Bartletti won a 2004 Casey Medal (photojournalism) for this story.

Don Bartletti spent over five months working on "Enrique's Journey," and three months retracing the route of the Honduran boy interviewed for the text. Bartletti made his way through Mexico, riding atop freight trains and photographing children and adults on the same quest as Enrique: To escape the slow death of poverty in their home countries and reunite with loved ones in the United States.

How did you interact with the migrants?
It was essential to gain their trust in a journalistically ethical manner: I always told them my name and what I was doing. I'd say, "I'm a photographer from a big American newspaper. I believe your experience is important both for the history of the United States and your country, too. I only want to be near you and to watch you with my camera. I can't help you in any way, but I won't stand in the way of your dreams either." 

Most asked for money. It wasn't easy turning them down, but it was essential. I was obligated by the standards of my profession to not affect any situation as much as possible. Usually, migrants I followed accepted my denials. "Don't bother asking," one boy said to a new stowaway who hopped on in Oaxaca, Mexico.

You shot some very compelling images of Dennis Ivan Contreras, a 12-year-old from Honduras who was hoping to reach his mother in San Diego. Did he confide in you?
One morning Dennis awoke from a fitful night of riding on top of a gasoline tank car. I asked Dennis if he ever dreamed. He said he always dreamed the same thing: about his mother who he was trying to find; about learning English; and about helping children on the streets because he knew how they died on the streets.

I believe most of the migrants clinging to the tops and sides of freight trains were sad and afraid but there was hardly a moment for sorrow or crying. There were so many distractions: constant motion, vigilance for authorities, anxiety about where the next drink of water would come from and the lethal danger of low-lying branches that could tear their skin or swat them clean off the train. And it was all but impossible to rest more than a few minutes at night because the train rocked constantly from side-to-side, threatening to loosen your grip. 

Weren't you afraid for your personal safety, let alone that of your camera gear?
Daily, whether riding trains, walking border town streets, with migrants on rooftop hideouts or in riverside camps, I was always wary of being robbed. As I gathered photographs day by day, the exposed rolls of film became more valuable than the cameras. As a hedge against losing unrepeatable images, I shipped film, journal notes and ID's to The Times whenever possible. Two and a half months into the trip, I was robbed of everything on a speeding train in San Luis Potosi, Mexico. Fortunately, I'd sent film home the previous day.

One of the most dangerous things was getting aboard a moving train. Compounding the risk, was the nerve-wracking decision over how long to stay on the ground photographing migrants running for the train and when to spring for a ladder myself before it picked up too much speed. Little Dennis was a veteran stowaway and he gave me tips on how to safely grab a moving freight car. 

How many cameras and lenses did you carry for this assignment?
I traveled light, carrying fewer lenses and gadgets than usual. I used two smallish Nikon F-100 model film camera bodies, a wide-angle zoom lens, a telephoto zoom and a flash attachment. While on the rails, I slung one camera around my neck, the other over my shoulder. I became adept at leaping between moving cars, dropping to my belly under low-hanging tree branches and shooting with one hand while hanging on to the brassy-hot freight cars. When it began to rain or when I sensed a touchy situation with shady characters, I'd quickly stuff the cameras inside a pack around my waist. Sometimes I'd wiggle it around to the back so I could run or crawl to safety.

How did you get the photograph of the children riding a horse in Chiapas, Mexico?
I had my legs wrapped around the railing at the very top of a Pemex gasoline tank car as the train creaked along the mushy, weed-covered track bed in Chiapas, Mexico. Excessive train speed had caused freight cars to tip over in this jungle region. Suddenly, on the right side of the tracks, a little boy and girl galloped their horse into sight from behind a stand of banana trees. They overtook the slow moving train and raced out of sight into the woods. I had only a few magic seconds to fire off of a sequence of about six frames. This is the best of her angelic smile and wild locks floating in mid-air. The racers thrilled two young Honduran migrants riding next to me. They whistled and yipped, drawing smiles in return.

What image sticks in your mind?

On the border with Guatemala, a Mexican undercover security guard once told me that when a train departs, there can sometimes be so many stowaways on board that it will look like "El Tren Peregrino” or " The Pilgrim Train." On several occasions during subsequent weeks riding alone through Oaxaca and Veracruz, I aimed my telephoto lens back along the trains and focused on the crowd of men and boys clinging to rusty brown box cars, oily tankers, cement-encrusted hoppers and gondolas loaded with greasy railroad ties. And there it was. A crowd of 40-50 different faces, unified in their resolve and bound to El Norte. Their stoic gazes were like masks covering personal shortcomings, national failures and their uncertain futures. I thought of the 1907 Alfred Stieglitz photo titled "The Steerage," depicting European immigrants about to disembark at Ellis Island. In the summer of 2000, as I bore witness to this migration for opportunity aboard the Pilgrim Train, I imagined Stieglitz subjects. That was a different century amid different politics, but it’s the same story.

Do you know how Enrique is doing now?
I've heard that Enrique is still living and working as a house painter in North Carolina. He wants to return to Honduras with a chunk of money HBO gave him for his story. He wants to start a coffee plantation.