Koepple, 35, never had any aspirations, interests or dreams
of running a stone quarry, even after he had bought one.
That was in 1999.
At the time, Koepple, a UW-Stout grad, and his family were living
in Owatonna, Minn., when he decided to purchase a 62-acre parcel
a few miles downriver from Downsville.
“I had enjoyed hunting on that land for years. It was
just recreational land to me then,” he explained. “Shortly
after that, Craig Thibado and I bought another 45 acres just
to the south of the first parcel.”
It wasn’t until 2001 they discovered that there might
be some real marketable value in the fine-grained sandstone that
was still abundant on the property. Koepple says that a big part
of the inspiration for reopening the quarry came when they learned
that a church in Durand had been looking for stone of this color
and type to match the original facade.
“But they went with another product because the natural
stone had been bid too high,” he said.
Replace, restore and repair
Once word got out that Dunnville sandstone could become available
again, more requests for the durable, buff-colored stone came
in from architects and distributors both locally and in distant
cities.
Some needed to match the look of original Dunnville stone in
100-year-old buildings. Sometimes, they just wanted a small piece
to create components like window headers and sills. Others needed
larger quantities to build additions.
As the opportunity to reopen the quarry materialized, Koepple
liked the idea of building a business of his own.
“I am one of those people who doesn’t like working
for someone else,” he admitted.
Drawing on his background in manufacturing engineering, he set
out to teach himself a lot more about the architectural stone
industry. He brought in some investors, researched the market — which,
according to Koepple, has been on the upswing the past 10 years — and
gained the necessary permits and approvals to form the Dunnville
Cutstone Company in 2005.
Digging deeper
This was more than 60 years after regular quarrying operations
had ceased. Koepple believes that the original quarries were
closed as a result of shortages of men and materials during World
War II.
“There were probably just not enough men around to work
the quarry, plus there was a shortage of steel for the equipment
it requires,” he theorized.
The historic quarry Koepple has reopened was originally one
of four in the area. Known locally as Ulmer’s quarry, this
one was the second to the last to close.
“Due to a fire, it was shut down as a dimensional stone
quarry and then used as a rip-rap quarry for awhile,” he
recalled. “The one to the north was the last to close.
That one was part of the Downsville Stone Company. Now the DNR
owns all the land the other quarries are on.”
It really was a blast
With the holes all filled, the detonation cord connected, and
two warning hoots of the truck horn, it’s time for the
payoff. The detonator is energized, and the resulting explosion
shoots a string of geysers 40 feet into the air.
“All B-gel [a patented polymer gel], but no fly-rock,” Koepple
emphasized. “All the force goes inward, expanding from
hole to hole.”
Along with the earsplitting crack and boom of the blast, there
was a concussion of air we could feel in our chests, even though
we were a good 50 yards away.
“They can hear it in Downsville,” Koepple grinned,
as they began packing up their gear.
Did he make it into the shower on time? Actually, he missed
it by about 10 minutes, but not to worry, he’s used to
loud noises.
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