DUANE
Duane's take
Now, I'm gonna tell you what the official marker has to say about this place — and trust me, this one's worth hearing. You're sitting at the edge of something ancient. Clear and icy, these springs have been drawing people to this very spot for a long, long time.
Indians, pioneers, tourists — generation after generation, all pulled in by the same cold, clean water bubbling up from the limestone strata below. And the reason it gets up here at all? The Balcones Fault, that great crack running right through the belly of Central Texas.
It bisects this whole region, and as a result, twenty-seven million gallons push to the surface here every single day. Every. Single.
Day. Let that number sit with you a moment. Twenty-seven million gallons, daily, without fail.
The earth just keeps giving. Way back in 1730 and 1731, Spanish friars came through and located three missions right here at these springs. Then the land sat and breathed and waited.
Along came a man named William Barton — folks called him Uncle Billy — who patented this land about 1837. Now Uncle Billy was, by all accounts, what you'd call colorful. He named two of the springs after his daughters, Parthenia and Eliza.
That's the kind of man he was — sentimental, proud, probably talked your ear off around a fire. He also kept two tame baby buffalos, which, in spite of the constant danger from Indian attacks, started bringing sightseers out to his place. Word travels, even without the internet.
As the place gained in popularity, one astute Austin merchant — and I do love that word astute, because this man had an eye — installed a merry-go-round right here and rented bathing suits to swimmers. He wasn't done there. In 1871, he and several others built ice-making machines at the springs.
Ice. In Texas. In 1871.
Flour mills followed. Sawmills. A quarry appeared along the creek banks.
This wasn't just a swimming hole anymore — it was a whole little economy carved out of cold water and limestone. About 1875, a riverboat called the Sunbeam ran excursions out to Barton's for fifty cents a round trip. Fifty cents to float down and back on the Sunbeam.
At some point a ferry operated here too, sitting right on a main road to Austin. And then, between 1901 and 1913, a leading merchant named A. J.
Zilker bought up this land. And here's where the story turns from commerce to something rarer. In 1918, and again in 1931, Zilker deeded this land to the people of Austin.
Not sold it. Deeded it. For use as a park.
All of it. The cold springs, the limestone banks, the ghost of the Sunbeam's wake — given away. That's how a place like this survives long enough for you to be standing in it today.
What the marker says
Clear and icy, these springs over the years have drawn Indians, pioneers, and tourists to this spot. The waters are brought from the limestone strata to the surface by the Balcones Fault, which bisects Central Texas. Average flow is 27,000,000 gallons daily. During 1730-1731, Spanish friars located three missions here. Colorful settler William "Uncle Billy" Barton patented the land about 1837, naming two of the springs for his daughters Parthenia and Eliza. His two tame baby buffalos soon began to attract sightseers to his place, in spite of constant danger from Indian attacks. As the place gained in popularity, one astute Austin merchant installed a merry-go-round here and rented bathing suits to swimmers. In 1871 he and several others built ice-making machines at the springs. In addition, flour mills, sawmills, and a quarry appeared along the creek banks. About 1875 the riverboat "Sunbeam" ran excursions to Barton's at 50 cents a round trip. At one period a ferry was located here on a main road to Austin. Between 1901 and 1913 A. J. Zilker, leading merchant, bought this land and in 1918 and 1931 deeded it to the people of Austin for use as a park.