Reinhold Don't Care What You Think

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Outside Magazine October 2002

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Reinhold Don't Care What You Think
A quarter-century after he changed everything by summiting Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen, Reinhold Messner is looking fit, feeling adventurous, and acting about as mellow as a snapping turtle. Ah, well: Great men aren't always sweethearts—and Messner is still the best there ever was.

By Brad Wetzler


	Lord of the Alps: Reinhold Messner in the Dolomites near Cortina, Italy, June 27, 2002. (Anton Corbijn)

"FIFTEEN MINUTES," growls Reinhold Messner, the king of all climbers. We're standing outside his castle in the mountains of South Tirol, a region in extreme northern Italy that was once part of Austria. "I'll give you 15 minutes. And then you must go."

After traveling halfway across the world to see His Greatness, I resign myself to the strict time limit. It's actually 15 minutes more than Ruth, his German-speaking secretary and merciless gatekeeper, promised earlier on the phone.

"Mr. Messner has no time," she said. "Period."

Now that I'm here, I can't help but notice that Messner is a little uptight. The thick-bearded Tirolean, dressed in baggy bell-bottom slacks and a puffy long-sleeved shirt, looks like he's about to lose his cool. Garden hose in hand, he's trying to water some lilies. Underwear and T-shirts, the day's laundry, flap vigorously in the wind. In a cradle on the ground lies a screaming infant, one of three children Messner has had with his longtime girlfriend, Sabine Stehle. (Messner has been married once before, and has a child from a previous relationship.) Weirdly, the whole scene is just a little bit Hee Haw.

But of course, it isn't. This is a real castle, featuring the usual castle accoutrements: crenellations, towers, gated entrances, a few dozen rooms. Built in the 13th century and perched like a condor's nest atop a steep mountain overlooking the family vineyards, the Schloss Juval is a beautiful and stately medieval pile. Messner is busy sprucing it up while moving Sabine and the kids in for the summer, as he does every year.

This is my second attempt to interview the reclusive Messner. I spent a hard-won hour with him three weeks ago, when Ruth relented after months of saying nein. I've returned, this time with an Outside Television crew doing a documentary about the climbing legend. He's allowed us to have quick glimpses all week, following him to political functions and a museum opening. Now he's promised to reward me with a sit-down interview—assuming, of course, that he gets his chores done. And it's not looking good. Messner, visibly frustrated, is squeezing his thumb hard over the hose's nozzle. The water blasts forth, making loud thwapping sounds against the flowers. He cups his hand around his mouth and yells something in German to whoever is inside the castle.

Before long a teenage girl comes out to quiet the baby. Then, from inside the house, there appears a striking blond woman in shorts and a T-shirt. It's Sabine. She flashes Messner a stare that says, Get moving, buddy.

"I told you I don't have time," he says, glaring at me. "I'm needed inside. I'm needed for housework."

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