Chapitre 109: Free solo
The scorching August sunlight enveloped Europe, and even the air was saturated with the hazy heat, as if staying under the blazing sun for a while would be enough to melt everything. However, even so, it couldn't deter people's enthusiasm for vacation.
As the most bustling holiday season of the year, people all across the European continent were flocking to vacation spots, relishing this rare break. Ibiza, Corsica, Santorini, Morocco... Every sunny spot became a destination for Europeans, bustlingly lying on beaches, fully relaxing themselves, letting sunbathing, cocktails, and seawater fill their days off.
Nestled in the Provence region of southern France, the Verdon Gorge was also one of the renowned vacation spots. Here, there wasn't just the world-famous rosé wine, the lavender fields in full bloom in July, and the breathtaking beauty of Lake Sainte-Croix; not to mention the delectable Southern cuisine, which was an integral part of French cuisine. Germans, Brits, Swedes, and more, they tirelessly embarked on long drives to arrive here, seizing the last remnants of summer to revel fully.
However, the Verdon Gorge spanned twelve miles, with sections of calm waters being as noisy as ever, while turbulent stretches stood tall and perilous. The rushing water erupted into thunderous roars under the sunlight, and the deep brown cliffs were covered in lush green vegetation, towering into the sky, silent and still. Rocks and abysses, desolation and desolation, green water and rainbow shadows, blue skies and eagles... The tranquility resembled an otherworldly paradise. The sound of the wind whistling from deep within the gorge swept past, dispelling the midsummer heat in an instant.
"Are you okay?"
A hoarse voice reverberated in the air above the gorge, only to be swallowed up by the torrent. Upon a closer look, one could see a middle-aged man with a ponytail, wearing loose shorts, bare-chested, showcasing a robust physique. A black pouch hung at his waist, its opening smeared with white anti-slip powder. Apart from that, he was completely bare, suspended emptily on the sheer cliff of the gorge. His hands were relaxed yet taut, gripping onto two small protrusions, and his feet weren't on any support, hanging like an eagle in mid-air, at least thirty meters above the ground. His entire body relied solely on the strength of his fingers to maintain this position.
Even imagining this scene sent shivers down the spine, it was hard to fathom. Just a slight slip of the hands due to sweat or a lapse in grip, and he would fall freely like a plummeting stone, ending up as a mangled corpse.
But now, he seemed unbelievably at ease, sporting a smile, and even had the leisure to chat!
"Ha. I'm fine."
About fifteen meters below him, there was a small rocky protrusion, not bigger than a handkerchief, where a young man stood on one foot. His right hand firmly clutched a crevice in the rock above, and he thrust his body outward, the fierce wind whistling past. He seemed to be propelled backward, colliding with the cliff's surface, causing some small rock fragments to tumble down. It seemed as though the support points of his right hand and foot were already precarious. However, he appeared completely nonchalant, standing high up and gazing at the distant horizon where green and blue blended, the gloom and turmoil between his eyebrows easing slightly.
The combination of black shorts and a white t-shirt, with a pouch hanging around his waist containing anti-slip powder, set him apart from the middle-aged man. However, compared to that gentleman, a bright yellow climbing rope was secured around his waist. The rope wasn't dropping from above as people might imagine; instead, it extended downward from his waist, where one could see a bundle of rope coiled on the ground. Clearly, this rope wasn't an aid for climbing but a protective measure, or perhaps a fast means of descent.
Nevertheless, even so, it was enough to make one's palms sweaty and heart race.
He lifted his head, glancing at the middle-aged man above him, "If I told you I'm contemplating life, would you believe it?"
This jest prompted the middle-aged man to burst into laughter, "Well, you've chosen an exquisite place for that. I think you have good taste." He nodded towards the young man below, "Good luck!"
After saying this, the man exerted force with both hands, flipping his entire body upside down. His feet made contact with the rock and he felt around for a moment, finding a foothold. He loosened his left hand, allowing his body to rotate in mid-air. Just as he was about to collide with the cliff, he extended his left foot as a buffer to slow himself down. Then, he swiftly reached out with his left hand, gripping another small protrusion.
He didn't rush to continue exerting force; instead, he carefully explored, ensuring the accuracy of his grip. After confirming the strength of his left hand, he adjusted his breath and started climbing step by step, resembling a gecko. He didn't rely on any equipment, nor did he have any protective measures. It was a pure form of rock climbing, agile and graceful, blending with the wind, rocks, and sky.
Renly's gaze became somewhat trance-like, revealing a touch of envy and yearning.
His ultimate goal was to achieve free solo climbing—truly relying on no equipment, just carrying a bag of anti-slip powder and scaling cliffs directly. Of course, as a beginner, there were many things he needed to learn. Compared to top-roping climbing, free solo climbing wasn't just more dangerous and thrilling; it also demanded a comprehensive increase in physical fitness because the slightest error or misstep would offer no chance for recovery.
This was only Renly's third attempt at physical free solo climbing. Although he didn't employ any tools for upward progress, he still carried climbing ropes, quickdraws, and carabiners. Once he reached a certain point in his hand-climbing ascent, he used a quickdraw to clip onto a carabiner, ensuring that if he made a mistake and fell, his protective measures would save his life.
It had been three weeks since the wrap of "Buried". The film wrapped six days earlier than anticipated, completing all studio shooting in just eight days. Afterward, Rodrigo would shoot the dubbed performances, followed by entering the post-production editing stage.
During the final three days of shooting, Renly had been attempting to re-enter that borderline state between losing control and maintaining it, but he failed. He hadn't felt that spellbinding sense of being on the edge and losing control, which had persisted until the end, fueling all his performances. Yet, for Renly, even though the film had wrapped, his role hadn't concluded.
He remained immersed in the world of Paul Conroy, except that he survived in contrast to the movie. However, things weren't as straightforward. After experiencing the terror of being buried alive, the threat of the Grim Reaper's scythe, and the trauma of being abandoned by the government and the company, even though he survived, his soul was still riddled with scars. Often, physical wounds could heal immediately, but the wounds of the soul lingered on.
It was akin to Eugene Sledge in "The Pacific". Renly's greatest curiosity lay in how Eugene managed to return to a normal life after his faith and soul had shattered. Now, in the guise of "Paul", he was going through the same ordeal.
He had awakened, able to discern the boundary between illusion and reality. He understood he was Renly, not Paul. Yet, the psychological trauma lingered deep within his mind, as if he had truly experienced a life-and-death escape from being buried alive. It gave him a sensation of split consciousness.
Worse still, his sleep quality hadn't improved much. For him, sleep was a more satisfying cure than food and dessert. But now, the nightmares persisted. After wrapping up, he continued having the same dream—finding himself back inside that coffin, about to be buried alive. Each dream was eerily similar, the fear and despair never alleviating.
He knew this was called getting too deeply immersed in the role.
However, he never anticipated that his traditional academic upbringing would lead him into such a predicament. If his school teachers found out, they would likely criticize him harshly for neglecting his studies.
Facing this situation for the first time, he was completely clueless about what he should do. Seeking a psychologist didn't seem like the right choice. So, after leaving Barcelona, Renly arrived at Verdon Gorge. There, he began learning from the basics, fully immersing himself in the world of free solo climbing.
Free solo climbing was a sport that challenged one's limits, but it wasn't a reckless endeavor. Therefore, before embarking on the actual challenge, Renly spent two weeks studying—from techniques to training, from simulation to real combat. Even though Renly's physical fitness was well-suited for free solo climbing, his prior attempts at surfing, bungee jumping, scuba diving, mountain climbing, and speed skiing laid a solid foundation.
Even so, upon entering the world of actual free solo climbing, Renly keenly felt his own insignificance.
Currently, he stood suspended about fifteen meters above the ground, equivalent to five floors high. The time he took was nearly twice that of the middle-aged man above. This man was French, a member of the club where Renly was learning free solo climbing. Today, five members of the club came here for free solo climbing.
Standing mid-air, the raging wind incessantly pummeled him. Humanity's smallness contrasted with the towering three-hundred-meter cliff and the boundless horizon before him, rendering him as tiny as a speck of dust. Beneath his feet, the swift-flowing water churned with white foam, crashing against the rocks in the riverbed. It kicked up vast mists of water, forming two rainbows under the sunlight's reflection, an indescribable marvel.
But Renly knew that within such a magnificent scene lay imminent danger. The slightest loosening of his fingers could spell his demise.
The surge and burst of adrenaline caused his palms to sweat. He felt a dryness in his mouth and his mind was shattered by thoughts of Paul, of being buried alive, of the nightmares. He left all shadows behind, focusing all his attention on his fingertips. Then, he forcefully propelled himself off the cliff's face with his left leg, akin to a strong cyclist making a turn. He lifted his right hand high, accurately and powerfully gripping the protrusion he had spotted three minutes earlier. His entire musculature tightened to the extreme, releasing a surge of tremendous energy.
In that moment, his mind blanked. He was about to challenge his limits once more.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
Shallowman
Shallowman The dude, the would-be-a-legend, the brit, the son, the lil' bro, just the bro, the hospital volunteer, the actor, the bard, the waiter, the jokester, the Ex-Chris-Hemsworth-roommate, the Rami-Malek's-kohai, the Eugene, the Sledge, the Sledgehammer, the Paul, les Paul, le garcon.... and now he is an aspiring free soloist. Way to go Renly, way to go.
The 109th chupster is here, and... well... you know what to do, you suckers!
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone