What It Takes to Film the Impossible — According to Yes Theory’s Cory Martin

Cory Martin doesn’t just film adventure — he lives it. Breathes it. Hangs off cliffs to get the shot. He’s a cinematographer with the calm of a surfer and the instincts of a war photographer. For the past four years, he’s been embedded with the global storytellers of Yes Theory, chasing raw, unscripted stories in over 70 countries. He’s been hammered by weather, welcomed by strangers, and pushed right to the edge.

Over his career he’s maintained a canny instinct — one that’s shaped his entire path: a willingness to say yes. To lean into spontaneity. It’s a life philosophy that’s taken him from guerrilla street shoots to frozen tundras — and one that, eventually, would lead him straight into the orbit of his Yes Theory family. 

Whether field-directing the white-knuckle endurance of Project Iceman or disappearing behind the lens to let the scene unfold, Martin’s superpower is presence. A master of capturing a moment. And so we sat down with the award-winning cinematographer, to talk about beginnings, the power of yes, and how he carries his gear. 

Beginnings

Cory Martin didn’t always know he’d end up behind the camera. Growing up in the quiet expanse of Upstate New York, in a college town outside Buffalo, life was shaped by small-town rhythms. The son of two employees at the local private Christian college, Cory’s world was simple. He wasn’t the artsy type. “I never really traveled. It was all about being outside and playing sports—small-town stuff,” he recalls.

As a college student, Cory followed a conventional path. He studied elementary education with a double major in communications, figuring he’d eventually become a teacher. His future seemed set, but somewhere along the way, the predictability of his life bucked back, and he hit a crossroads. “I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to carve my own path,” he explains. And just like that, he dropped the education major in his senior year. With no clear direction, he turned to communications and took a leap into something entirely new. 

The leap? Digital video. Cory had zero experience with filmmaking. Sure, he’d acted in his friends’ amateur projects, but that was about it. Still, he signed up for an intro class. “I look back now and it was awful work,” he admits. “But it gave me a spark.” That spark was enough to set him on a path that would take him from tiny classrooms in Upstate New York to the bustling streets of Mexico City and the frozen tundra of Antarctica.

From Classroom to Camera: Teaching at 22, Filming at 23

By the time he turned 22, Cory had stumbled into a role most spend years chasing: college professor. His own instructor quit, and Cory—armed with little more than his own coursework (and personal YouTube education) in video production—was tapped to fill in. “I had no qualifications,” he says, laughing. “But I knew how to teach it because I’d just learned everything myself. I knew the work. I knew the struggle.” The title was honorary, the hustle very real.

Still, academia wasn’t the dream. In Buffalo, he toiled under an indie documentarian, filming pieces of resurgence of The Rust Belts urban dwellings. He considered grad school—USC, NYU—but instead, life tossed him a curveball: a friend needed help at a street art festival in Cozumel called Sea Walls, carrying gear and helping with B-roll. “That trip changed everything,” he says. 

The festival offered more than just a chance to film street artists—it offered a new epiphany: he could travel the world to beautiful locales, make his art, and meet incredible people. And his cinematic eye — in this new world — stood out among the lo-fi skate-style videos in street art at the time, and triggered more work. 

The Yes Before the Yes

Soon after, he landed at a mural festival on Hawaii’s Big Island. It was supposed to be a one-and-done—first time in paradise, shoot some footage, fly home. But something tugged. Cory started watching GoPro footage from Oahu and, on a whim, DMed a filmmaker he’d never met: “Hey, I’m coming to the island. Would love to grab a beer.” The reply came quick: “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

And he did. Cory landed, got scooped up, and tagged along while his new friend shot a Halloween party / DJ event that same night. By morning, someone from the party found him crashed on their couch and asked: “You want to go surfing?” By now, you know Cory’s reply. He stayed on that couch for two weeks, hanging and surfing. One of the surfers was filmmaker and YouTuber Nainoa Langer, and when Nainoa later joined Beautiful Destinations, he remembered the guy who said yes and recruited Cory to join him. 

That’s how it all started. A spontaneous DM. A couch. And a yes.

How Cory Martin Found His Tribe in Yes Theory

Two and a half years of global shoots, unexpected locations, and steep learning curves followed. One of those projects happened to be a collaboration with a rising group called Yes Theory. They were filming in Bolivia. Cory went, camera in hand. That’s where he met Thomas Brag and Matt Dajer.

He showed them a reel — footage he’d captured of polar bears during a separate shoot — and something clicked. Later, when Yes Theory was searching for someone to take over directing duties on their ambitious Project Iceman film, it was Thomas who remembered. “Cory’s been in these conditions,” he said. “He can handle this.” And the rest, as they say, is history. 

It’s been nearly six years since that call. And Cory’s still shooting with Yes Theory — from the Arctic to Nepal to Syria — growing together in their pursuit of stories that stretch comfort zones and crack open worldviews. Why has it worked so well? “We were kind of like the Spider-Man meme,” Cory laughs. “You know, pointing at each other like, ‘Wait, you’re like me?’” They shared the same belief in serendipity and being spontaneous — in saying yes, in the belief that doing so can change your life forever. 

Together, they’ve evolved. The early days of travel content gave way to deeper stories and more nuanced human moments. “I think the beauty of working with Yes Theory for so long is that we’ve grown together,” Cory says. “The stories have changed. The world has changed. And so has the way we tell those stories.”

“You go somewhere like Syria, and you don’t just bring back footage. You bring back a new way of seeing.”

He pauses. “You show up expecting it to feel foreign. Then someone treats you exactly how your grandma would. And you really come to understand how similar and connected we all are.”

And it’s this study of our interconnectedness that has helped amass a huge following for their Yes Theory channel (9M subscribers). Their work has become a movement. Yes Theory fans and events are now scattered across the globe, with their ‘seek discomfort’ philosophy inspiring countless individuals to push beyond their limits. From asking strangers to travel to unknown destinations on a whim to visiting Syria after the recent fall of their government, they’ve captured so much authentic humanity and adventure that make Yes Theory videos so magnetic. 

Antarctica Doesn’t Care About Your Camera

When I asked Cory what his hardest shoot of all has been, he tells me, Project Iceman was the hardest — by a long shot.

“It was definitely the most logistically challenging thing I’ve ever worked on,” he says. “We were in Antarctica. A month and a half. Freezing terrain. Storms. Open water. Underwater footage. A ticking clock. And everything had to work.” There was no margin for error.

They weren’t just making another travel film — this was Yes Theory’s first feature-length documentary, following Anders Hofman as he attempted the world’s first Ironman triathlon in Antarctica. No support vehicles. No backup plan. Just extreme cold, unpredictable weather, and an athlete running, biking, and swimming through one of the harshest places on Earth.

And Cory had to shoot all of it.

“We had to think about every detail,” he says. “What do we bring? What gear survives this kind of cold? What actually lasts that long in those conditions?”

At the time, the team wanted to pitch the film to Netflix. So they reviewed the platform’s camera requirements — only to discover a documentary exemption that opened the door for more reliable, familiar gear. That changed everything.

“I’d been shooting a lot on the Canon 1DX,” Cory says. “It’s not something I use now, but back then, I trusted it. I knew it was a tank. I’d shot with it in cold conditions before, and I knew it wouldn’t die on me.”

So that became their main camera. They supplemented it with a few Panasonic GH5s, offering more flexibility. Then came the drones.

“We brought four,” Cory says. “Because I knew we were going to need aerial shots — especially over the Drake Passage.”

That stretch of water between South America and Antarctica is known for being rough. Brutal, even. Constant motion. Nothing steady. And they were crossing it on a sailboat that couldn’t stop. “It was tilting nonstop,” Cory says. “Sails whipping in the wind. Gear everywhere. And I’m flying a drone over all of it.”

He knew the odds. “Ninety percent sure it was going to crash,” he laughs. “But we needed the shot. And we had backups. So we went for it.”

Still, gear was only half the battle. The cold was relentless. Everything had to be planned. Batteries to last all day. Cards with enough capacity. Footage backed up — not once, but three times.

“We had a whole Pelican case of Lacie drives,” Cory says. “Because once we had the footage, that was it. That was our life. If it got lost, it was over.”

So they triple-backed everything. Every file. Every card. Every shot.

No part of the job was simple. But that’s what it took.

“You just had to make it work,” he says. “Because Antarctica doesn’t care about your camera.”

When the Moment Strikes, You Have to Persevere 

While shooting in the Arctic, Cory and the team got caught in a brutal snowstorm. Cramped in a tent, freezing, exhausted, and with no clear way out, it was one of the most difficult moments of his life.

“I didn’t want to do anything,” he says. “I just wanted to sit there. I was cold, I was tired. I felt like we could actually die there.”

But even in that moment — especially in that moment — something clicked.

“It hit me: this is exactly what people need to see. This is the reality. This is the hardest part of the journey. And if I don’t film this, we miss the story.”

So he pushed through.

“I had to think: how do we tell this? How do we shoot this? I didn’t want to, but I knew we had to.”

That moment taught him something important — that the most powerful scenes often come from the hardest situations. And that being a filmmaker isn’t just about capturing beauty or action. It’s about showing up, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it is.

“That experience shaped how I approach everything now,” he says. “Some of the best moments for the story are the ones where you struggle the most.”

Know Your Tools

In Cory’s world, the best shots happen fast. In those moments, there’s no time to be fiddling with dials or second-guessing your setup. “You’ve got one shot. That’s it,” he says. “So I ask myself: what am I familiar with enough to immediately swing into action, pull focus, and get the shot—without compromising quality?”

While new gear can offer a hit of inspiration—“It’s like getting the new iPhone. It’s exciting. You want to shoot more”—Cory’s come to value efficiency and intuition over novelty. His RED Komodo setup has become second nature. “I’ve used it enough now that I know how it moves. I know I can hold it for an hour and a half during an interview without issue. I’m not thinking about the gear. I’m thinking about the story.”

For Cory, there’s a fine line between fresh inspiration and fluency. But when the stakes are high and time is tight, he leans on the tools that let him disappear behind the lens—and stay present for the shot that matters most.

Gear Is Great, Trust Is Better

“You walk into a space and you’ve got an idea of how you want to shoot it,” he says. “But you have to ask — what’s more important? The beautiful B-roll I imagined? Or the conversation happening right now, in real time?”

He always chooses the moment. And that moment can’t be forced. It has to be earned.

You don’t barge in with a RED camera and expect vulnerability. You have to build trust. Fast. “You walk into the room, and right away, they have to think: Okay, I trust these people,” he says. “They’re not here to hurt me. They’re open. They’re kind. That matters — it matters a lot.”

It’s not just him. It’s the group. The energy they bring. Sometimes, the smaller Sony cameras come out first — subtle, tucked low. “So it’s not the camera that meets them first,” Cory says. “It’s our eyes. Our faces. That’s important. That first impression has to be human.”

Because if you want someone to share the most intimate parts of their story — the grief, the trauma, the truth — you have to make the camera disappear. You have to make them forget it’s even there. “It’s about presence,” he says. “It’s about being with them. Letting them lead.”

That’s the invisible work. The thing people don’t always notice when they watch the final cut. But it’s everything.

It’s not about flashy gear. It’s not about exotic locations. It’s about trust. It’s about knowing how to enter a room and make someone feel safe enough to let you stay.

Pack It or Regret It

For Cory, the gear that earns a permanent spot in his pack isn’t always the newest or most hyped—it’s the stuff that’s there when the moment arrives. “I’ve had lenses that I’ve trusted for years,” he says, referring to the trusty Canon 16-35mm L-series he’s been shooting on since his early One DX days. “It’s just a workhorse. I knew exactly what I was going to get every time I clicked the shutter.”

But these days, it’s less about what’s technically perfect and more about what’s always ready. His DJI drone? Non-negotiable. “Even if it’s just the tiny Mini, I’d never travel without it,” he says. “It’s such a perspective shift for the viewer. You throw one aerial shot into an otherwise grounded sequence, and it transforms everything.”

Then there’s his Fuji X100V—a compact, quiet little camera that never leaves his side, even if it doesn’t always get used. “I bring it everywhere. I wear it around my neck. I like the idea of it, honestly,” he laughs. “Because I know myself. The light hits just right, or something unfolds in front of me, and I have to capture it. Otherwise, I’ll be lying in bed that night thinking: that could’ve been so cool.”

For Cory, it’s not just about capturing beautiful images. It’s about peace of mind. “It’s almost meditative,” he says. “If I don’t get the shot, it sits with me. But if I do—if I snap it, even just once—it’s like I’ve let that image out of me. It’s done. I can breathe.”

Pro Tips | Stealth, Strategy & Street Smarts

When you’re filming around the world—often without permits or press credentials—you learn quickly how to move quietly, pack smart, and prepare for anything. Here are a few of Cory Martin’s well-earned tricks of the trade:

Blend In, Always

“I never want to look like a filmmaker or someone from the media. That means no Pelican cases, no production labels, no oversized gear. The goal is to move through airports and border checkpoints without drawing attention. It’s all about staying low-profile, avoiding awkward questions, and protecting the story you’re there to tell.”

Cash Is King

“Cash has saved me more times than I can count. Whether it’s paying for a last-minute local driver, smoothing over a tricky situation, or navigating an unexpected fee, cash is always useful. I split it up and hide it in different places—right now, my Peter McKinnon backpack has a discreet magnetic pocket that’s perfect for keeping a stash safe and hidden.”

Connect With a Local

“Everywhere we go, we connect with someone on the ground. A fixer, a friend, a friend-of-a-friend. It changes everything. They know what’s safe, what’s not, what’s worth seeing, and what to avoid. Even when I’m not shooting, I try to find a local contact—it makes the experience more real, and honestly, safer.”

You’re Always a Tourist

“When crossing borders, you’re never media. You’re never shooting a film. You’re visiting friends. That’s it. Have a name, have an address, and be ready to share it. I rarely get questioned because I keep it simple, stay calm, and don’t give them a reason to dig deeper. It’s all about being mentally prepared to navigate those situations with ease.”

Low-Profile Packs Avoid Extra Fees

“One of the biggest things I’ve learned? Keep your backpack looking small. I’ve been hit with overweight carry-on fees more times than I can count—because if the bag looks bulky, airlines will want to weigh it. Mine has been close to 50kg before, and the limit’s often 8kg. If the backpack looks compact and sleek, you’re way less likely to be stopped. That visual perception can save you hundreds in fees—and a lot of headaches.”

It’s in The Eyes

When you’re filming in unfamiliar territory—especially high-stakes or potentially unsafe environments—Cory’s advice is simple: learn to read the room before you hit record.

“Eyes will always be on you,” he says. “You show up with a camera—especially in places where that’s not normal—and people are going to look. But it’s not just that they’re looking, it’s how they’re looking that tells you everything.”

There’s a subtle difference between curiosity and concern, between someone wondering what you’re shooting—and someone silently telling you, you shouldn’t be here. “You feel it in your gut. Some looks are like, ‘What’s this guy filming?’ And others are just straight up bad energy.”

“We’ve been places—like in parts of Iraq—where a look seems cold or suspicious, and then you smile and they smile back. And suddenly you’re being offered tea.”

“It’s how I gauge whether I can shoot someone or not,” Cory says. “Like, we’ll be walking through a market, and there’s a hundred faces I’d love to capture. But I’m not just there to steal the shot. I want to be in the moment with them. Right next to them. I want to feel their story, not just record it. I think the way I move, the way I talk—it helps break the ice. I get excited, I react, I smile first. And if they smile back? That’s the green light.”

The best footage often comes not from flying under the radar, but from disarming it. Respect the space. Feel the vibe. And always—always—smile first.

Find the One That Does It All

“I tested a few different bags before I landed on the Peter McKinnon backpack. A friend of mine—Samir, from Colin and Samir—actually sent it to me through his connection with Peter. And it just worked. It fit everything I needed: my main camera, my B-cam, all the lenses, clothes if needed, even a tripod or Steadicam strapped to the outside. It was rugged, functional, and well thought out.”

And, on top of that: “it’s low-profile enough to not get flagged at the airport. The trick is having a bag that looks small. If it doesn’t draw attention, you’re way less likely to get stopped or charged.”

Current Kit

When you’re filming in Syria one month and Iceland the next, gear can’t let you down. Cory doesn’t chase the newest tech — he chases what works. What’s light. What’s fast. What won’t die in a storm.

His current kit?

• Camera: RED Komodo
• Drones: DJI
• Workhorse pack: Peter McKinnon Nomatic backpack
• Duffel: The North Face Base Camp
• Carry-on: July suitcase
• Elwood Sweatsuit 

Cutting the Weight: One Backpack, One Rollie

For years, Cory traveled with two full backpacks—one for cameras, one for tech like drones, hard drives, and laptops. “But walking around airports with two heavy packs? I’m 32 now. I’ve been doing this for over a decade. I had to make a change.”

The new setup? A backpack and a hard-shell carry-on, both small enough to be carried on board. The drone and laptop now ride in the carry-on, which doubles as a clothes hauler and extra tech storage. The carry-on of choice? A July roller, a sleek Australian suitcase with a built-in power bank. “It’s been super reliable. And having that charger on hand is a lifesaver when you’re bouncing between airports.”

The Check-In: The North Face Duffel

Clothing lives in a big The North Face duffel, now over a decade old. “That thing’s been everywhere with me. Totally bombproof.” It’s the only piece of luggage he checks, keeping all expensive camera gear with him at all times.

To add a layer of security, Cory hides AirTags deep inside each bag. “They’re tucked away in spots where nobody’s gonna find them. Just a bit of peace of mind, knowing where everything is at all times.”

In the Field: Modular Setup

Once Cory lands and starts building out his RED Komodo kit, the gear shuffle begins. As the camera rig gets assembled, space frees up in the backpack. The drone shifts out of the roller and into the backpack, and Cory keeps the RED in hand while moving between shots.

For quick missions, he’s streamlined things even further. “Kith gave me this crossbody bag after a shoot—a simple fanny pack-style piece. And it just happens to fit my Mavic 3 Pro, controller, filters, and batteries perfectly.” When the drone’s all he needs, it becomes his only bag. “I just sling it over my shoulder and cruise. No attention. No hassle.”

The Airport Fit That Never Fails

For someone constantly in motion—sometimes stepping off a flight and straight into a shoot—Cory keeps his comfort game simple and consistent. “Sweatpants. Always,” he says. “Same sweatpants, same sweater, every flight.”

His go-to is a matching set from Elwood, a Los Angeles brand he’s stuck with for years. “It’s not fashionable or anything like that,” he adds. “But it’s what I feel best in. It gets me through the airport, through the flight, and sometimes straight into shoot mode.” The rest of the kit: a crewneck, a hat, and Sony noise-canceling headphones. “You’ll see me at the airport, I promise—I’m wearing that. Every single time.” The reasoning is straightforward. “So many times I’ve landed and gone straight into shooting. I don’t want to be wearing a suit. I don’t want to be in jeans. I want to be ready—but also not suffering.”

For more of Cory's work, check out his instagram here.