To Reach the Clouds by Philippe Petit Page A

on film.
    But when we tie the 300-foot fishing line to a minuscule hole drilled behind the arrow’s feathering, the exercise turns disastrous. After ten minutes of carefully arranging the line in a zigzag behind him, Jean-Louis silences us, takes a deep breath, concentrates, aims, draws, and shoots. And the arrow falls … at his feet. That is not on film.

    I can’t help crowing, “See, I told you it would never work!”
    We stay well past lunchtime, trying countless improvements, arguing all the while. Winding the line around a spool that turns freely on a handheld pencil gives a much better result, but still the dead weight of the line makes Jean-Louis undershoot his mark by half.
    Once more, Mark saves the day. Borrowing from an ancient fishing technique of his country, he breaks off one of the spool’s flanges and sands it smooth. The line can fly off freely in the axis of the pencil. The next attempt is almost a hit. With practice and minor improvements, Jean-Louis should have no problem.
    Amid the applause, I yell, “I knew all along the bow and arrow was the solution!” and Jean-Louis laughingly throws me to the ground.
    Mark holds the improvised spool as Jean-Louis prepares to shoot — a still from the 16 mm film
    After a delicious salad fresh from the farm’s garden and Annie’s mousse au chocolat , I drag the group outdoors again, ignoring their pleas for a nap.
    I start with the circus installation. Accompanied by Nino Rota’s music from the scratchy record-player, I perform a brief high wire anthology that includes, in addition to my distinctive walks, the bicycle, the unicycle, the chair, juggling, and somersaults. I reach the ground by walking down the slant wire without balancing pole. “Bravo!” shout my friends.
    An appetizer.
    Without taking a break, I run to the Hundred Meters, climb on the departure X, grab the waiting pole, and start walking. The cable being properly guy-lined by four well-tightened cavalettis, I reach the arrival X without once stopping.
    It takes me only three minutes.
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    I climb down and impatiently start removing all the cavalettis.
    A moment later, I’m back on a naked wire that is free to oscillate.
    I grab the pole. I walk. After twenty feet, the cable begins to vibrate. I slow down.
    As I progress, the undulations amplify. By midwire, the cable dances an agitated jig. I pause after each step, but keep going. I pass the dreaded middle, even though the out-of-control cable tells me to stop. Anchored to the wire by my toes, riveted to the arrival X by my eyes, I stand there fighting waves two feet high, three-foot lateral swaying, and the jerky, invisible but very palpable rolling of a wire gone berserk.
    Yves is filming from a tripod, although the cable is moving so violently that I keep disappearing from the frame.
    I let myself be carried in all directions, make myself one with the wire, dead weight, not even breathing. The cable calms down, and soon I am able to resume walking, one step at a time, until eventually, exhausted, elated, I conclude the crossing.
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    But that’s not it.
    Ignoring the congratulations of my friends, I shout, “We have
barely enough time, help me!” and direct them to replace the four cavalettis on the cable, which I then feverishly retighten.
    â€œStay close to me!”
    I jump back on the wire. I walk firmly to the middle and wait. A few feet behind me, the group gathers under the wire.
    â€œQuick, loosen the tension on the cavalettis, starting with the closest one!”
    â€œDone!” yells Jean-Louis.
    The cable starts dancing again, in an even more brutal, erratic way than before; this time, instead of swinging freely, it’s carrying the loose cavaletti ropes.
    I take the punishment.
    â€œOkay, now move the ropes! Come on, move the ropes! Make them shake!”
    First Jean-Louis, then Mark, then everyone gently shakes the ropes. I follow the wire’s