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Outside magazine, September 1998

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The Happiest Guy Alive (cont.)


	(Jorg Badura)

The Saint Francis yacht club owns an exclusive enclave of the elite that's hidden away on private Tinsley Island in the middle of the Sacramento River delta. The sumptuous houseboats, verdant green lawns, bocci courts, swimming pools, and barbecue pits are concealed from the surrounding freshwater inlets and estuaries by shrubby atolls bearing such inviting nicknames as Dogshit Island. If you didn't know this place was here, or if you weren't a guest of a member, then you would never find it. The location and memberships, as well as title to the valuable houseboats and slips, are passed from generation to generation. Jonny's grandfather was one of the Saint Francis's charter members in the 1950s. He bequeathed his prized slips to his son Tom, whose kids, Jonny included, have been coming here since they were little.

It's the bejeweled heart of Muffin Land. "This is a special place for me, a very cool place," Jonny says as he powers up the channel in his family's ski boat at the head of a small regatta consisting of Jonny's buddies in attending jet skis. "I mean, look at it. Awesome, huh?" The Moseleys' mooring is one of the finest, with afternoon sun striking the deck while the interior of the yellow two-bedroom houseboat is shaded by sycamore and pine trees along the shore. The sun casts the water in buttery golden light that illuminates the entire placid waterfront like a movie set.

A keg is tapped. Jonny catches up with old friends. Beau and Josh, Trevor and John, Toffee and Jeff, these are the guys he grew up with, attended high school with, played baseball and soccer with. They are good-looking kids with ripped stomachs and chests and handsome, chiseled features; these were the popular kids in high school, and now that they've all gone on to California's elite colleges — Stanford, Cal, UCLA — and are starting their careers, they seem flush with potential

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and vast promise. Jonny's success as a gold-medal athlete serves as some sort of precursor in most of their minds for the inevitable success that must await them as well.

"You're a superstar athlete," Trevor tells Jonny. "I'm gonna be a film director, Beau's going into advertising, Jeff's gonna be a rock star, and Josh is going to be a sportscaster. When we all make it, it's gonna be like this powerful little network."

More boats pull up alongside the houseboat. The deck becomes crowded with revelers, all hoisting plastic cups of keg beer or sipping vodka fizzes. His brothers are there, his friends, even his first high school girlfriend, and the vibe is one of celebration and respect.

"After I won the gold medal," Jonny says, "I couldn't wait to get home and celebrate with my friends. That's what I wanted to do more than anything. The other stuff, the Letterman and TV stuff, that was cool, totally cool, but this is what it's all about."

That afternoon, Jonny heads out for a spin on a brand new Kawasaki 1100 jet-ski that he won — along with $20,000 — in the The Superstars competition. The late-afternoon water is glassy, and the wind shimmers through the reeds lining the banks. Jonny rips huge curls through the water, forcing the jet ski into high-speed skids across its own wake. He's deep into it now, in the heart of Muffin Land, burning through the water going nearly 55 mph aboard a jet ski that he won, basically, because he's the Muffin Man. And later there will be wakeboarding and water-skiing and diving into the club's pool while the other club members applaud his outrageous dives. And there will be a touch-football game and bocci and a barbecue.

There's also this cute blond with a cruel face down from Tahoe, and later there will be her as well, and the two of them retreating into the houseboat's master suite.

Maybe later, in the distant future, Jonny will know sad things, too. Maybe life will someday deal him an eight and a seven instead of an ace and a king. Maybe he will know the frustration of being unable to attain all of his goals, unable to fulfill every dream, having to settle for not being the best. Maybe he will even know what it is to fail.

But before all that, there will be Freddy on guitar and Owen on bongos and Jonny Moseley singing on the deck of the houseboat while two dozen of his friends lie around, sipping cocktails on boats and on jet-skis bobbing in the gentle current, listening to Jonny's song.

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