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"Since I was a kid, I realized I could sell anything"

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Sergio Sepúlveda of Nahuelbuta Companies

With only a high school education and a lot of dedication, Sergio Sepúlveda Seguel has managed to consolidate a holding made up of 14 companies. He is a self-made entrepreneur, learning from life, with the spark of a merchant who seizes opportunities and who had to work from a very young age.
At five years old, this illustrious son of Purén set up with his mother at the city’s market to sell what the countryside where they lived—in the Coyancahuin area, in the Nahuelbuta mountain range—provided. Today, at 51, he leads nearly 500 people working in forestry, transportation, aggregates, remanufacturing, pellet production, wood drying, sawmills, and real estate, among other fields.
Reluctant to give interviews, he recalls his beginnings, reflects on his personal losses, and shares some lessons, proud of who he is. "I say, you win some and lose some. They call me a country bumpkin, and yes, I am. My fellow entrepreneurs called me 'zalagarda' and 'zorra manca,' but I feel no shame—quite the opposite."
"I never thought of becoming an entrepreneur, but I had an alcoholic father, so I had to go out and work. I was the first man in the family, and at five, I had to go to Purén with my mom to sell goods from the countryside in town. We walked about 40 kilometers because there were no buses back then. She sold cheese and vegetables, and by six, I was selling my own things too."
He quickly learned to read and do math without stopping his sales. While studying at a boarding school in Traiguén, he saved the food he was given to sell it to classmates later. "I studied and sold—first the bread they gave me, then sweets. That way, I multiplied my resources and bought study materials for myself and my sisters. That’s when I realized I could sell anything. I finished high school in boarding schools; I had no other choice. I knew I couldn’t go to university because it required more money."
His first encounter with the forestry sector happened when a sawmill opened near his countryside home. "I went to ask for a summer job at around 12 and got work as a sawdust collector. I did well and started moving up—I became a log puller and splitter, and I even cooked for them. They called me 'Chechito'; people liked me. Doors started opening, and they sought me out for work. I also became a chainsaw operator because they paid by the log, and at 16, I bought my first chainsaw."
In those jobs, he almost lost a foot. "It was mostly because I was reckless. You worked however you thought best—no one taught you anything. By then, living in Purén, I worked at the sawmill in summer and in winter went out with a friend to sell work clothes in the countryside, doubling the profit or trading them for chickens or eggs."
Near the end of high school, his mother urged him to seek an opportunity at the pulp mill CMPC was building, to get him out of sawmill work. "I was among the youngest, did great on the psychological test, and thought, 'This is my shot.' I passed all stages and got the role of wood control room operator."
From there, many things happened in Sergio’s story. Always alert to business opportunities, he bought and sold sawmill surplus, starting his first commercial venture. He stayed in the business, left the pulp mill, and founded Forestal Nahuelbuta in 1997, growing steadily. "I learned to drive and mechanics, sold cubic meters of wood, bought trucks, then started forest harvesting and hiring people because there was work. Before I knew it, 50 people were working with me, and I began contracting for CMPC."
But securing the capital to consolidate his companies meant taking a big risk. ARAUCO offered him a contracting opportunity, but he needed to buy forestry equipment costing around $120 million. "I applied for loans at six different banks—I owed nothing. It was 2008, during the Asian financial crisis. Banks had a rate of 0.32%, very favorable because the Central Bank had lowered it to boost investment. The supplier was pressuring me to sign fast. All six banks approved, so I took the risk—I couldn’t sleep at night."
With the loans, he bought buses, trucks, and several machines, which were paid off thanks to new contracts he secured. "I went out to get money, they lent it to me, and paying it back was easy. We worked hard, gave it our all. To be an entrepreneur, one thing is clear: you have to work 24/7. For over 20 years, I worked more than 18 hours a day, slept when I could. I lost my first marriage and family over it, but that’s the only way. I still work over 12 hours, but now I delegate. I feel lazier, but I’m still on call 24/7, solving problems on weekends to ensure there’s money for salaries, fuel, and VAT. Other bills can wait a bit. You have to stay sharp. Some months are bad and you lose money; others are good. If you profit, you have to save. Don’t spend everything you earn in a month—not all months are the same. That’s how you stay sustainable."
What do you think have been the keys to your companies' success?
It’s simple—if I buy at 3.9 and sell at 4.1, there’s a profit margin. Also, out of 100 deals, one or two are good. It’s better to skip the bad ones because you have to deliver. To be a good entrepreneur, you must follow through—you start and finish deals, even if you lose money, because one bad move ruins everything you’ve built.
Stay calm, pay your workers fairly, even if it means starting over. You have to finish what you start because your word is your bond. Contracts are formalities—your word is worth more than a contract to me.
How do you see the forestry business today?
Harvesting has gotten tougher. I’m not making money there, but I’m still doing what I can. Inflation has raised forestry contract costs due to the polynomial formula, fuel, the dollar, UF adjustments, wage increases, lubricants, pensions, and transportation. It’s hitting contractors hard. I have a five-year contract—I’m in year four and have been losing money for months, but I won’t back down because I make it work elsewhere. The highest cost is the price of a kilo of bread, among other things, because I feed my workers. International freight costs soared, and there’s no way to adjust rates to cover it.
Labor is also very tough. Maintenance costs are high, and if operators keep leaving for better pay, you replace them with less skilled workers, and the equipment suffers.
What’s your take on the conflict with the Mapuche people? Your company has suffered 15 attacks.
I’ve bought some properties at auctions, many with Mapuche disputes. I try to work with them through sharecropping. I’m not against them—history is history. Conflict has existed since Columbus. Repression has been real, and we must acknowledge it. For example, kids who grew up gathering firewood from forestry estates and got chased away—that sowed hatred, and what you sow, you reap.
Now I’m scaling back on forestry harvesting because they’ve burned many of my machines—15 attacks, 34 pieces of equipment lost, all due to this conflict.
Young guys today, Mapuche and non-Mapuche, want money without working—lots of rights, few duties. Many communities tell me their youth refuse to work. They go to Santiago and come back unable to chop firewood. Drug trafficking exploits this, giving them purchasing power and pulling them into its orbit.
I see that, especially the youth, think we in forestry are predators—we’re not well-regarded. They say we harm ecology, pollute with machines, and want us to live like in the past. I ask them, 'Do you use toilet paper?' Everything that improves your quality of life comes from wood fiber. The forests we work aren’t native—they’re renewable. Wood is what humanity needs.