Deep Inside the First Wilderness | Podcast | Overheard at National Geographic

What are you doing, Katie?

Oh, I'm just uh heading over to this other rock to get uh the clearest shot of this amazing landscape.

So, this other rock that's like on the edge of a cliff?

Just another rock that has about a 955-foot drop to the river in the middle of nowhere.

It's November 2020, and I'm in a remote part of New Mexico called the Gila Wilderness. I'm standing on a cliff with producer Brian Gutierrez and National Geographic photographer Katie Orlinski, who's on assignment for an upcoming magazine story. We rode horses for a few hours this morning, winding through forests of enormous ponderosa pine trees to reach this spot. It's a place our guide calls the Grand Canyon of the Gila, and that's just what it looks like: majestic red, yellow, and white bands of rock towering over a broad flat valley.

We're the only people here. In fact, we haven't seen any other human beings for a week. The only sound is a light wind rustling the pine needles. We watch a hawk gliding in the void below us, its shadow moving across the valley floor.

"It's a really spectacular view. You're going to have to buy the magazine to see this or come to New Mexico."

"Or come to New Mexico. Actually, that's even better." [Laughter]

Yeah, it's a little too tight here. We're looking for an alternate start, looking for a place to camp. A local guide named Joe Signs brought us up here to this vantage point called the Eagles Nest. Katie, being the dedicated photographer that she is, is climbing out onto a far ledge that offers the best view, scaring the heck out of me and Brian.

It's like we're on the edge of the Grand Canyon, and Katie just stepped over the abyss to get to a better spot to take a picture. Yeah, the only difference here in the Gila Wilderness is there's no railing that says “Tourist Danger: Do Not Cross This Line,” which is why we love it. Exactly.

The Gila is a federally protected wilderness area where human activity is extremely restricted. So, when I was a kid, I dreamed of exploring a place like this: a landscape that changes with every bend in the trail, every crest of a hill; a place that constantly surprises you.

We'd ride the horses out of dense thickets of willows, up a steep winding set of switchbacks dotted with alligator junipers and pinions, which would then give way to a view of mountain ranges stretching all the way to the horizon. Then we descend into a new labyrinth of dark narrow canyons.

We'd crisscross rivers and discover hidden pools and waterfalls, and in the rock faces, we'd see faces and animals, and Joe would point out ancient cliff dwellings.

"People talk about the spires, though; do they mean this area, or are there lots of different areas that look like spires?"

All this beautiful rugged terrain is great for a rider, but it can make it challenging for Katie to do her job, especially while riding horses. On the first day we set out, her best camera broke. My back watching her take photos on horseback is like watching an acrobat. Sometimes she's leaning, sometimes she's standing in the stirrups.

"Oh yes, when the trail makes these sharp curves is when it's good to take pictures because I can get a clear shot of Joe and the horses in a line."

She's trying everything possible to get all kinds of different angles, and then she jumps off the horse and runs ahead of us, or sometimes lags behind and then has to run to catch up. She's getting a total workout.

I'm Peter Gwyn, editor-at-large at National Geographic, and you're listening to Overheard, a show where we eavesdrop on the wild conversations we have here at Nat Geo and follow them to the edges of our big weird beautiful world. This week, we're joining a National Geographic photographer on assignment in the deep wilderness.

"So, how did Katie Orlinski, a born-and-bred New Yorker, end up as a hardcore backcountry photographer?"

More after this.

Check, check, check, one, two, three. We've been in the Gila for nine days, so we're almost at the end of our trip. It's dark; Katie and I are in a stand of ponderosas. The horses have grazed and are tied up for the night. It's a little overcast, and there's a huge moon that casts deep shadows around the trees. Katie is hoping to capture elk watering at a little pond nearby at dawn, but now it's freezing. The forecast calls for snow, so we're bundled up in our down jackets and huddled around the campfire.

"Alright, so we've been doing these in the studio, but this is our first in the field. This is the campfire tapes."

"You're the inaugural!"

Yeah, well, I was kind of thinking, though, in terms of as a photographer, trying to take pictures while sitting on the back of a horse probably isn't the best or easiest thing.

It is, I'm guessing, after watching you for a night.

No, it's not. I mean, it's interesting because on the one hand, you've got all your gear, and I've been on trips where, you know, like 10-day, 12-day, 20-day trips where you're backpacking and you're carrying all your stuff. It's also incredibly difficult to be photographing when you've got 60 pounds on your back. So, it's very hard on a horse in some respects, especially just because you can't stop and sort of run ahead, and you can't really control where you are. You kind of have to be quick.

"Okay, so you mentioned these other trips, and that's kind of where I first heard about you: the legend of Katie Orlinski, this crazy woman out in the wild. I mean, seriously, that's the first story."

I mean, actually, it was a story we were talking about earlier that we did a story about the Yukon Quest, the Yukon Quest dog race, and you were the photographer. And I had not even heard of this.

"Tell me about Alaska."

Sure. In 2014, I had this random assignment from a magazine. The last story I had done for them had been a story about Ciudad Juárez, and then they gave me this assignment to go to the Yukon of Canada to photograph a thousand-mile dog sled race.

But when it's Ciudad Juárez, in my limited understanding of geography, it's warm.

Yes! In Alaska, dog races happen in the bitter cold.

Yeah, I had never been anywhere so cold. Now I'm like a winter clothes expert, but back then I had no idea. But I knew I got cold, so I was like, you know, I had like everybody's borrowed ski clothes and this giant parka. Yeah, and still it was, you know, wasn't enough.

"Okay, so what's the Yukon Quest? I mean, people I think have heard of the Iditarod, you know, and I have a general idea of that, but Yukon Quest is different?"

It's different. I mean, and it's similar to the Iditarod. It's another thousand-mile sled dog race, but this one follows this old gold rush trail.

So, like I've said that, like, oh, it's another thousand-mile race.

"But, yeah, but yeah, no, sounds like it's a 10K, but it's in February, so that means it's dark most of the day, and it's freezing cold."

Yeah.

But yeah, so they're really, really tough people, and they have this incredible bond with their dogs. The whole thing was just like, I was, I had no idea. I didn't even know what the Iditarod was when I got the assignment, so I was just like, what is this world? I thought it was so incredible, and the place was beautiful; the sport was beautiful. It was the first sport I ever cared about.

Like, I mean, I like the Knicks, but other than that, you know, it's not fun to be a Knicks fan.

[Music]

I went back that summer and continued photographing it, and it sort of was like this entrée to the Arctic for me, but also to starting to cover the environment and climate change because while you're on these races, part of it is that it makes them really dangerous now because rivers will melt that are supposed to be frozen. And then on that race, we were supposed to drive across this ice road, and then we like get halfway across like this isn't a road anymore. You know, we, and we could have fallen through.

So, there's just, even in the context of this one-thousand-mile race, you'll see so many instances of climate change firsthand, and I had never seen that before, you know, doing most of my work in this, in kind of like the southern part of the world and growing up in New York City. So, that was really powerful and just made me more interested in learning more about those stories.

[Music]

So, how do you even photograph this? I mean, you said it's dark most of the time.

Yeah, it's hard. It's a challenge, but it's also, um, when there is light, the light's spectacular. So, that's something that's, you know, anybody that lives up north and works up north knows is just like you really cherish those moments of sunlight because it's so special. You're so, you know, you're so high up that it just sort of, it's like the golden hour all day long when it is light out there.

And then it's just, you know, it's fun. It was such an adventure to try to get to the right spot, find a bridge to stand on to get the right perspective, finagle somebody to fly you in their plane somewhere or to take you on their snowmachine. So, at that point, it wasn't dangerous in the same way that sort of, you know, covering the kind of stories that I had been doing before was, you know, it gave you a bit of a rush, but I wasn't, um, you weren't really dealing with sort of like the this life-or-death situations, and so it was a bit of a break, to be honest, from covering a lot heavier stories, right?

And it was really refreshing, like emotionally, I guess.

Yeah, and you know, if you're asking somebody for a favor, you're not putting them in harm's way. Like, the story I'd done right before that was another story in Juárez, and it was about the people that worked for El Diario, and I mean, so many people. Newspaper, the newspaper, you know, when they're, you know, and it was called like “The Bravest Journalists” or something.

This is Juárez, Mexico?

Whereas Mexico and I'm just, you know, and I'm working with these journalists who have lost so many colleagues, and we're kind of, you know, chasing crime scenes, and it's a lot. It's a lot to take in, and I think it's really, really important stories, but I think I hadn't really had anything—I hadn't been photographing anything that was a bit lighter up until that point. So, when I got out to the Yukon, it was just like it just felt like exactly what I needed.

[Music]

Well, I think that's kind of a good place to say, “Well, how did you get into photography originally?” Because I never really thought I'd become a photographer, and I didn't study it. I studied Latin American studies and political science in college, and so I was mostly self-taught.

Then I moved to Mexico and worked at a non-profit organization, and then I got a job at the local newspaper there, which was El Noticias de Oaxaca, and I think I made like 100 a month or something. But it worked because I was, you know, I was young, and that was all I needed to live out there.

And I guess I didn't really think I'd become a professional photographer. I thought I'd end up like going to grad school and like working at the UN, but I was really interested in politics and what was going on in the world, and I was an activist, and I would take pictures at protests, and I just realized I wasn't very good at the organizing part, but I really liked taking the pictures, and I felt sort of like, you know, I can choose stories and be an activist in that way.

Do you remember the first photograph you took where you were kind of like, “Wow, that's really cool. I like that. That really...” You're like, “Maybe I can do this?”

Well, yeah. So, I was in Oaxaca, and then a conflict there broke out in 2006.

There was this big...?

This is Mexico!

This is in Mexico. I still didn't think I'd really, I still didn't think I was any good.

But yeah, this big conflict broke out, and all of a sudden, you know, international news media was there. All the best photographers in Mexico were there, and I was taking pictures for the local paper, and it was a big deal. There were street fights, and there were kind of fires, and then the protesters took over the city. They essentially kind of kicked the governor out for a while, so there was a standoff there for six months.

It was a really kind of exciting moment to photograph, but I also could see what I wasn't doing, you know, because the next day, I'd look at La Jornada, which is sort of like the New York Times of Mexico, and then there was even a New York Times correspondent there once, and I'd see what they were shooting and be like, “Oh, okay, like I'm not as good as them.”

But I'm always in the same place as them; like I can always get myself to where the photo that needs to be taken gets taken but I just didn't know. I didn't have the right equipment yet, you know, but I feel like that was the moment I was like, “I think I have a knack for this.”

Yeah, but do you remember like the image that you got that was like—is there—is there...?

It's like this line of federal police, and there's like this, and there's like it's backlit, and there's sort of like the sun is coming out over them.

Um, yeah, and I knew it was a good photo.

Yeah, I remember one time somebody, they were talking about a young person, and somebody asked, “You know, are they any good?” and they said, “They're not good yet, but they know what good looks like,” and I think that's kind of what you're describing, is that like you get to the point where it's like you can spot what a good photograph is or a good—a well-written story, yeah, and you're good enough to know that you're not good.

Yeah.

If you see a big story, if there's any big story happening anywhere in the world, there was this period of time where I felt like I had to be there, and I'm grateful that there's people out there, you know, doing really great work covering those big news stories, but it did start to feel like, “Okay, you know, where am I needed or where can I bring something to the table?”

But in the beginning, it was just like I just wanted to be there.

Well, I think that's what a lot of young journalists—there's a lot of romanticism, a lot of false romanticism, I think that's attached to, you know, jumping in the middle of conflict and covering it, and you know, but it's— you know, it is how we learn about these things.

I mean, I think, you know, definitely most of the things that I've, you know, have happened in my career, the help that I've gotten has all come from other photographers. You know, it's a really wonderful community in those situations.

You know, you really rely on local journalists, and I can't express enough how much respect and how brave all the journalists, the local journalists in Mexico are, and they're the ones that are getting killed. And you know, anytime there's a foreign reporter, you know, they'll just take you in, and they'll show you around, and you get to leave.

Yeah, and they have to stay, and I think, you know, that's the case all over the world.

But it's definitely the local journalists who kind of we rely on them so much.

Right, right.

So, I get this question a lot, and I'm sure you do too, and I'm just—I'd love to hear how you answered young people that say, “Hey, you know, how do I start?”

Yeah, you know, and I remember asking that question, and now it's funny, like, I don't know, like what do you tell people?

Well, first, I'm just, you know, just you gotta be curious, and you can't be afraid to talk to people. And then you just have to go out and do it. So, you know, if you want to be a photographer, start taking pictures, you know, find the story that you think is interesting and meet the people and take the pictures, and even if they're not good, you know, you're gonna meet somebody, and you're going to build a relationship with a person, and that ends up being the most important thing about this job is, is like the quote-unquote subjects; is the people you spend time with.

And if you like that, then you know that this is the career for you, and then you can learn how to be a better photographer; that can come later. But you know, if you're that curious about people and you think that telling stories is important, then you should just go do it.

Okay, so tomorrow, what's your strategy for getting it?

It's our last day. We have to go 10 miles to get back to civilization and—or out of the wilderness, I guess, so what's your—do you have a game plan?

"Well, after this, what's the picture you want? You desperate? If you get one more picture on this trip, Katie, what's the picture?"

Oh, there's a few. A fair eating elk, apart from wildlife, which it would be nice to see some animals.

"But come on, we saw a tussock squirrel! Did we catch it?"

You got a picture of it!

"It's like a combination bunny rabbit, squirrel!"

We saw it, totally! They really exist! It was way up high in a tree.

"It's, um, I'm sure the bunny rabbit squirrel. That's a perfect description."

If I can make a picture that has something special to it that makes you kind of look deeper and think harder, you know, that's all I want to do.

[Music]

More after this.

People think being a National Geographic photographer is all exotic travel and gilded sunsets, but what people don't see is the times when it all goes wrong. Katie took incredible photos on her trip, but she also did it with a broken camera.

Katie, I'm recording.

Yeah, what’s going on here?

Well, um, we've had a series of disasters, one of which is my main camera broke before we even left. It fell off the horse and broke, and um, my main lens is kind of mostly broken. Um, and then, um, I lent Brian—then I let you my tripod, and it was returned to me, and somehow over the course of the day, the crucial piece of the tripod went missing.

I take credit for it—I'm sorry!

You know, I'm doing my best!

Well, it's a beautiful sunset anyway, but okay, so we're in this amazing beautiful place looking at this pink and blue overlook, and it's gorgeous, and I'm cursing at my camera, so I'm really enjoying the moment—really, really staying present.

So, you're photographing the sunset with a broken lens?

It's a broken lens and a broken body on a broken—on a broken tripod, and now everyone knows!

But hey, look at that beautiful picture!

I just took a few of the pictures that Katie took during this trip can be seen on the National Geographic website and at Nat Geo on Instagram. It's a sneak peek of an upcoming magazine story and podcast episode about what we were doing in the wilderness in the first place. But in the meantime, if you're interested in seeing some of Katie's other photographs, we've included a few links in our show notes to some of our previous stories in her work on the Yukon Quest dog sled race.

You can see what it looks like to cross a thousand miles of Alaska on dog power. On Katie's personal website, you can see more images including from her time in Juárez and magazine subscribers can see Katie's photos in our recent story about falling permafrost. Sometimes that thaw creates pockets of methane under frozen lakes that scientists test by setting on fire.

Yeah, it makes a totally crazy picture! That's all in the show notes right there in your podcast app.

"At National Geographic, it's produced by Brian Gutierrez, Jacob Pinter, Laura Sim, Carlo Wills, and Alana Strauss. Our senior editor is Eli Chen. Our executive producer of audio is Devar. Our fact-checkers are Michelle Harris, Robin Palmer, and Julie Beer. Our copy editor is Amy Kulzak Hansdale. Sue sound designed this episode and composed our theme music. This podcast is a production of National Geographic Partners. Whitney Johnson is the director of visuals and immersive experiences. Susan Goldberg is National Geographic's editorial director, and I'm your host, Peter Gwyn. Thanks for listening and see y'all next time!"

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