"Friday the 7th of November spelt three full days in the role as Sales Rep at Maton for me. As the end of the half week drew near, thanks to the Melbourne cup, life was full steam ahead and I was wrapped with my new job. This date also signified the reward for hard work for six of the boys from body prep. Their targets had been met and their prize was witnessing a grand old man of the forest fall..."

An article by Michael Foley.

A Blackwood tree towering 50 metres over a damp and tranquil forest floor was about to see its 100 year tenure come to an end. Murray Kidman and his son James were going to fell an Acacia Melanoxylon tree in our presence that would later find its way to the factory floor. A chance for the lads to see the material they would be crafting with their bare hands in its purest form; alive and in its natural habitat. This would be a symbolic moment for me also in a personal way, as my Grandmother had reached her centenary this very year. The tree was but a seed when she was born. The thought of the correlation between these two very different forms of life literally blew me away.

Arriving at Colac some three hours after departing Box Hill, we made our way to the Colac Central Hotel for light refreshments and general banter. A trip that by rights should only take just over two hours but thanks to the South Eastern Car Park a hare longer was required. None the less, as they say getting there is half the fun and it was. Jeremy regaled us of stories from travels passed whilst Matt and Leong discussed the merits of Abraham’s tanks and Lemon Chicken. I could go on for hours…..

As we arrived in Colac, the skies greeted us with darkened clouds and the promise of rain; as it so often does. I had a feeling the outcome would not be as planned but I kept the bad news to myself. I had inside information of the Otway ranges and its constant precipitation thanks to marrying a Warrnambool girl with family still in the West. On many a drive back to Melbourne we were accompanied by the squeak of the wiper blades in that neck of the woods – pardon the pun.

As we shared a counter meal and frothy or two, we met the man with the chainsaws and the local knowledge. Murray had felled over a thousand trees in his years and carried each one out of the forest on his shoulders. His arm bears the scars of a near disastrous and life changing accident that almost saw the end of his lumberjack days. An errant chainsaw had tried to claim his hand, all for the sake of our listening pleasure. Thankfully, his arm, skill and knowledge are still at their sharpest for gathering the beautifully figured Blackwood that Maton so eagerly requires.

The beer was cold, the meals were authentic (featuring the triangular shaped slice of margarine bread and the circular slice of orange garnish that only true Aussie country pubs can still pull off) and the conversation was questionable. Meade and Brocks pool playing failed to set the locals alight and bed was starting to call my name. I had warned Dave and Ian of my impersonation of a jet engine whilst sleeping but their conversation at lights out proved at best a little wonky so my snoring shame may well have gone unnoticed.

At reveille, we were front and centre led by Reuben, who oddly enough is the section leader. We met Murray under suspicious clouds and headed coastward to meet the trees. I am sure that as we rounded bends and conquered hills a few heads felt the dust settle (I know mine did) but the promise of toasted sandwiches and coffee was only a few clicks off in Gellibrand.

A pit stop for breakfast gave us confirmation that the centenarian of the forest would live to see another day – vertically. Good for the tree but not for us. It was just too wet and far too dangerous for any cutting to take place. Murray had found us the perfect specimen; tall, figured and best of all no threat to its surrounding neighbours as it fell. We all agreed that we had come this far, it would have been a shame to not get the chance to at least see the tree in all its glory.

As we went off the beaten track, the trees grew taller and the forest more dense. We stopped down a dirt road and headed into the bush. The smell of the damp soil was intense and the canopy offered little protection from the rain. It was brisk and that was just what we needed to clear our heads. Funnily, there was little talk of hangovers as we walked amongst the Blackwood trees. They are so majestic to see up close, massive and powerful in their silent habitat. I could not believe just how peaceful it was in amongst the ferns, stumps and moist mossy ground. It was green and lush and something you have to immerse yourself in to fully appreciate. To me, this was a truly humbling experience. To witness the timber alive and standing proud made it difficult to believe that the craftsmen I was with would soon make this living monument into something that was to live again as a beautiful instrument. A Maton guitar would be born of this tree, its tone would be lively and its appearance would hold great beauty. It is an enormous skill to be able to build a guitar and my appreciation for the guys, and of course what Bill May began, was heightened even more in this brief encounter.

We headed home, perhaps a little disappointed to not see nor hear the Blackwood tree go over. The great thing was that we had had the chance to observe it amongst the Satin box and other Australian natives. This had satisfied our curiosity and desire to understand where the raw materials we work with everyday had once stood.

So sometime next year when you are in a store looking to play, or even buy, a wonderful Maton guitar like an EA80C or a BB 1200, spare a thought for the 100 year old Australian we were privileged enough to meet. In addition, think of the skill and effort that is required to make something so beautiful out of it. I hope that this will give a little insight into what effort and natural magnificence goes into creating an Australian masterpiece – The Maton Guitar.

Michael Foley

Posted:  14th December 2008