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Aug 22, 2018

3 Sons & A King: Documentary Film Review

"30 miles round trip, 4100 feet elevation gain, and no legs." Sid Smith, double-amputee, attempts to summit King’s Peak, the highest point in Utah, inspiring his son and us, as outdoor enthusiasts, to challenge ourselves.


Davey Braun

This film moved me in more ways than one. It made me reflect on my own relationship with my father and it motivated me to drag my able-bodied ass up off the couch.

Sid’s Story

Sid Smith was born with a disease called Charcot-Marie-Tooth which caused structural foot deformities and muscle wasting throughout his legs. He grew up feeling left out, unable to tag along with his father and brothers on their epic outdoor adventures like hiking Utah’s King’s Peak mountain. After numerous surgeries, he finally made the decision to go through with a double-amputation procedure in 2015, which meant he had to completely relearn mobility. Using state-of-the-art walking prosthetics Fillaur Running Blades, Sid is now able to not only walk, but also to tackle challenges like summiting the tallest mountain in the state of Utah. Well aware of the inevitable pain and high risk of failure, Sid’s grit and determination pushes him onward.

King’s Peak – The Challenge

King’s peak is the highest point in Utah, the seventh tallest among the United States high points. It stands 13,528 feet in elevation and the route covers over 27 miles round trip. King’s Peak is generally regarded as the hardest state highpoint which can be climbed without specialist rock climbing skills.

The route entails rickety wood bridges, ridgeline scrambling and boulder jumping sections. The final stretch of jumbled shale rocks looks like a nightmare to fall on. One single trip would leave you battered and bruised, if not dead. It would take sure footing and deep concentration for the typical able-bodied hiker. I can’t imagine hiking on that uneven terrain without the sensation feedback from my feet and legs.

One single trip would leave you battered and bruised, if not dead

In the film, Sid attempts to complete the final section with a different set of prosthetics with a lower base that would give him a more optimal center of gravity for the uneven ground. I imagine being there in person as an observer was probably just as excruciating as it was for him. It’s a dicey move to try a completely new setup for the first time up on the mountain where there is risk of falling over and tumbling down the cliff face. As the viewer, you want to will it to work, but it just doesn’t. This scene gives the audience a glimpse of Sid’s perseverance over the past 3 years. He was able to relearn the small things in life, and ultimately ascend mountains, because of his strong character and willingness to troubleshoot, to fall and get up, to fall again and get up again and to never give up.

When he makes it to the top and hugs his son, softly patting him across the chest, he’s happy because he was able to gift his son the sensation of pride for him as a Dad. Shattering his self-view as the runt of the litter, he becomes the adventurous father.

Technical Review – Well Seen, Well Heard

From the audio mixing of flowing rivers and wildlife to the the non-diegetic soundtrack, V6 Media’s artistry shines.

V6’s production is of the highest-quality. It can stand next to some of my favorite outdoors documentaries like 180 Degrees South and Meru. The filming storyboard is comprised of a variety of angles including an exciting juxtaposition of close-up shots of the subjects with stunning wide shots and drone footage that present an appreciation of the mountainous landscapes and starry nightscapes. One of the best shots of the film is a medium shot of Sid’s genuine smile as he fishes with his son. The clip illustrates Sid’s appreciation for spending a moment with his son, and the acknowledgment that those moments are few. Another one of my favorite clips is a 270 degree drone shot that swings out over the climbers scrambling along the ridge to show its steepness.

Notwithstanding the inspirational story, the crowning achievement of the film is the sound design. From the audio mixing of flowing rivers and wildlife to the non-diegetic soundtrack, V6 Media’s artistry shines. The single best technical aspect of the film is the marriage of visual content to the music. There are several action moments that are expertly timed to a crashing crescendo and deep bass boom that delivers a visceral impact on the audience.

Read Next on The Outdoor Journal: Himalaya’s Hardest Climb – The Shark’s Fin on Meru Central

Ways to Improve – Wanting More

Simultaneously a compliment and a critique, I felt frustrated that the film is less than 8 minutes. It left me wanting more. There seems to be more to the story, and enough engaging content to reach feature length, in my opinion. The short film would be richer by adding more backstory about Sid dealing with his disease growing up, and his decision to go through with amputation, which you can find in a related video here: How I Conquer | Sidney Smith. If you’d like to learn more about Sid’s story and his burgeoning career as a triathlete, check it out.

From an editing standpoint, I think the film is missing one more line of narration. The last line carries truth and wisdom, but I would argue that it comes off as negative in tone. I wish there was one more line afterwards on an uplifting beat. I yearned for some resonant line that I could take with me and mutter to myself while I’m in the midst of a formidable challenge – some mantra I could repeat that would give me strength like Sid.

Conclusion – 3 Kings of the Mountain

This story, following three generations as they embark on the King’s Peak challenge together is a great example of fear-bonding. When men encounter a scary situation together, and push past the fear, it unites a camaraderie between them far deeper than the plain knowledge that they share the same blood. Reflecting on the title, I wondered, so which one is the king? The three generations of father and son working together to summit the peak concludes with each one of them truly becoming king of the mountain. Their journey made me think about when was the last time I did a challenge like that with my own father. I welled up with tears, reflecting Sid’s emotion. But the ending didn’t leave me feeling sad, but inspired instead. We can expect more authentic, high-quality productions from V6 Media in the future.

You can follow Sid Smith’s instagram @tri_nofeet

For more content by V6 Media, visit:
Here is V6 Media’s website – www.v6.media
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/V6MediaGroup/

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Feb 20, 2019

The Death Zone

World champion free-diver Pierre Frolla sinks without air to depths unreachable by most scuba divers. One day he nearly didn't make it back to the surface.



Pierre Frolla

This story originally featured in print, in the fall 2015 issue of The Outdoor Journal

Deep down under the sea, so far away from where you live, I have been through the last seconds of my life.

In 2005 or 2006 (oddly I don’t remember), I had the worst accident of my freediving career. After being world champion in variable weight apnea with a dive at 123 metres, where I used a weighted sled for descent and returned to the surface by pulling myself along a line and using my fins, I was training to go deeper.

“No matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.”

In my sport, risks are quite important. Imagine you’re running a 400-m race. You start way too fast, and after a few hundred meters you’re out of breath and you just can’t go anymore. What do you do? You just stop, walk a bit and slowly catch your breath again. When you’re free diving, no matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.

The basis of my sport is quite simple. Going beyond 100 meters is mythic. Only a few hardcore specialists, including the “no limit” guys can go beyond that. Athletes use a weighted sled to dive down and an inflatable bag to return to the surface. This means that the free diver reduces his energy loss to the max, and that’s exactly why he is able to go so deep. The world record is held by Austrian Herbert Nitsch: 249.5 metres on June 6, 2012, in Santorini, Greece. The problem is that at those depths, water pressure is unbelievable! At 100 m, for example, the pressure is about 11 kg per square centimeter of your skin. Consequently, the volume of air inside the human body is pressured and reduced too. Take an empty but sealed plastic bottle: If you get to this kind of depth, it’ll greatly deform. That plastic bottle is a metaphor for your body. This also means that if water manages to seep somewhere inside you through your mouth or nose, it will do so with such force that it’ll destroy everything in its path. Drowning is inevitable, and no Apneist can be saved in such case, even if experienced help quickly intervenes.

At great depths, nitrogen becomes narcotic and leads to what is called nitrogen narcosis. This kind of intoxication from staying in great depths for too long is the same as when you drink too much. In other words, you lose total control of your body and mind, and you become unaware of potential dangers. Acting like that underwater can kill you, as the slightest mistake will have incredible consequences. In my personal training, I mix apnea in variable weight and other constant weight dives, where I dive only with the force of my arms and legs.

Today, my team and I decide to put the weight to 118 m. I know I can go down 115 m, but we want to push a little, as it’s part of training. Once down, I’ll have no choice but to go back on my own. I also know there will be a small parachute and an oxygen tank hooked to the sled, but neither will be for me. The bottle empties very slowly and inflates the balloon. Both serve only to return equipment back to the surface. It’s easier for us to work like that rather than starting a counterweight system.

If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water?

I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material.

I begin my descent. I pass my midterm diver. Very soon, it gets dark. I do not have glasses because they would serve me for nothing in this environment. So I stand, with my eyes closed. I’m relaxed and sinking slowly in the water like I’m used to. I feel the pressure now, but I also suddenly feel the sledge slowing. Then it stops, softly. Usually it stops dead. When I realize that something is wrong, I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material. It is almost as if moving sands are closing in on me at 112 meters below the surface. It is actually a mixture of clay and silt, a mound a few meters higher than the sonar onboard the boat. It wasn’t identified even though it stood in the stack axis of the descent of my sledge. It’s nobody’s fault; sonar is not so precise.

In no time, I understand what’s happening to me. I’m stuck. I cannot get my feet outside the box, and I know there’s no exit door. I simply do not have enough oxygen to both work my way out of this with strength and go up as I have expected, swimming, with my hands and fins. If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stopped, stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water? I’m dying; that’s it. Today is the day. In 15 seconds, I will have consumed all the remaining air I was keeping for my ascent. I am also a few seconds away from being caught by nitrogen narcosis. I will go crazy right before dying.

“Did I become a vegetable?”

Suddenly, I have an idea. The parachute. Yes! I trigger the opening of the small air valve, which then rushes into the parachute. It’s working but it’s slow and long. So I wait, very still, with my eyes closed. I have no other choice. I try to relax. Everything at 112 m is multiplied by 10. One consumed oxygen molecule at the surface is equal to 10 or 12 molecules consumed at that kind of depth. One second is equivalent to 10 seconds. Time and life are both very cruel at the bottom of an ocean. I am now barely conscious. Finally, I remember feeling the chute tearing me away from my trap like a champagne cork. The ascent back to the surface, back to life, is way too long. When I reach the surface, I have strangely not entirely lost consciousness, but my body no longer responds to my brain. Did I become a vegetable? My team, frightened, retrieves and saves me. If I had not been so well-trained, I would not have survived this scary adventure. Instead of the planned 2 minutes and 40 seconds that I went down under water for, I stayed 3 minutes and 50 seconds. In the boat, I gradually recover and quickly regain all my abilities.

Pierre Frolla reascending to the surface, following the guideline with the sled and parachute attached to it.

A few years later, I’m on a movie set doing 60-m free diving over and over all day long, and an air bubble is created in my brain on one of these repetitive dives. But instead of being redirected into my lungs, it remains stuck in my head. When ascending, inevitably, this tiny compressed air bubble suddenly decompresses and its size gets multiplied by six. I immediately lose consciousness. Later, I wake up in a hyperbaric chamber. I stay there for eight and a half hours. But when I wake up in that box, I cannot feel my body. I’m unable to move. For hours, I do not know if I will stay quadriplegic or not. This awakening in the box is one of my worst-ever memories of free diving. I do not understand what is happening to me. It takes me 30 minutes to remember that I was free diving and to deduce that I certainly had a bad accident.

Apnea is an extreme sport. I’ll remember it always. Yesterday I dived to 113 meters. I’ll do it again tomorrow.

Photos by Franck Seguin

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