Nicola is a true advocate of chaos and a well known big wall climber and base jumper in the community. He's a thrill seeker and has had his fair share of dances with death, but this has not stopped him from continuing on with his passion. Today the Yosemite community remains Nicola's home and a converted Sprinter van doubles as his getaway vehicle and shelter. Days are spent in El Cap meadow and at friends’ houses in the nearby communities where they share stories and plan adventures.
SHOP THE KIT
When you’re under-slept and over-caffeinated and the conditions finally turn on, what flips you from “tired” to “locked in” behind the lens?
There’s that moment when you’re so tired your body crosses a fine line and stops knowing exactly what to feel. That’s when something instinctive takes over. I go into what I call “animal mode”—less thinking, more sensing. The conditions don’t care if I’m tired. Wind lines up, light breaks, somebody commits—and suddenly attention gets razor sharp. Years of long walls, rope access, and jump exits taught me energy and focus aren’t the same thing. Presence turns on and I start feeling like I’m moving with the elements instead of against them.
What’s the most dangerous or uncomfortable spot you’ve put yourself in for a shot—and was it worth it?
I don’t think in terms of one moment—it’s been more of a pattern. Hanging somewhere exposed, standing where retreat is complicated, staying longer because the light finally arrived. But I’ve always tried to manage risk as much as possible—from the mountains to BASE jumping. When you’re truly honest with yourself and with how you approach risk, you learn to activate that survival mechanism. The idea isn’t being careless or fearless. It’s focusing on every move and staying as sharp as a razor. Sometimes the shot was worth it. Sometimes the lesson was realizing coming back mattered more.
In the moment, are you chasing truth, beauty, or impact when you hit the shutter—and how does that change where you’re willing to stand?
Truth first. Beauty without truth starts feeling empty after a while. Impact is a bonus. The moments that stay with me aren’t polished—they show effort, weather, fear, movement, and being small in something bigger. That changes where I stand. I’m less interested in dramatic positions and more interested in honest ones.
What’s one image you missed that still haunts you, and what did it teach you about staying ready?
Not always a literal image. More moments. People who aren’t here anymore. Conversations that felt ordinary and became final. Summits where exhaustion won and I didn’t document anything. The lesson became simple: carry less, notice more, and don’t assume there’ll always be another lap.
When everything goes sideways in your world, what does “composed in the chaos” actually look like for you?
Breathe. Handle the next anchor, next pitch, next task. I trust movement more than overthinking. Not denial—just reducing life to what’s immediately real until my head catches up. Experience taught me panic doesn’t solve much.
What’s the gnarliest day you’ve ever had in your element, and how did it change the way you operate now?
Not necessarily the coldest day or the most dangerous. Usually the days that changed me involved loss and realizing how thin the line really is. Those experiences didn’t make me softer—they made me more deliberate. More willing to turn around. More interested in who I’m with than proving something.
What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve done or said to get a shot?
This one probably belongs more to photographer friends than to me. I’m usually less interested in forcing a shot than being in the right place long enough for something real to happen.
What do you chase more: the perfect result or the feeling you get getting there—and why?
The feeling. Otherwise I would’ve chosen an easier life a long time ago. I think about committing to some of the more serious aid lines in Yosemite alone—spending anywhere from six to sixteen days on the side of a cliff. Managing risk, solving logistics, taking big falls, quietly arriving at summits with no photographers, no crowds—just me, my thoughts, willingness, and stubbornness. The mountains taught me how to trust myself. They taught me that strange sixth sense of knowing when to keep going and when turning around is the stronger move.
What’s one non-negotiable ritual or mindset you rely on before you step into high-pressure conditions?
Trust preparation, then let go. I don’t really have rituals. Conditions don’t care about rituals. I try to show up mentally clean and trust what I already know.
What’s a small thing that instantly flips your switch—pet peeve, superstition, or ridiculous habit your crew loves to clown you for?
People overcomplicating things. Complaining before trying. Talking too much when conditions are good. I still carry some dirtbag mentality with me—less talk, more movement.
And maybe the thread underneath all of it:
I don’t think I chase danger.
I chase aliveness.
Danger just happened to live nearby sometimes.
And over time, my definition of being alive got quieter.
Advocate - Nicola Martinez
