Photographer: Seth Beck

Heidi: You have been scanning the 1000+ slides for the past 10 years – what did you think when you first saw all the boxes of slides?
Seth: Honestly, I was ignorant of the scale of the task. I had only scanned slides in small batches before. In the end, the effort felt appropriate given the subject matter. It was a struggle, just like the hike, but it also came with a real feeling of accomplishment. That said, I will likely have someone else scan a hundred slides of my parent’s thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail in 1972.

What were your feelings about handling tangible slides?
Some of my earliest memories are the slideshows my parents and friends would put on at Thanksgiving. These slides would transport me from our small farm in Vermont to wild adventures far away with crazy characters. They set the spark that would lead me on my path of adventure and exploration. That made the process of handling them that much more meaningful.

Beyond the personal side, I love the time capsule aspect of physical slides. Not only the content they hold but the little physical details, the fonts on the slide mounts, the discoloration on the edges, and the date stamps from 1974. These are from a different era, a different time. They age and change with time, there is life to them.

My father had handwritten numbers on the slide mounts. Those personal touches separate physical media from digital and give them that life. Now and again during the process, I would be struck by the fact I was holding slides that my parents had taken and curated over 40 years ago. These are the only records of this period in my parent’s life and some of the few images documenting the early days of thru-hiking. It made the project feel more profound. I made a point of putting scans of the physical slides in the book because they came to mean so much to me.

Since you’re involved in tactile experiences with The Postcard Project and other collages was this a different way to express a tactile medium?
For the postcard project, I used vintage postcards from the 1930s, sketched blue ink portraits across three postcards, and mailed them separately to an unsuspecting recipient. The postcards share a lot of the little touches that the slides have. They are a tangible connection to the past, with a life to them. I have always been fascinated by taking something with that life and adding art to it.

I think the key difference between the PCT project and many of my other projects was the process of first digitizing something old, then creating something new via software, and finally printing it as a new physical book. I relished the storytelling process through the layout while infusing some of my aesthetic and style. The challenge was retaining the life of those slides in something new. I specifically left some of the images uncropped with the jagged edges of the slide showing. These imperfections are increasingly important to art as AI can create near-perfect original pieces. It is the imperfections that make art human.

I am also really intrigued by physically mailing items to people. Today most people only get packages, bills, and marketing in the mail. We are losing that unique experience of being surprised by something showing up from someone we care about. The postcard project was an opportunity for me to create that experience for people. I sent one of the PCT books to my parents’ hiking partner Bill Jahn. He had no idea I was scanning the photos, let alone making a book. It caught him off guard and I got a very loving note from him afterwards. I don’t think you can have that type of impact with digital mediums.

Did your parents talk much about their archive?
In some ways, I don’t think they fully appreciated what the archive represented, to them personally and to the hiking community. There had been discussions about digitizing the slides but it was not a strong push. For many years, there was no talk of the slides at all. It made the moment they opened the book that much more fulfilling. I could see in real-time the realization of the scale of what they had done.

What do you think is lost in the digitalization of family archives/history?
One of the promises of digitization is that it will make the content more accessible. Instead of being stored in a stack of boxes, requiring a projector to view, they are readily available on a shared drive. The reality is that you don’t end up spending the same quality time with them. I still love flipping through photo albums from my childhood and lament that my kids don’t get that experience. This was highlighted the other day when my kids were going through the photo album on my Facebook page. I realized this was one of the only places they could see all their childhood photos. I am resolved to get some books of our photos printed now.

A task like this is daunting – how did you approach it?
It took nearly ten years to complete, so I’m not sure about my approach. I made a concerted push at the beginning, getting 400 or so done in the first month. Then I would do 50 in a go when I had time. It was such a repetitive monotonous process that it was difficult to keep the momentum. When I took a moment to review the images and saw how great they were, I got motivated and pushed for the next group to get done.

Were you always planning on making a book for your folks as a gift?
When I started, the only goal was to get the slides digitized and on a shared drive for my mother and father. Through the process of handling the slides and seeing the images for the first time in years, I began to feel they deserved something more. I don’t think you can engage as deeply with the photos through a screen. Once the book was printed, I spent hours flipping through it, finding new details and discovering new favorites.

Now that the book is done – what would you do differently – are you inspired to document your life?The book was made for my parents and as a result, I prioritized getting as many images in as possible. I laid out the book quickly. I wish I had taken more time on the layout and reviewed the photos closely. Once I saw the photos printed, some were much better than I had thought when I saw them on the screen and justified more real estate. I would also like to add quotes from those involved to bring more life to the images.

Personally, the process confirmed my belief that documentation, digital or physical, of these types of life experiences is important. It provides a way to relive the experience and to keep the memories alive. It made me commit to improving my photography skills and capturing as much as I could on recent trips to Greenland and Newfoundland.

Another offshoot of the PCT project was that I started doing public presentations of my trips. I had such fond memories rekindled of my parents’ slideshows and lamented that we don’t share our experiences like that anymore. I find it to be much more gratifying than simply putting up an Instagram post.

Summit Journal

Editor: Michael Levy

Art Director/Photo Editor: Randall Levensaler

Heidi: With a year under your belt, what are your top learnings from the past year?
Michael: Making a magazine is the easy part – or at least it sometimes feels that way.

Editing a magazine – from commissioning and greenlighting articles and imagery to then working with the writers and photographers to perfect their work and get the assignments over the finish line – is the dream job for me. I feel beyond lucky to be doing this. But all the other stuff that comes with it? Business ops, marketing, and all the other shit… that stuff more often than not makes my head spin trying to keep it all straight and figure out the optimal way to do things. I’m constantly learning things, often things that I didn’t know that I didn’t know. As someone who has spent all my time on the editorial side in the past, wearing a bunch of different hats – from customer service rep to ad sales – has given me a new found appreciation and admiration for the folks who make everything else run smoothly. There’s just as much an art to that side of the equation. 

There were 319 past issues of Summit – and then you resurrected the title, why did you pivot on the naming convention?
There were a handful of reasons., When I shared my hopes to resurrect Summit with a former colleague, he asked me why I wasn’t going to just start a new magazine from scratch instead. “There are so many better names!” he said. Firstly, I just flat out disagree with him about the name  – what’s better than Summit for a climbing and mountaineering mag right?! Secondly, the whole point of resurrecting a magazine is to continue an existing story – to pick up where others left off. I’ve gotten to tell the broad strokes of the story of Jean and Helen, Summit’s founders, quite a bit at this point, and I still feel humbled to do so.

But just because I’ve brought Summit back to life, it’s not as though this is the same magazine it was in 1955 or 1965 or whenever. It’s a different project. Informed by that original title, yes. But not one in the same. So simply calling it Summit Magazine didn’t feel quite right. From 1990 to 1996, there was a second incarnation of Summit under which the name was tweaked to Summit: The Mountain Journal.

Calling the new iteration Summit Journal felt like a way to pay homage to both of these former eras, yet also signal that this is something new, something different.

I didn’t necessarily expect many people to read all of that into the name pivot. If anything, it’s more about keeping the mission straight in my and my art director’s heads here behind the scenes. To make sure we always remember that this title had a long, vibrant history before we came along and brought it back to life, but also that that shouldn’t dictate or limit what it is and can be in this new era.

You’ve been blending archival and current covers – are you leaning in into brand equity or balancing photography and the whimsical design Summit was known for?
It’s a bit of both. On the one hand, I think Summit Magazine’s most iconic covers are the illustrated ones by artists like Sheridan Anderson and Richard Pargeter. Continuing that tradition just felt like a no-brainer.

But doing an illustrated cover today also felt like something different in the outdoor media landscape, which has become overwhelmingly photo-centric. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that’s a bad thing; I just think the illustrated covers signal a different type of magazine.

Now, having said that, after I decided that I was going to do an illustrated cover for our first issue, I got a bit nervous. What if too many people were turned off by it? What if some people just wanted a cool climbing shot? Heck, I love an epic climbing photo as much as the next person. And so I figured I might as well do two covers – one illustration, one photo. That allowed me to have my cake and eat it. too.

And as I thought about it more, that felt like just one more way to capture the duality of this project – something old that is also something new. It suddenly seemed like the obvious way to do it. And with that in mind, we’re continuing to do two covers for each issue for the foreseeable future.

How did the archival content of Summit shape your contemporary editorial direction?
While it was always U.S.-centric, the older magazines had a very worldly sensibility. I’m very much trying to carry that forward.

The old magazines were mostly filled with pretty utilitarian stuff: how-to articles, trip reports, that kind of thing. I’m not against the latter, but I won’t be putting how-to articles or tech tips or gear reviews or any stuff like that in Summit Journal; there’s more than enough of that online. Rather, I’m trying to cultivate a more literary sensibility: climbing has, I would argue, perhaps the most literary tradition of any sport out there. There are old articles in the original Summit by climbers like Arlene Blum and Royal Robbins that are literary in a way that most stuff back than wasn’t. I’m trying to take that example and fill the entire magazine with it. Also to be clear: when I say literary, I’m not talking about esoteric think pieces or mind-numbing philosophy or impenetrable MFA-style prose. I’m talking the best kind of journalism, reportage, and essays that you see in the best of mainstream pubs – The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Esquire, the Outside of yesteryear – but with a climbing bent.

Congratulations on the mention in the NYT piece – what’s your take on the future of print publishing for independent magazines?
I’m wildly optimistic, as crazy as that might sound. In addition to Summit Journal, the NYT piece covered other great magazines like Mountain Gazette, Adventure Journal, Ori magazine, Emocean, and The Surfers Journal. But the article was focused just on the outdoors, obviously. A similar analog renaissance is occurring in seemingly every space, it feels like – whether traditional sports, or food and culinary arts, or what have you. I’m discovering new, wonderful magazines and magazine stores literally every single day. 

For me, the Internet and digital media have gotten so big that it can feel overwhelming. I have a couple online sources I rely on, but venturing beyond that feels scary – and there’s only so much time in the day that I want to be staring at a screen if I don’t have to be. In that kind of world, careful curation and high-quality print feel that much more valuable. 

I’m under no illusions that print will suddenly become the de facto distribution medium again or ever approach what it was in its heyday – no one wants that or is saying that would be good! But for delivering something different, for unplugging, for slowing down, for really absorbing a quality story and images… it’s hard to beat print for that. And I think there are enough people who agree to make it a thriving business for small, niche pubs like Summit Journal.

Have you been getting hearty photography submissions?
Yes! Right out of the gate submissions and pitches were slow – no surprise there. But now that it’s been almost a year since we announced Summit’s resurrection, there’s a steady trickle of both every week. We’ve started to commission some larger photographic stories, but our bread and butter continue to be submissions of already produced work. That’s just kind of the reality of the landscape and what we have the budget and bandwidth to work with. So with that in mind, if you have any great climbing or climbing-adjacent photos or ideas, send ‘em my way! mlevy@summitjournal.com

Documentary Program at the International Center of Photography
Joao Lutz: Baptism

Heidi: You came to NYC as a filmmaker with a handful of international clients. What drew you to the Documentary Program at the International Center of Photography?
Joao: My transition from film to stills was driven by a desire to explore a different form of storytelling. As a filmmaker, I was used to working with motion and sound to convey narratives. However, I became increasingly fascinated by the challenge of telling compelling stories through single frames and the magic space that breathes in the gaps between them. Photography offered me a new way to capture moments and emotions more intimately and immediately

In filmmaking, I often create stories, but with photography, I had the opportunity to discover and reveal the unexpected narratives that exist in the world around us. This element of surprise and discovery is exciting. The amazement of realizing situations a documentary project can take you is extremely fulfilling.
I was drawn to ICP because it provided an opportunity to deepen my understanding of visual storytelling through real-life narratives. The program’s emphasis on developing a cohesive narrative through still images resonated with my desire to hone my skills. Although I transitioned to still photography, I haven’t stopped working as a filmmaker. I continue to pursue both fields. I believe they don’t have to be set apart and are exceptional tools to create rich, multidimensional approaches to storytelling.

How did the Baptism project come about?
Baptism began from my fascination with the resilience and dedication of open water swimmers in Brighton Beach, New York, during the winter months. Growing up in Brazil, I spent most of my time on a farm or in a small town by the ocean. When I moved to New York, the beach became a place of comfort and familiarity. It made sense for my first documentary project to focus on a location where I felt somewhat at home. The project involved waking up at 3:30 AM two to three times a week to be at the beach by 6:00 AM to photograph these swimmers.

Initially, I was drawn by the extreme nature of their practice and the stark contrast between the bustling city of New York and the serene, spiritual connection these swimmers found with nature at Brighton Beach. This juxtaposition of city life and nature’s tranquility fascinated me. As I spent more time with them and engaged in deeper conversations, I realized it was much more than that. The project evolved to capture a community of people who come together to find spiritual solace and connection in the water.

Was it difficult to connect with the group of swimmers during their swim ritual?
Initially, there was a gradual process of building comfort and familiarity, both for myself and the swimmers. As with any natural human connection, it took time for us to get to know each other and for me to understand their ritual and stories. By consistently showing up and respectfully observing, I gradually gained their trust and became more familiar with their practices. Engaging in conversations, sharing my intentions, and showing genuine interest in their experiences helped build a rapport. Once they understood my goal was to document their journey authentically, they became more open and enthusiastic about participating in the project. I needed to approach the project with sensitivity and respect for their personal and often meditative practice.

How did the ocean inform your photography; what did you learn from this project?
The ocean and the elements played a significant role in shaping my approach to this project. The ever-changing conditions of the ocean and the weather influenced the mood and composition of my photographs. When I started, it was cold but still sunny, and as time went on, it became cloudy, snowy, and extremely windy. Adapting to these conditions was an incredible learning experience. I also began getting into the water myself, which helped me connect with the swimmers on a deeper level. By putting myself in their shoes and feeling the cold water on my skin, I gained an understanding of their experience. This project reinforced the importance of being present and responsive to the environment, allowing the natural elements to guide the visual storytelling. Most importantly, I learned that the practice for these swimmers is not just about physical endurance but a spiritual journey through their connection with the ocean and their surroundings.

What made the most impact for you at ICP? What surprised you?
The most impactful aspect of my time at ICP was the exposure to diverse perspectives and the rigorous critique process. Engaging with a community of passionate photographers and educators pushed me to refine my vision and technique. Coming from a filmmaking background, where I worked for five years, I had never worked on a documentary project. Moving to New York and starting ICP, where I had to work on a long-term documentary project, was challenging. I was used to creating stories rather than finding them in the world.

I struggled with going around and finding stories, which made it challenging. However, jumping into the “Baptism” project made sense because of its connection to my background. Once I opened myself to the project and trusted the process I was fascinated. I felt lucky to have access to such a new world. The more I do it, the more grateful I am to have a camera. It almost feels like a free pass or a passport to stories that I would never be able to see or live.

I was pleasantly surprised by the collaborative spirit and the depth of feedback I received at ICP. The opportunity to learn from industry professionals and peers alike was invaluable. The critiques, though challenging at times, helped me grow as an artist and understand the importance of narrative and emotional connection in my work.

How did the portfolio reviews go?
The portfolio reviews were an enriching experience. I received valuable feedback that validated my efforts and provided me with new directions for my work. Reviewers appreciated the storytelling and visual metaphors in my “Baptism” project, and I gained insights into developing and presenting my work.

How did you prepare for the reviews?
To prepare, I curated my portfolio carefully, ensuring it showcased a cohesive narrative and represented my artistic voice. A significant part of my preparation involved studying who my reviewers were, and understanding their backgrounds, interests, and the kind of work they do. This allowed me to adapt what I showed and how I presented my work to better connect with each reviewer. Knowing and planning how to engage with each person was crucial since every reviewer comes from a different background and interests.

What’s next for you?
I plan to continue exploring subcultures and communities that come together for unusual reasons. My work focuses on capturing these unique groups and the beautiful stories that emerge from their interactions. One of my ongoing projects, “Wheelie,” documents the city stunt bikers in New York City. I’m excited to dive deeper into this project and continue discovering and sharing the compelling narratives within these communities. I also look forward to potential collaborations and assignments that challenge and inspire me to grow further as a photographer.

Patagonia Spring Journal

Photographer: Ben Ditto
Read the story here

I caught up with Ben Ditto after Patagonia featured his work in the Spring 24 Journal, he was currently in the center of Nevada at a little cliff he’d been climbing on for a few years – and was kind enough to share a few thoughts- the best office is a mobile one.

You have a category on your site called, The Wild Bunch, which looks like a good time. Who are these fellows and how did this trusted merry band come to life?
Ben: Myself, Nico Favresse,  his brother Olivier, and Sean Villanueva O’Driscoll were dubbed by Captain Bob Shepton before our 2010 Greenland big wall and sailing adventure for which we won the Piolets d’Or. Bob must have seen some early videos from Nico and Sean such as the ‘Power of Jam‘ and ‘Free South Africa ‘in which there was a lot of music and light-hearted antics all while sending the gnar.

Previous to that trip we had been climbing together for years, initially meeting Sean while staying at Miguel’s Pizza at the Red River Gorge in the early 2000’s.  Visitors can see an old newspaper clipping on the wall where I’m walking a slack-line, and Sean is in the background.

You recently were on a team that headed to Greenland, the objective was a 4,000 ft slab of granite: The Mirror Wall – how did that come about and what made you say yes to this ambitious trip?
Well, this was to be our third trip together sailing in Greenland and climbing big walls, so when the offer arose it was hard to say no to. Again, we have Bob Shepton to thank for instigating the 2023 trip to Greenland. Bob, in his 80s, has long since sold his sailboat, the Dodo’s Delight, but he’s not out of the adventure game yet. Turns out Bob had met a young British skipper named Mike Brooks who owns the steel sailboat, Cornelia. Mike is a keen adventurer and offered to take our group of climbers to the Arctic.  After a few phone calls daring each other to go, we decided to try to climb the mirror wall.  

I stay in touch with Nico and Sean and all their exploits but it’s been years since I’ve done an expedition with them. However, I wasn’t too surprised to get the call to join them as the photographer on the trip. It does take a special sort of appreciation for adventure, climbing, sailing, and hardship.  It was tricky deciding whether or not to join this expedition, but ultimately my summer was free and I was psyched to go.  

Since our other expeditions, my work and life have taken on a different form.  For most of my 20’s and 30’s I was constantly on the move, now I’m usually staying closer to home.  Part of me thinks that if I’d had other work during that same time, I might’ve missed out on all the good fun we had in Scoresby Sound.  

Previous expeditions to Mirror Wall used helicopters for the approach, you guys green-pointed instead. This round-up isn’t for the faint of heart.

• 7 days of prepping the boat in Scotland
• 16 days of Sailing and 5 days waiting on a storm in the Faroe Islands, then another 14 days in Iceland waiting for the ice pack to clear.
• 10 days of strenuous hiking, and 9 days of challenging climbing
• How much pre-prep goes into a trip like this? (both physical and mental) 

Ha ha yes, the stats are pretty dizzying, especially when you consider we went through all that to climb approximately 1/2 of a big wall FA.  I lost track along the way but there must have been over 30 glacial river crossings to add to the list.  We all stay in good climbing shape, covering all the bases of hiking and physical strength you need to do an expedition like this.  But there’s a lot of it you can’t train for. The things that take a beating are your feet from the jagged glacial surface and your hips from wearing backpacks and harnesses.  A non-climber would probably wonder why to bother going to these difficult-to-access places; let alone humanly powered. Packing three months of food and climbing equipment for seven people is no small task. We have Nico to thank for accomplishing that task. We usually share a few spreadsheets and take care of finances on TriCount.

Cornelia and the lads sailed from Scotland in June and picked me up along the North Coast of Iceland, before continuing North to Scorseby Sound.  For our team, part of the experience is overcoming uncertainty and being in the moment that sailing provides.  We never knew if the pack ice would provide passage until we pushed into it.  Similarly, we didn’t know what the Mirror Wall would yield until we started climbing.

I’m forever impressed with the athletes who mastermind these missions – however, the photographers are equally as impressive. You’re on a dual track – athlete and creative, how hard is that to manage?
I think everyone’s career is balanced with everything else that’s happening. I’m not suggesting that being a climbing athlete is the same as being a parent, for example, but similarly, I have to juggle a few priorities.  

I find myself operating in distinct modes. I’m either a photographer or a climber on any given day, but I rarely mix the two unless work requires it.  You know, as photographers were constantly multitasking to solve problems and it’s nice to be able to simplify and just go climbing now and again.  

 What was it like to photograph the “featureless, shield of granite?” for the first time – what was running through your mind?
Approaching the wall I found it impossible to avert my gaze.  It was like a puzzle to solve:  where is the line we will climb? Where are the cracks in the mirror?!

As a climber, I have a deep sense of appreciation for climbing at the highest levels.  Watching Sean pour everything into this line on the mirror wall was pretty much the greatest show on earth, and I was the only one who could see it.  The photographs (and footage) are my way of sharing this performance with the world.  

How much camera gear did you carry and was it hard to shoot in the frigid conditions, any gear failures, this area is known as the “Arctic El Cap”
On the boat, I took two camera bodies, two drones, a bunch of batteries, hard drives and cards. But for the actual load carrying and big wall ascent, I had to pair everything down to one camera 2 lenses, and one drone.

It pains me to say it, but I had a problem with my DJI drone while we were up on the wall.  Due to our remote and un-connected location, I couldn’t log into my account and my drone would only fly a couple hundred feet away from me at any time.  It was a pretty frustrating feeling because I had tried to find a workaround for the DJI log-in issue and ultimately couldn’t find anything that would work. 

Can you tell us the average temps?
We were on land most of August and sometimes on the load carries it would be very warm, which was good because of all the water crossings.  It seemed impossible we’d see a polar bear in those temperatures.  ( we didn’t see any).  

The wall faces North and only gets a couple of hours of sun each day, which can feel pretty nice.  However, in the shade average temps hovered just below freezing most of the time.  

Looking back on the trip now, what comes up for you?
On an expedition like that, there are innumerable challenges we’re forced to face each day.  However, with time, most of that stuff fades into the background and I’m left feeling lucky to experience such an incredibly wild place with an amazing group of characters.  

How long have you lived in Bishop and how has that influenced your photography?
I moved to Bishop in 2010 from SLC. Ultimately, I chose to live close to the mountains rather than close to work or clients.  I still travel for work, it just takes a half day longer to get to an international airport.  

However, The Eastern Sierra is a desirable place for productions of all sorts and we see everything from commercials to feature films shot nearby.  For those shoots, my work has transitioned into location management, but I often wear several other hats.  It’s always appreciated when a producer understands the value a local can bring when working in a faraway place.  

How long have you been working on the Great Basin project?
While studying photojournalism at the University of Utah in the early 2000’s I became aware of ranchers in the Great Basin who were fighting against the SNWA ( southern Nevada water authority) to keep their water rights secure from exportation to Vegas. 

This story is still unfolding.

What excited you about studio photography? It’s the antithesis of raw nature.
In college, I assisted a product photographer (shout out to Butch Adams!) where I learned to love lighting portraits and products.  Our property in Bishop includes a commercial office building where I keep my studio. It’s great to have a place where I can make a big mess and then leave it for the night without anyone caring.

As a yearbook photographer in High School, I learned that a camera was my ticket to freedom.  With a photo assignment in my pocket, I could wander the halls, leave school early, and generally be on my program. Climbing is also known as ’the freedom of the hills’ so really it’s a perfect combo for me.