LIKE AN ADDICT FALLING OFF THE WAGON OR A WILD ANIMAL LET OUT OF ITS CAGE, HIS INNER SKI BUM RAGED. “Good morning, Jann!” It’s a familiar conversation. Not everyone in Sun Valley knows who Jann Wenner is, but a lot of them do. The place is full of baby boomers who grew up reading Wenner’s magazine, Rolling Stone, religiously, just like this happy liftie. “Morning, Bob,” Jann replies and I can’t tell if he knows Bob the liftie personally or is just reading his nametag. “How many days is it today?” Jann’s asking about the number of ski days recorded on his pass. He asks the same question daily. He’s hoping to ski the same number of days this winter as his age. He’s 72, but a thick head of dark hair and his youthful exuberance on the hill dial that particular measuring tape back by a decade, maybe more. “Forty-two today, Jann,” Bob says as we pole past him and onto Warm Springs’ Challenger lift. “Have fun up there!” It’s just before President’s Day weekend and we have the place to ourselves—partly because a few hundred bucks and a private instructor let you get on the lift 30 minutes before the mountain opens to the general public at 9 a.m., but also because it’s a Wednesday and once again the forecasted storm barely nicked Sun Valley. Maybe everyone went to Jackson. The lift scoops us up gently, lifting our skis off the ground as Warm Springs Creek gurgles beneath us. We sail up Bald Mountain on the high-speed quad. It’s too cold this morn-ing for Jann to check his phone for emails from the office in New York, so our conversation turns to the task at hand. Two solitary tracks set by ski patrol on Warm Springs—a top-to-bottom, 3,000-plus-vertical-foot, absolute Cadillac of a ski run swooping down a natural gulley—confirm our initial diagnosis. Buttery corduroy covered by an inch or two of light flakes—as smooth as it gets. Jann’s favorite conditions on his favorite mountain—the man is in his happy place. With a conspiratorial grin he pulls out a plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies and takes a nibble. Some of Jann’s closest friends are on their way to Sun Val-ley for the holiday weekend. Names like Bruce and Patti, Tom and Rita, Mickey, Johnny, and Liv, who is dating one of Jann’s handsome sons, are mentioned in passing. The casual inference transcends name-dropping but can’t help spiking the conversa-tion with a touch of celebrity glamour and gossip. Powerful pop culture gatekeepers don’t really exist anymore, but not that long ago they certainly did, and Jann was definitely one of them. He’s cried with John Lennon, partied with Mick Jagger, hugged Bruce Springsteen as he walked off stage, done drugs with Hunter S. Thompson, taken acid with the Grateful Dead, sung karaoke with Tom Hanks, played guitar with Bob Dylan, exchanged favorite books with David Bowie, interviewed U.S. presidents on Air Force One, and is expecting a call from his good buddy Bono later this afternoon. Right now, however, Jann is smiling like a mischievous schoolboy playing hookie as he pulls his poles out from under his leg, wraps the straps around his wrists and clicks them together twice. Tink. Tink. Racer ready. The sun’s first rays bloom golden and sparkling over the summit’s crest as we’re lifted above the peak’s shadow. Bald Mountain’s extraordinary 360-degree view expands around us as we push off the chair. The sky is a piercing cobalt blue. Layers of unmolested ridgelines covered in white ripple away in every direction. Evergreens laced in the same silk stand quietly at attention. “Dear God, it’s beautiful,” Jann says with a contented sigh and wide smile. After a few quick stretches while savoring the view, we point our skis downhill, picking up speed quickly. We swoop down Christmas Ridge in the early morning sunshine and roll unimpeded onto Christmas lift with eu-phoric giggles. Jann Wenner 037
The Ski Journal Volume 12, Issue 3: Page 37
