Reinhold Don't Care What You Think (Cont.)

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Reinhold Don't Care What You Think (Cont.)

AFTER TAILING MESSNER off and on for a month, I think I've caught on to the Reinhold M.O.: Act aloof and expect the world to roll over. To do this, he uses a full array of dramatic tools, one of which is talking very loud. But the histrionics get old. Eventually you just want to grab him by the lapels and tell him to cool it.

Messner has shown signs of

"Many climbers understood they had only one chance to use me for their personal gain. And it's very easy to use me. We do it on the shoulders of Messner, they say."

lightening up in his recent books, where he gives the reader a glimpse of the core emotion that rules his life: loneliness. Odd, one might say, for a climber who's made a life of venturing alone to the world's most dangerous mountains. But if you soften him up, Messner will tell you that his life has been a struggle, in part, to overcome his fear of solitude.

"I was trying my whole life to be able to handle it," Messner tells me during one of our talks. "I am not made for lonely expeditions. In the sixties, I climbed during the day so I wouldn't have to be alone. I finally learned to stay up for weeks in the high altitude all by my own without being afraid."

I ask him why, then, he has alienated so many people. Why has he not spoken to Peter Habeler for so long? His answer is revealing.

"Out of all the climbers of this generation," he says, "I was the one who became known to the larger public. Many of them—not all of them, but many of them—understood they had only one chance to use me for their personal gain. And it's very easy to use me. We do it on the shoulders of Messner, they say. And this is possible; I can carry many people. But it's not possible if they shit on me."

Messner declines to say who exactly has abused him, only that his patience wears out. "After a while I say, OK, I do it by myself. But you know, I'm not willing to be cheated by people. Maybe once, but not twice."

His living-legend status is a mixed bag for Messner. "Fame is very heavy," he sighs. "When there are large crowds, I'm unable to handle it. I do not like to speak with one person and five others are pulling me away. It makes me crazy; I won't talk to you. If people are eating me up, I get aggressive and I'm going away. Nobody can force me to destroy my own life because somebody is trying again to use me."

The topic turns to what's left to do in his life. Messner has given up Himalayan climbing. He abandoned a 1996 attempt on 26,360-foot Gasherbrum II because the base camp was overrun with people. A 2000 bid to put up a new route on Nanga Parbat was hampered by bad weather, and he didn't make the summit. But he says he's planning a major expedition for 2004, similar to his 1992 crossing of the Taklimakan Desert in China.

Details? "I will be crossing a desert" is all he'll say.

Meanwhile he's serving out a term—which ends in 2004—as an Italian representative to the European Parliament, the governing body of the European Economic Union. And he remains a tireless spokesman for the preservation of mountains and mountain cultures. To house his legacy, Messner is building four museums in Italy that will display much of his climbing paraphernalia. Two are complete: a display of Tibetan art at Castle Juval, and the recently opened Messner Mountain Museum, which is devoted to the Dolomites. In the future he hopes to build facilities focusing on high-altitude climbing and mountain cultures worldwide. He says he has divided his existence into six "lives." The first was his vertical, or rock-climbing, life. The second was his high-altitude life. The third was his polar life. The fourth was his life investigating the myth of the Himalayan yeti, about which he wrote a controversial book. The fifth is the politician's life. The sixth is retirement.

"A 30-year-old rock climber is an old man," he says. "At 40, one is in the middle of his high-altitude power. At 50, a crosser of deserts is at his best age. But at 60, each of us is out of the game.

"Right now," he adds, "I must finish up my term in the European Parliament. I'm working on a book on the evolution of rock climbing. I have my museums. I will probably make an IMAX film with some Americans. Maybe a seventh life is coming. Maybe it's to go live in a cave somewhere and forget about everything, like my hero and favorite philosopher, Milarepa, the Tibetan thinker who always lived in a cave."

Really? Reinhold the Hermit? "OK, maybe I will not stay in one cave," he smiles, "but I will live at least part-time in a cave."

We walk outside, and I ask him if he's prepared for old age. He opens with the words "I am afraid...," and I think I'm going to get a candid response, but then he backtracks.

"Actually," he says, "starting to get old is perfect. I'm feeling the effect...but getting old means getting freer. I don't have to have successes. Sure, I will stay with my family...but I will retreat. I will again be my own ruler, like when I was a child."

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