Veteran photojournalist Tim Page says the photojournalism profession is a myth.

Odd words from a man whose photojournalism career is the stuff of folklore, and the reason so many students continue to pursue careers in the increasingly contracting medium.

But it's no wonder students continue to fall down the rabbit hole.

Page's images of the Vietnam War are among the most iconic of the conflict, and were attributed to helping shift public support for foreign involvement in the war.

After surviving nearly fatal injuries caused by an exploding landmine, and spending most of the 1970s recovering, Page went on to cover major global conflicts including Bosnia, Afghanistan and East Timor.

In 2009, Page served as UN Photographic Peace Ambassador in Afghanistan. He says his interest and passion now is covering the aftermath of war and bringing attention to the plight of innocent victims.

Medics move in to triage military casualties during the Vietnam War. ( Tim Page )

He returns regularly to Vietnam and Cambodia to run photo workshops, do assignments and to photograph the still-devastating impact of landmines and Agent Orange.

It was also Page's rollicking lifestyle - like getting arrested with Jim Morrison at a Doors concert - which inspired Dennis Hopper's photographer character in Apocalypse Now, and cemented Page's place in the photojournalists' hall of fame.

But Page says the game has changed.

In the Northern Territory this week to address the Darwin Press Club, Page told ABC that he pulls no punches when talking to students in his role as adjunct professor in photojournalism at Brisbane's Griffith University.

"I tell them it's a fool's game, and that most of them won't make it," Page says bluntly.

"Out of a class of 50, maybe two will be in the business. And you've got to sort the wheat from the chaff very, very quickly, and dissuade the people who don't have the passion, who don't have the commitment, to go the long yards."

But it's not just passion or commitment that ends careers before they start.

Making a crust in a crowded marketplace

Tim Page on assignment in Vietnam in the 1960s. ( Supplied )

"These days, the profession of the photojournalist is a myth. It's not the fun-loaded world people imagine," Page laments.

"It's one of those occupations that have been trumped up to be sexy, adventurous, high-paying, constant travel and five-star restaurants.

"People imagine all these things, and don't see the downsides of the jobs, which is staying in shitty places, eating shitty food, and being ill - and making miserable money for the privilege of it all."

He also questions how media organisations can put such expectations on photojournalists.

"I've got mates who go off to Europe or Papua, they risk life and limb, and they're lucky to make a few hundred bucks when they come back. How do you sustain that?" he says.

Page believes part of the problem is that day rates have gone down, payments per picture are down, and agencies take more than 50 per cent of a photographer's revenue.

The other problem is the expectations on journalists to be all-singing, all-dancing, story-telling machines.

"You can't expect a new recruit to be able to go out, turn on one machine and just capture everything," Page says.

"We may as well say 'right, why not glue a GoPro to your head and strap a microphone around your neck and let you run wild?'.

"You can't make brilliant sound at the same time as you're making brilliant images - they're completely separate skillsets, that's a fact."

Tim Page (right) under fire alongside Martin Stuart Fox in the central highlands of Vietnam, March 30 1966. ( Steve Northup )

Photojournalism is still a labour of love

Page questions how exactly a photojournalist is supposed to make money given the costs inherent to performing the task.

"It's a right old state of affairs and it's not going to change, because more and more people are uploading photos to social media, and stealing images, and it's the same as the publications who do the same thing," Page says.

"They lift photos left, right and centre. And I mean how can you control it? You can't."

However, Page says it's images like the one of Aylan Kurdi - the three-year-old Syrian toddler whose body washed ashore in Turkey - that prove how remarkable an image can be in cutting to the core of an issue.

A medevac chopper evacuates casualties in the Iron Triangle, north west of Saigon in September 1965. ( Tim Page )

"There's hardly anything out there anymore in terms of a printed, weekly gazette - it just doesn't exist. So to get pictures which are strong, out there - it's hard," Page says.

"It's also a marketplace where news organisations are gutless.

"There wasn't a single Australian newspaper which ran that photo [of Aylan Kurdi, by Nilufer Demir] on their front page, and they damn well should have.

"I'm hoping that this picture will win something this year, because it should. It's not a brilliant piece of photography, but it captured the moment. Instead, the picture of the Turkish cop holding the child's body got more use, because it wasn't as devastating."

As forthright as Page is with his students, he's also honest in telling them he believes it's still possible to break in to photojournalism.

"Being in the right place at the right time, and being there to capture the image that cuts right through - it's a labour of love, and it's the content of that that can be massively important."