They say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. But what I wanted to know was why there was any grass at all? Grass skiing has it's moments, don't get me wrong, but a whole winter of it leaves a bit to be desired. Watching the reports of big winter storms bashing Austria and North East Switzerland was tough to cope with. Then as the stories and photos of deeeeep pow came rolling in, it was time to get over there and see for ourselves.

As I rolled out of Whistler, helicopters and dump trucks continued their desperate attempt to keep every last bit of snow on the runs. Yet I had a creepy suspicion it was all a big joke on me, and my departure was the punch line. Flying through Toronto, flights were delayed by the flash snowfall that hit upon arrival, hmmmm. Arriving in Europe, out came the down jacket and everything seemed wintery again for about 24 hours, until I switched to shorts and a t-shirt. Getting fishier.

That very day, March 16, the beefy winter storm that blessed Europe for 2 months just picked up and left, heading straight for Whistler. I didn't know it just yet, but for the next 3 weeks I'd be strolling through the Alps in shorts and flip-flops while Whistler enjoyed 10 feet of fluffy white stuff.

Though a month in Europe wasn't going to waste, oh no. It had just begun, first stop: St Anton am Arlberg, Austria. Fresh off the train I tracked down some old friends who I knew would show me how it's done in St Anton, both on and off the hill. Sam 'Chief' O'Keeffe, 'Lloydo' Munjee, and Will 'Pissy Knickers' Hoddell have been milking St Anton for all it's worth the past few seasons, and this winter was no exception. It wasn't long before the 'shoulda been here last week' stories started coming out, and I did my best to contain the drool.

Skier Lloyd Munjee. Photo: Richard McGibbon

Not far from the Swiss border, St Anton was smack in the heart of the epic winter storms that hovered over Europe in the months before my trip. Seasoners weren't even bothering to explore the expanse of terrain while the snow came pounding down, they just sussed out their daily powder stash and went for it. Lower mountain runs at St Anton, St Cristoph and Stuben hoarded pow stashes that held up all day long, well out of harms way from the sketchy snow pack lurking in the alpine.

Photo: Richard McGibbon

Now up on the hill in baking late March sunshine, that sketchy snow pack had called it quits for the year, with big wet slabs sliding on dirt and grass in every direction. Not a good week for off-piste skiing, and oh what a tease it was. While we sloppy slush carved our way down every marked run we could find, dodging gold one-piece suits as we went, the stories of the past month came out at every new corner. I pretty much stood there jaw-to-the-ground while the boys pointed out huge lines in every direction, as far as I could see, all lift-accessible. With 270 km's of on-piste runs, you can imagine how far the real goods stretched for, all connected with 83 trams, chairs, and a few steps across a street or two.

Where you'd be on a good day at Rendl. Photo: Richard McGibbon

Finger Chutes on a good day. Photo: Richard McGibbon.

A better view of the terrain in St Anton. Photo: Richard McGibbon

Lucky for me, daydreaming about the weeks I missed wasn't the only thing St Anton had going for it. As we slow dog noodled to the valley each afternoon, the thumping bass of German techno revealed St Anton's other source of infamy... apres-ski like no other resort knows how.

While skiers around the world casually sip beers on a patio, Austrian and German tourists flock to St Anton without even checking the forecast, ready to party like none other. They don't sit around waiting for full moon parties, concerts or raves like other sissy cultures. It's on, every day, right after skiing until they pass-out or get sent home. No time for siestas, dinner can wait till tomorrow, and the kids can put themselves to bed or come with. That kind of apres.

Lounging at Steps Bar in the sun seemed innocent enough, but table dancing and pounding John Denver techno remixes somehow lured us to the Mooserwirt in no time. Serving more beer than any other bar in Austria (in half the time), the Mooserwirt has two full time staff switching kegs in the basement, all day long. Vodka flows from fountain taps while grannies in all-white sway on tables to live folk songs backed with dance beats. And just when the madness is winding down, they close the bar and send hundreds of drunken skiers to perilously navigate the last stretch of vertical to the village. Think Chinese downhill on refrozen crud and grass patches with oblivious drunk competitors... in the dark. Sounds like a good idea for Doglotion's next competition, eh? Maybe the grass is greener after all. With local races like this, you can imagine the apres ski out.

Photo: TVB St Anton Am Arlberg.

Next Stop: Lech am Arlberg, Austria. Check back soon.

DETAILS

St Anton Am Arlberg is 100km from Innsbruck , 200km from Zurich, and 250km from Munich. Heck, it's all close, get yourself to Europe and hop on a train to St Anton. The area is huge and it's packed with big mountain Euro-style terrain, all inter-connected with St Christoph, Stuben, as well as Zurs and Lech if you tour a bit. Word on the street is it's one of the best pow stashes in the Alpes, this past winter included.

Web: www.stantonamarlberg.com for more info.

Krazy Kangaroo and Moosewirt are hosts to the silliest apres sessions on the planet. Best grub in town is at Pomadoro's, mmmmm. And it's right beside the Funky Chicken, the place to be when the sun goes down (if you're not still rockin' at apres).