The ROADBOSS crew joins house-moving legends Mackay and Sons on an epic – and heart-warming – journey shifting a classic home from flood-ravaged Lismore to higher ground with a convoy of jet-black Mack Super-Liners
There’s a smell to a flood-ravaged town that never really leaves you. It’s a damp, earthy musk, a cocktail of river silt, rotting timber and heartbreak. It hangs heavy in the air, and the people of Lismore know it all too well.
For the people who live in the Northern Rivers town, the memory of that smell often wafts back into their psyche. It brings with it the terror of the February 2022 floods, when the Wilsons River didn’t just break its banks – it swallowed the town whole.
The muddy deluge rose 2.5 metres higher than the previous record-high floods of 2017, and nobody saw it coming. It tore through homes, displaced thousands, and left a resilient community questioning whether it was worth rebuilding this time.
For many, the heartbreak was too much to bear. When the government offered a way out with its buy-back scheme, plenty of locals left the place they’d long called home, taking the cash with the option to demolish, or relocate their homes.
Rob Rizzo, a 66-year-old local with a kind smile, stout moustache and moppy grey hair, looks up at the flood-ravaged home he raised his family in. He’s lived on Magellan Street since he was a 12-year-old boy, first in his mother’s home two doors up, and then at the house we’re standing out the front of, which he bought back in 1981. He and his wife, Anne, moved in when they married in 1983.
I was calling her to tell her to leave and she just kept saying ‘yes dear’ on the phone, but she wasn’t leaving. I was in Victoria, but I knew this flood was different. Eventually I had to say, ‘Mum, you need to get out!
Even though he now lives on a property in neighbouring Blakebrook, his connection to Magellan Street, and the town of Lismore as a whole, runs deep.
He and his brother Neville have run Rizzo Brothers Concreting and Excavating for 43 years, working on many of the homes around here, and the well-known locals have no intention of leaving.
Rob points to his mother’s house, which she lived in until she was moved to a nearby care facility after the flood, sharing his memories of the home. Sadly, many of those memories involve rising water.
“In the 2017 floods, my mum had to be rescued from that house by boat,” Rob tells me, as he plays back the memory.
“Then in 2022, I was calling her to tell her to leave and she just kept saying ‘yes dear’ on the phone, but she wasn’t leaving. I was in Victoria, but I knew this flood was different. Eventually I had to say, ‘Mum, you need to get out!’”
She got out. But the street she returned to would never be the same.
For the Rizzo family, the thought of an excavator smashing their home apart and taking with it the memories, wasn’t an option. They’d be taking the house with them. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
Meanwhile, Rob and Anne’s daughter, Mel, was staying at the Blakebrook property caring for the animals while her parents were away. She watched the family’s home on lower ground, at Magellan Street, slowly swallowed by murky river water. Even then she knew they’d rebuild, as they’d done before, but it would be a long, drawn-out process.
Rob and Anne returned from Victoria to a town that was unrecognisable, but thankfully the water through their house at Blakebrook was only ankle deep.
For many, the 2022 flood was the final straw. But, for the Rizzo family, the thought of an excavator smashing their home apart, taking with it the memories of first birthdays and Christmas lunches, wasn’t an option.
They decided to take the buy-back offer, but they’d be taking the house with them.
To move a house this size, you need to call in the cavalry. In Lismore the cavalry consists of a convoy of jet-black Mack Super-Liners.
Black bulldogs
Since the water first receded in early March of 2022, the Mackay and Sons Super-Liners have become a common sight on the streets of Lismore. They thunder through the flood-ravaged town providing hope, and a chance at a fresh start.
We would have moved more than 100 homes out of Lismore since the floods, so we’re here just about every week.
Mackay and Sons is a Brisbane-based family business that’s been pulling Queenslanders, and now their southern neighbours, out of trouble for more than half a century. They were there after the 1974 floods that ripped through Brisbane, and they rolled in to help Lismore locals after the 2022 floods.
“I saw them on ‘Outback Truckers’ getting into some hairy situations,” Rob tells me, explaining why he entrusted them with the relocation of his cherished family home. “But these guys had also come down and helped Lismore during the floods, so we liked that they’d given back.”
Parked out the front of the Rizzo’s place, the black Macks look the business. One is named ‘We Never Sleep’, the other ‘Gettin’ It Done’, both suitable monikers. They are hooked up to low-slung black TRT trailers that are about as high-tech as trailers get.
Third-generation mover Robbie Mackay is now at the helm of the impressive Mackay and Sons operation, and it’s fair to say the Rizzos are in safe hands. This isn’t Robbie’s first rodeo.
“We would have moved more than 100 homes out of Lismore since the floods, so we’re here just about every week,” Robbie tells me. “Every one of these moves is important to us, as we give these homes and the people they belong to a second chance.”
Hoses to house moves
The Mackay and Sons story started back in 1966 with Robbie’s grandfather, John Mackay, a firefighter who spent his rostered days off re-stumping houses to make a few more bucks. After a visit to the doctor revealed a nasty melanoma, John ended up losing his right eye to the cancer.
Mackay and Sons’ convoy of jet-black Mack Super-Liners have moved more than 100 homes out of Lismore since the most recent floods. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
Because the fire brigade “required two working eyes”, as Robbie put it, his grandfather was medically discharged. This would be a blessing in disguise, though.
Forced to find a way to feed his family, and quick smart, he turned his restumping side-gig into a booming business. Before long, John was eager to diversify and he happened upon a house-moving business.
“He ended up doing a re-stump for an old house mover who had a heap of gear in his backyard,” Robbie tells me as we seek shelter in the shade of his Super-Liner. “The guy actually owned a house-moving business, so he did the job in exchange for the equipment.”
Back then, house moving was a rough-and-ready trade. There were no hydraulics, no laser levels and no air-conditioned cabs. They used jinkers and dog trailers, which were essentially glorified log carts with extendable drawbars. The first trailer John used was made from old power poles and aeroplane wheels.
“They’d jack the trailer up to the house,” Robbie explains, shaking his head as he talks me through the sketchy process, “then they’d build timber sties underneath it, build ramps coming down and literally just drive off. They’d properly send it!”
Robbie is a Mack man through and through, developing a love affair for the Bulldog badge from the moment he could walk and talk.
Every one of these moves is important to us, as we give these homes and the people they belong to a second chance.
“I was always doing little jobs here and there for dad and grandad, like washing the trucks or just helping out around the yard,” he reminisces. “That’s when I remember falling in love with all of it.”
But the Mack brand has been in the Mackay blood since long before Robbie was even thought of. The company first started buying B-model Macks back in the early ‘70s, and they haven’t looked back.
“My granddad really got into Macks in a big way,” Robbie says. “He had Internationals and GMCs, but when he bought a house-moving company out that had Macks he just stuck with them. The new ones are perfect for this too, the visibility over the bonnet is great, but let’s be honest … they just look cool!”
While the Bulldog on the bonnet has remained constant, the trailers have seen a lot of change. Mackay and Sons were the first to import hydraulically raisable trailers from New Zealand in the early ‘80s. Then in the ‘90s they were one of the first to use steerable trailers, allowing them to snake massive homes through tight suburban streets.
Today, the company’s Mack Super-Liners pull state-of-the-art TRT trailers. These things are engineering marvels, also from New Zealand, with electronic steering, hydraulic split axles and push-pull rams. They’re a long way from timber ramps and a prayer, able to be controlled remotely, crab-walked into the tightest of spots, and each axle can be lifted independently.
Talking with Robbie about the future of the business, he tells me his son, a potential fourth-generation Mackay operator, already has the bug. “He loves machinery, trucks, diggers, anything that makes noise,” Robbie says with a smile. “We’ll keep the legacy going, for sure.”
The equipment has changed alot over the past 50 years. When Mackay and Sons first started out there were no hydraulics, no laser levels and no air-conditioned cabs. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
He might be the boss, but Robbie still spends a lot of time in the cabin and watching him work, it doesn’t look like he’d have it any other way. His sister Ash, who left to drive trains for a few years, is also back behind the wheel.
Robbie tells me the family business has moved almost 10,000 homes so far, and they’ve got a reputation for doing the jobs nobody else will. That means that when the water rises, their phone rings.
“It’s about helping give these homes a second chance, so it’s obviously something we love to do, but at the same time we dread these disasters for the damage they cause people,” Robbie tells me, clearly conflicted. Sure, they get a lot of work out of it, but if Robbie could prevent the floods, he would.
Heavy lifting
Operators Andrew Tatnell and Corey Brennan are leading the charge today, with Robbie due back for the move itself. Andrew, a former mechanic who spent seven years doing interstate work after a career change, reckons this beats highway driving any day of the week.
“This is way cooler,” he tells me, wiping the sweat from his face. “I like the responsibility. It’s someone’s home, so you’ve really got to look after the load.”
The TRT trailers are essentially giant hydraulic floor jacks. Andrew and Corey manoeuvre them under the house with awe-inspiring precision. Corey walks alongside the trailer with a hand controller, steering the axles independently, while Andrew feathers the throttle in the Super-Liner.There are a small tree and an old power pole awkwardly positioned in front of the house. In the old days, or with a less skilled crew, these obstacles would be chainsaw fodder. But the Mackay crew prides themselves on finesse.
It’s about helping give these homes a second chance, so it’s obviously something we love to do, but at the same time we dread these disasters for the damage they cause people.
“We don’t move things if we can avoid it,” Corey tells me, as he works the hand controller.
With a mix of hand signals and plenty of yelling, they thread the massive trailers underneath the house and into position.
Sometimes, on slippery ground or steep gradients, simply driving the truck under isn’t enough, the guys tell me.
“Once the wheels spin, we have to use the push-pull,” Corey says. “You put your trailer brakes on, and then you push the truck forward with the hydraulic ram. Then you put your truck brakes on and pull the trailer forward.”
It’s essentially like winching yourself along using your own chassis, and it’s the ultimate heavy haulage party trick. These trailers don’t only have the push-pull ram on the dolly, but they can also tilt left or right … but more on that later.
Once the trailers are in position, the house is supported as the hydraulic split axles are raised to the height of the floor. The old stumps and supports can now be cut away, leaving the house hovering in the air, suspended by the TRT trailers.
Today, the company’s Mack Super-Liners pull state-of-the-art TRT trailers with electronic steering, hydraulic split axles and push-pull rams. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
Demolition duties
Day two on-site is a sweltering affair. The Lismore humidity is thick enough to chew on, and the sun is beating down on the tin roof of the Rizzo family home as workers dismantle it piece by piece.
To fit down the road, the roof has to come off to meet a height limit of 4.9 metres. Width is also an issue, limited to eight metres in Lismore, so the house will be cut in half.
It sounds barbaric, taking a circular saw to a family’s living room, but watching the crew work it’s clear there’s a real art to dismantling a house when you’ve got to put it back together at the other end.
The Mackay and Sons crew – about 10 guys in total – are everywhere. On the roof, inside the walls, crawling through the dirt underneath. They strip the house back to its bare bones. Stairs are pulled down, decks are lopped off, and the roof sheets are stacked.
“We’ve got to be careful, too, because these houses need to go back together nicely,” Andrew explains.
“We can’t just hack them apart. The idea is you would never know they got pulled apart like this once we’re all done.”
We’ve got to be careful, too, because these houses need to go
back together nicely.
Emmanuel Sadek is on the roof, harnessed up and sweating it out in the sun. He’s been up there for hours, doing what looks like the hardest job here.
“You do get used to the heat,” he tells me, as he chugs from a five-litre cooler. “Last week we were up to our knees in mud, so it’s always different.”
He wants to drive one day, but in this game you earn your stripes doing the hard yards first. It’s a rite of passage that everybody on this crew – including Robbie – went through.
As half the crew works on cutting the house in half, the others get to work knocking out the foundations. While this is often a fairly simple affair, this house has particularly strong bones.
The house sits on a sturdy brick perimeter that Rob tells me was built to last, atop the slab he poured himself when the house was originally raised.
“Built it too strong mate, ha!” Rob laughs as he watches the guys bash away with sledgehammers. “The guy that did the bricklaying isn’t around anymore, but he’d get a kick out of this.”
While Rob’s property is only 15 minutes up the road, with a house on the back of these trucks it’s a slow and methodical multi-hour expedition. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
The double-walled bricklaying is no match for mere manpower. After making small inroads with sledgehammers, the guys decide they’re fighting a losing battle. Rob finds this amusing, watching on with a smirk.
Corey fires up the skid steer, letting hydraulics do what muscle couldn’t. After launching the machine at the brick wall for the better part of an hour, the house is supported only by the trailers.
The split
It’s the next morning, move day, and it’s time for the part we’ve been waiting for: the split. The house has already been cut down the middle, but it’s still sitting wedged in place. The two trucks, positioned side-by-side, use the tiltable trailers to separate the two halves of the house.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the hallway widens. Light begins to spill through the crack, as the house is split in two. God knows how they did this before the trailers could tilt on demand.
A young woman on a bicycle stops as the trailers sit tilted. She’s a local hippy-type in a colourful dress, and she stares, shaking her head in awe. It’s a reminder that no matter how many times you see it, a house on wheels is always a spectacle … even if trucks aren’t your thing.
By the time the sun starts to set, the house is loaded, split and strapped. Robbie’s back and he and the guys reposition the trucks, before lowering the two halves down, ready for a midnight departure.
At night the power lines actually shrink up as it cools, even steel cables do. So on a hot day they’ll sit a lot lower.
The crew are visibly shattered. They’re covered in a layer of grime from the demolition, the dust caked on and mixed with sweat (and for one of the guys who was on sledgehammer duties, blood from ricocheting chunks of brick that met his shins).
We head into town for supplies, running into some of the crew who have the same idea. Standing in a fluorescent aisle of the local Woolworths, the guys look like they’ve just crawled out of a mine shaft. They grab armfuls of Red Bull, their preferred method of fuel.
Passersby give them a wide berth, but in a town like Lismore, dirt on your boots and dust on your face usually means you’re doing something useful to clean the place up. And tonight, these blokes are doing something very useful indeed.
Midnight run
We reconvene at Magellan Street around 11:00pm. The heat of the day has broken slightly, but the air is now thick with anticipation, and the street is lit-up like a Christmas tree as the perimeter lights on the trailer illuminate the load.
The police escort arrives, their blue and red lights bouncing off the chrome of the Super-Liners. Senior Constable Ernie Makings runs the drivers through a briefing, before checking over their permits and paperwork.
“If I can’t see you, I can’t book you,” he jokes, when I ask whether our photographer is right to hang her camera out the window once on the move. Leapfrogging up and down a convoy is something we do a lot of, but police escorts make it a little more daunting. No rules were broken, in case the constabulary is reading – promise.
House removals are truly a matter of inches to ensure they avoid major hurdles such as power lines, bridges and other structures. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
Suddenly, the trucks fire to life with a deep, guttural growl that echoes off the empty houses on either side. It’s a sound that signals hope in this part of the world, as locals line the footpath to watch.
While Rob’s property is only 15 minutes up the road, with a house on the back of these trucks we’re looking at a multi-hour expedition.
As the convoy rolls out, the display of flashing lights and towering timber gets the blood pumping. The eaves of the house brush past a telegraph pole and the roofline flirts with a particularly low power line.
Speaking of power lines, they are the enemy here. Andrew explains that the timing of the move isn’t just about traffic, it’s about physics.
“At night the power lines actually shrink up as it cools, even steel cables do,” he tells me.
“So, on a hot day they’ll sit a lot lower.” Those few inches of thermal contraction can be the difference between a clean run and a blackout for the entire neighbourhood.
Our first major hurdle is a bridge just out of town. It’s tight. We are at the absolute height limit, Robbie tells me, so the convoy slows to a crawl. The spotters watch the roofline, channel 42 crackling with dialogue as directions are given.
I was always doing little jobs here and there f0or dad and grandad, like washing the trucks or just helping out around the yard. That’s when I remember falling in love with all of it.
“Slow … slow. .. hold it …CSHHHH …. HOLD IT!”
They aren’t sure if they’ll need to dump air from the tyres to squeeze under, because it’s truly a game of inches on a bridge like this one. Slow and steady, the house glides under the structure without making contact … just.
Robbie is about as calm as they come. From the cabin he’s focused, but incredibly relaxed as he pilots the Mack as though he was born to do it. I mean, in many ways he was born for this, so it makes sense. Still, I’ve watched dozens of operators from the passenger seat and he’s got to be the most relaxed I’ve ever seen in action.
Once we hit the open stretch of road after the bridge, the Super-Liners finally get to eat. There’s a misconception that house movers crawl along at walking pace the whole way. Not this crew.
“These houses aren’t actually that heavy,” Andrew tells me, “so we’ll happily do 80km an hour.”
The Macks make light work of the 15-odd tonne load each of them is pulling. Seeing a house fly down a country road at near-highway speeds is surreal, but the TRT trailers track true, and the Macks aren’t breaking a sweat.
There’s a misconception that house movers crawl along at walking pace the whole way. Not this crew, with the black Super-Liners happily doing 80km an hour. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
Just as we think we’re on the final stretch, the road gods demand a sacrifice. We run through a town with a tight roundabout. The exit is narrow, forcing Robbie to swing wide, and a traffic island leaves him with next to no room. The rear left trailer tyre kisses the curb, letting out a loud hiss as it deflates. “You’ve nicked your rear left, mate,” Andrew radios from one of the pilot vehicles.
We pull over to inspect the damage. The rim is mangled beyond repair. “Rims are consumables in this game,” Robbie laughs.
This is where the trick TRT trailers shine, though. There’s no need to break out a bottle jack, as Robbie simply lifts one of the hydraulic legs on the trailer, hoisting the damaged wheel into the air while the rest of the trailer remains planted.
It’s the heavy haulage equivalent of a Formula One pitstop, as Robbie and Corey throw on a fresh rim. We’re back on the road within minutes.
Higher ground
We arrive at the gate of the Blakebrook property around 1:30am. The trucks crawl up a long, grassy hill, their spotlights cutting through the darkness to reveal a clear patch of dirt.
Rob Rizzo is standing up the top waiting for us to arrive. He’s already put the foundations down and moved the old shed from the Lismore property to the new spot. This block is high, so water should never reach it again, Rob tells me. “It’s safe here, mate.”
My grandad really got into Macks in a big way. He had Internationals and GMCs, but when he bought a house-moving company out that had Macks he just stuck with them. The new ones are perfect for this too, the visibility over the bonnet is great, but let’s be honest … they just look cool!
The boys park the trucks, leaving the houses suspended on the trailers, before catching a few hours of sleep. It’s now about 3.30am, and they’ll be back at it by 7:00am.
“I got way more sleep when I was doing interstate,” Andrew jokes, as he climbs out of the cab. “This can just go so many ways … but this one’s been nice and smooth.”
We make sure to get back early, worried we’ll miss the action as the guys position the two halves of the home in place.
The sun rises over a large dam, revealing a stunning view that the Rizzo family will soon wake up to every day. The rest of the Mackay and Sons crew arrive with coffee and bacon and egg rolls, which brings the guys back to life.
Now comes the most tedious, delicate part of the entire operation: putting Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Rejoining a house requires serious patience, as the two trucks and trailers are repositioned for what feels like hours. The two halves must be brought together with absolute precision, which requires a lot of back and forth. The H-beams need to meet perfectly before being welded back together, rooflines have to line up, and the two halves need to sit plumb on Rob’s footings.
Rejoining a house requires patience, as the trucks and trailers are repositioned for what feels like hours. The two halves must be brought together with absolute precision. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
“The closer we get this part, the less time we spend with chains and come-alongs later to pull it all back together,” Andrew explains, when I ask how much longer it’s going to take.
Using the trucks to push and pull, and the trailer’s tilt function to fine-tune the angle, they finally start to sandwich the house together. Forward a touch. Left a smidge. Tilt left, tilt right. Slowly, the gap closes, the light between the floorboards disappears, and the two halves become one.
Rob and Mel Rizzo stand back, watching their home take shape at its final resting place. The stress of the floods, the uncertainty of the buy-back, and the chaos of the move all melt away.
“It’s pretty special to see it here, looking like a home again,” says Mel, without taking her eyes off the house.
Mel is going to live here with her 13-year-old son, who’s arguably the most excited onlooker here. For them, this is a chance to rebuild on their own terms.
“I always get excited at the very end, when I get to see their faces,” Andrew admits, watching Mel and her son admiring their new home.
These houses aren’t actually that heavy, so we’ll happily do 80km an hour.
“The houses are in pieces for a decent part of this process, but as they come back together, the owners get to see their new home and that’s the special part.”
Just in time for Christmas
For Rob, there’s still plenty of hard yakka left. He has a bricklayer starting tomorrow and he’ll get cracking on the interior of the house right away, with the hope of getting it done in time for Christmas.
It’s a tall order, given Santa comes in just a few weeks, but Rob’s given the brickie, who has the biggest job of all, an ultimatum.
“He really wants to borrow my caravan to take away for Christmas, but Mel’s living in it so I’ve told him he can borrow it if he finishes the house in time,” he laughs. “How’s that for a deadline?”
As keen as Rob is to get the house finished, I get the impression he prefers being busy, based on how much he did throughout this house move …even wielding a sledge hammer at multiple points.
Thanks to a couple of black Macks, some clever Kiwi trailers, and most of all the Mackay and Sons crew, this family’s history lives on. Images: Ashleigh Wilson
“I am actually hoping to retire soon, because I’m 66,” he says. “So, I’ll finish up around 67 or 68.”
“Are you actually going to be able to relax though, after being busy for so long?” I ask him. “Oh, I’ll probably still do a few days a week, mate,” Rob responds. “You can’t just stop, that’s when people die!”
As the Mackay and Sons crew pack up their gear, unhooking the house and lowering the trailers, the Rizzo family home sits proudly on its new patch of dirt.
It’s a long way from Magellan Street, from the mud and the fear of rising water. But now it’s ready for more memories, starting with Christmas this year.
Thanks to a couple of black Macks, some clever Kiwi trailers, and most of all the Mackay and Sons crew, this family’s history lives on. The Rizzos deserve that much.
