‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Every skier was dancing, a few were quite soused.
The fat skis were all standing outdoors in cold air,
In hopes of more powder, face shots and big air.
The guides were still scheming with runs in their heads,
Planning tomorrow and finding sweet shreds.
And mama in tight pants and I in my chaps,
Had just hit the shot ski and made up silly raps.
When out by the spa there arose such a clatter,
We all stopped dancing to see what was the matter.
Away to the hot tub we ran with a flash,
Threw on our jackets, ignored the boot rash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave luster to the good times and party below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the Austrians, all naked, and drinking cold beer.
They were far from the hot tub, waist deep in snow,
Singing and shivering, putting on a good show.
Without words we all knew they were playing a game,
To see who could last longer and still ski the same.
At first we all wondered who these skiers could be,
until one raised his glass, and shouted “Prost! Pulverschnee!”
It was Gmoser and Grillmair poaching the spa,
Those two? The legends? We stood there in awe.
The next day they joined us as we took the first flight,
After not sleeping a wink - they had danced through the night.
They led the charge and we maxed out the fun,
From McBride to Galena we charged every run.
The Sasquatch was relaxing on a cornice to munch,
When we joined CMH K2 to share their fine lunch.
In the Bugs we held power and opened the hatch,
Clicked into our skis and carved the Snowpatch.
We skied every area, no one cared about vert,
We launched all the big cliffs and no one got hurt.
Back at the lodge, we were tired and sore,
But not Hans and Leo - they wanted some more.
They put on their touring gear, and skied into the night,
Yodeling, “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”