New York Times
Photographer: Kang-Chun Cheng

Heidi: “Find a place you trust and then try trusting it for a while” was one of the truths of activist Corita Kent. What drew you to Nairobi as a home base for 4 years and counting?
KC: I get this question a lot, which makes sense! My first time in Kenya was in 2018––I’d just finished my post-grad fellowship in Arctic Norway and Finland, staying with Sami reindeer herders for nearly a year and a half (unusual, I know)––and was feeling lost. I’d studied ecology and studio art for my bachelor’s and had little idea what I wanted to do. The Arctic was amazing because I was more or less working as a long-form documentarian, staying with a few families over months, following them around, taking photos, and asking lots of questions. My project was about how climate change and tech are impacting traditional reindeer herders and their identity and culture. But I felt out of place coming back to the US, where most of my peers were working in banking or consulting, or pursuing more education––I knew none of that was for me. I visited a good friend in Nairobi, who’s Kenyan, and invited me to go ‘figure out life’ with her, and ended up staying for 8 months. It was my first time living in a city, full stop, and an African city undergoing remarkable changes at that. I just remember feeling very curious about everything, and how much buzz was going on.

I ended up moving to Nairobi, nearly inadvertently, in early 2020, which is when I started seriously looking into how to work as a journalist/documentary photographer.  It was a steep learning curve, having not only zero connections to the industry, but also knowing nothing about pitching/the editorial process. But I was very drawn to it since it felt like a neat way to engage and learn about what is happening around us.

I think ultimately I’m drawn back to Nairobi time and time again for a few reasons: because it feels like home––I spent a lot of time building my community there!–– and the diversity in landscapes is amazing. I love spending time outdoors; there’s great climbing, hiking, deserts, a beautiful coast, savannahs-  a lot of weekend adventures abound. From a professional outlook, it’s amazing how many underreported stories there are within Kenya, a country very saturated by journalists, both foreign and local. We’re very lucky to enjoy great press freedom, especially relative to neighboring countries since I don’t generally cover breaking news, I love working on stories that have just been sitting there for a while, years even, that no one else has picked up.

You continue to explore the mysterious kidney disease affecting coastal and rural communities in Sri Lanka – how long have you been working on this story?
I first became interested in Sri Lanka in late 2022, when I was semi-stranded there trying to get a visa to India for a friend’s wedding. I ended up working on a couple of stories about how fishermen there are heavily impacted by both climate change and the ongoing economic crisis. My time there really stuck with me, and I became connected with a few Sri Lankan researchers, which is how I came to learn about the kidney disease linkage. Besides Ed Kashi’s work some years ago, which is more confined to the photojournalism realm. I hardly remember any reporting on chronic kidney diseases of unknown causes (CKDUs) in media, and feeling like that was a gap that could be filled.

I usually work with a local ‘fixer’ (lingo for translator or guide), or a researcher familiar with the community at hand. They help explain my motivation for being there– what story I’m working on–to set the context for the questions I’m asking. From my set of experiences, whether it’s northern Kenya or Sri Lanka, I find that the folks I’m working with are often very marginalized within their communities due to their ethnicity or remoteness––are generally very happy to share their experiences, and glad someone is paying attention. This is not to write off very real questions about foreigners not approaching communities in good faith, but I am someone who very much believes in vibes–in the sense that it’s hard to hide your real motivation. If you’re genuine and sincere, people can sense that––it’s something that transcends cultural and linguistic barriers.

Congratulations on your long list of grants, awards, and recognition
– which are the most memorable for you and why?
Thank you! They are special in different ways :) being accepted as part of the Women Photograph mentorship class was a pretty visceral moment since I remember coming across the website more than 5 years ago, and just being blown away by the quality and scope of what these fantastic photojournalists were working on globally. I remember wondering if I would ever be able to make such work or have anything to contribute. I think I applied 4 or 5 times to the mentorship class before getting in!

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