have two extra inner tubes, tire and tube, hatching supplies and equipment, and other emergency equipment and supplies in the event we should happen to need them. He installed a temporary baggage carrying rack on the right running board and loaded onto it 2 5-gallon cans of gasoline, two 5-gallon cans of water, a two gallon can of Mobile BB Motor oil, an assorted tire, changing tools, tire repair equipment, and the tire pump. Two large baskets of food, a loaded ice chest, a first aid kit, and extra light bulbs and fuses for the car completed the supplies for the trip. My architect father, Edwin, my housewife mother Antonie, my fox terrier puppy Spot and I began our adventure.
By mid-morning we crossed South over the Congress Avenue bridge and turned westward for our adventure.
The bridge was the last place we encountered a surfaced road on which to drive. We slowly made our way past what is known today as the Barton Springs and Zilker Park area. And then we felt as if we were almost forging ahead in uncharted territory. Then the rudimentary dirt roads we had traveled gave way to wagon roads barely wide enough for the wheels of wagons to travel along, without any planned space in which to pass another vehicle, horse or donkey. There were no ditches or bridges, and essentially no road surfacing, other than the dirt, caliche, sand, or stones that happened to be native to the area over which we traveled. It was evident why this was called the Mountain Road, since it attempted to navigate the mountainous areas West of Austin, unlike Austin’s relative almost level areas at that time. The roads made no attempt to cut through any of the hills or mountains as it does today. Always going around, traveling through the bottoms of the streams.
Even when the rudimentary road passed around hills, it seemed that there was inadequate road width to prevent the vehicle from sliding off the road and down the hill, with numerous indications that such had actually occurred in the recent past. Fortunately, this did not occur to us. Every mile we noted a large rock on the north side of the road with a single hand scratched number indicating approximate miles from the Congress Avenue Bridge. There were numerous rocks. And rock ledges of assorted height anywhere on the road. The rock had not been removed because with the rudimentary road equipment then available, it would have been an impossible task to remove them. It was such a ledge that claimed unrepairable damage to one of our tires! Thank goodness we still had another tire up to the wheel rims. But thanks to the abundant horsepower of the six-cylinder engine, we were able to pull out of the sand, the same applied to mudholes. We passed a Model T Ford mired in sand and pushed it through and out of the sand.
We finally cleared the section of loose sand and mud known as Hell’s Acres And entered the area where cedar trees became rather prominent. It was in this area where we frequently smelled burning cedar, where the cedar choppers were converting cedar to charcoal for sale. Surprisingly, we needed no water for the radiator, but we had 10 gallons in reserve just in case. We bravely continued westward, noting snakes and other small animals Slithering away from being rolled over by us. A goat or two greeted us from the unfenced sides of the road. We passed a large collection of red headed buzzards feasting on the remains of a large rabbit. We were impressed by the lack of fences. Numerous sunflowers and clumps of pink flowers greeted our eyes. Roadrunners frequently ran along and across the trail.
As we passed the two story Rock Rob Roy ranch house. We received a most appreciated invitation to share lunch with Rob and his two teacher sisters, who were spending summer at the Ranch House, away from their teaching duties in Houston. A two hour rest after the noon meal gave Spot and me a chance to get Welcome to Sleep, and the adults to converse with each other. We bid our hosts goodbye and headed further westward about 3/4 of a mile when we came to assign on our right stating Fish Camp Road. Since we were hunting for this, we unsuspectingly took this road. This at one time led to a private fishing camp at the location of Seven Oaks, then on the Colorado River, now slightly upstream of the present Pier restaurant. In 1899, four prominent Austin physicians had established this fishing retreat on Lake Mcdonald. They were doctors. Houghton, Brownlee, Hap Scott. Hiney Hillgardner And will Watt. Since their deep water fishing camp lasted only a year or so before the Austin Dam burst in 1900,, their fish Camp road had essentially been unused ever since, and that was over 20 years. With the guidance and protection of the Lord, we slowly followed this trail approximately about one mile, then slid down a very steep hill, still there today but paved, and finally came upon the bank of the Colorado River to the location of the former fishing camp, known later as Charlie’s camp. We then easily traveled the level road about 1/2 mile to Uncle Arthur’s place, our destination and the happy reception from Aunt May and Uncle Arthur. Two toned caws Of rain crows greeted us. We were safe from the arduous of travel For several days between. The time that we left the Zilker area until we started traveling The Fish Camp road. We had seen a total of 2 automobiles, nine wagons, and 11 horses or donkeys being ridden by one or more people. Our return drive back to Austin, we had much the same conditions of driving as we had in going out to Uncle Arthur’s place, with the exception that we had extreme difficulty getting up the monstrous hill on the Fish camp road, extracting 2 flat tires to make the ascent. Weston Lane today in Rob Roy on the lake is essentially the same as the old Fish Camp Road. Uncle Arthur’s place today is known as the residential area of Wood Island. Upon our return home, we rested the remainder of the day, and enjoyed a long undisturbed night’s sleep. In the morning, my neighborhood playmates questioned me as if we had just gotten back from an overseas trip.
