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Marco Gonzáles, Operator at Forestal Galvarino

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At 16 years old, Marcos made a life-changing decision. His father had sadly passed away, and out of his 11 siblings, only he and one sister lived with their mother. “So I decided she should keep studying, and I would start working. My older brother had worked for many years as a choker setter at the company Madesal in Hualqui, and he took me there. I liked it because, besides the salary, they gave us what we called ‘pulpería’—a hundredweight of flour and 10 kilos of sugar, which was a big help at home. I worked all summer, and when winter came, few stayed because there was less work. The boss liked me and wanted to keep me, but that would mean leaving someone else without a job. Since I was young, I preferred to move on and leave that job for someone else. I wanted to go out and explore.”

At 16 years old, Marcos made a life-changing decision. His father had sadly passed away, and out of his 11 siblings, only he and one sister lived with their mother. “So I decided she should keep studying, and I would start working. My older brother had worked for many years as a choker setter at the company Madesal in Hualqui, and he took me there. I liked it because, besides the salary, they gave us what we called ‘pulpería’—a hundredweight of flour and 10 kilos of sugar, which was a big help at home. I worked all summer, and when winter came, few stayed because there was less work. The boss liked me and wanted to keep me, but that would mean leaving someone else without a job. Since I was young, I preferred to move on and leave that job for someone else. I wanted to go out and explore.”

In Los Ángeles, he started as a choker setter, and the operator at the job site gradually let him handle one of the machines to teach him. Back then, almost 40 years ago, he slept in camps, cooked his own meals, and even baked bread. “That was the hardest part, but I learned. I learned to make bread and to work with the machines.”

“There was a company in Concepción that was like a school for us. It had so many machines that everyone who arrived there would last six months as a choker setter before quickly moving up. We worked for the forestry company Mininco, and there was a supervisor who liked me because I was a hard worker. One day, he handed me a machine to operate when I was about 18. I was just starting when someone higher up gave me a hand, and I got the chance to work in Puerto Montt. I wanted to travel and see new places. There, people would lock themselves in their homes early, and they gave us all canned food from the regiment. I felt like going back, but I told myself, ‘How can I return so soon? I’d never gone so far before.’ So I stuck it out for six years. The food had improved, and people didn’t look at us strangely anymore.”

Later, his journey took him to Concepción, then Florida, and later Panguipulli. When winter came and work conditions worsened, he returned to Hualqui to rest. He was already restless from not doing much when Forestal Galvarino literally knocked on his door. That’s where he’s been working for over 27 years. “It changed my life because I loved it. I worked alone, and since I was good at the job, I’d wake up at 4 in the morning and go to bed early, never watching the clock. Back then, the camps were inside the estate, and the more I worked, the more I earned.”

“By the time I joined the company, I had already met my wife, gotten married, and was saving up to build a house. Then my first child was born, so I had no choice but to push forward.” Today, his eldest is 21 and in his third year of Social Work. He has a 19-year-old daughter studying Early Childhood Education “and a little one who’s 7.”

“My son never wanted anything to do with forestry. He’d ride along with me in the machines since he was little, but he says he’s not cut out for killing himself. He says that because I had an accident when I was 18. I spent six months at the Mutual after rolling a Skidder—a heavy branch took the machine and split it in two. Thank God, I had no lasting injuries. It was hard to go back to work, yes, but little by little, the fear faded. I used to take crazy risks, working recklessly. Now I have a steady pace, and there are limits. Back then, there were no safety officers, nothing. Now, if a fly moves, safety officers show up. But it’s for the workers’ good, so it’s fine. They tell us not to risk our lives or the machines. Now we have a safe work plan, and we have to follow it. You can’t get too comfortable either. They tell us not to get too close to a machine, and once I ignored it—a grapple almost hit me. I promised myself never again.”

“Now, with what’s happening—machines getting burned—no one wants to work. A coworker loading a truck was attacked by masked men who broke his ribs. They don’t even let us drive personal cars to job sites anymore, which keeps young people from wanting to work. And if they’re not treated right, they just quit.”

“Young people aren’t interested. We even have trouble taking vacations because there are no Skidder operators. My machine is new and so expensive they won’t let anyone inexperienced near it. We don’t work with choker setters to train anymore, and Mininco doesn’t want to put young people in those roles because of accidents. They want to do what Arauco does—have schools to train operators’ kids. But none of the kids want it. My colleagues have children, and none want forestry.”

“I think the kids might have the wrong idea. For example, I tell my son, ‘You’ll get your degree—how much do you think they’ll pay you as a social worker?’ And who knows if he’ll even find a job. In forestry, the pay isn’t as good as it should be for the work we do, but it’s the same everywhere. At least in my job, no one bothers me. They give us food and lodging—not like before. Now there are no camps; you have to rent a house within 50 km of the job site. That’s a good thing. They monitor our weight, what we eat, and even check my eyesight so I don’t get glaucoma.”

“Yes, I’m happy. At least I have no complaints about the company. I think after all these years, they see me differently—with more respect—and they give us extra benefits. I have nothing bad to say. Whenever I’ve needed help, they’ve been there.”

“Everything has turned out great—having both my kids in university (he gets emotional). I think when we first got married, I left my family alone a lot. My wife was the one who held things together because back then, I’d only come home for three days at a time. Now my shift is 8x6—totally different.”

“They still offer me extra work on my days off, but I’m not up for that anymore. At my age, with what I earn now, it’s not worth it. Now it’s time to live life. For my youngest daughter, at least until she finishes university.”