Lake Tahoe, California.Credit: Getty Images
David Rood finds an oncoming pine tree focuses the mind while skiing in California.
I looked up. The sun flared on the ridge line of the summit run. Snow clouds trailed behind skiers who cut angles back and forth like a fencing foil across the slopes. The ski bowl high on the "hill" they call Mammoth was so carefully groomed it rippled like corduroy slacks.
It was better looking up than down.
Mammoth Mountain, California.Credit: Jimmy Kellett
I should have realised that when the angle of the chairlift pushed me back into my seat in the same way an aeroplane does when the pilot floors it on the runway.
Some skiers will fly over a ridge line without stopping. I paused. I remembered I was scared of heights.
"Suck it up, you wuss," the conversation inside my head started up. "You'll look like one of those skiers on the cover of a resort brochure – chest deep in powder, arms poised in perfect balance.
Well, I didn't snow plough.
Another skier in our group waited at the bottom of the run, lying with the best of intentions, telling me I looked good coming down but seemed to be "kicking up a lot of snow".
That was Mammoth Mountain – 400 kilometres, or just about five hours' drive north-east of Los Angeles – on day one of my week skiing California. By week's end I had followed the snow-covered Sierra Nevada ranges to Lake Tahoe, including the mountains of Heavenly, Northstar and Squaw Valley, which mainly serve San Francisco and Sacramento.
With ski seasons that run from December until at least April, each mountain has its own appeal to families, ski pros and twentysomethings who will be the last to leave the bar and the first to hit the slopes.
Until this trip, the sum of my skiing experience was Mount Buller in Victoria. There is no comparison.
The average annual snowfall at Heavenly, the resort that floats majestically over the regal blue of Lake Tahoe, is 9.14 metres a year. By comparison, at Perisher the average annual snowfall is 1.9 metres.
Walking off the plane at Mammoth Airport after a 70-minute flight from Los Angeles, the cold air immediately slammed the back of my throat.
Ready to roll on my first morning on the mountain, I decided to do something I hadn't done since going on a year 11 ski camp – take part in a ski lesson.
The intermediate skiers were bundled into a group, forced to confess how long it had been since their last ski, and then given a tour across the mountain's 150 trails. I was about to get very used to pine tree-lined runs that looked like golf fairways.
Mammoth was my first glimpse of serious skiing. There was plenty more to come.
On the drive from Mammoth to Lake Tahoe, plastic orange snow markers line Highway 395. The layers of snow ploughed to the side of the road read like tree rings telling the history of snow conditions – the top level was distinctly grey. It hadn't snowed in a while. For miles the snow-capped Sierras overshadowed a frosted tundra below.
Coming into South Lake Tahoe, it is pretty easy to spot the state line between Nevada and California. The high-rise casinos allowed in Nevada but not in California are built right up to the aptly named Stateline Avenue.
The next day at Heavenly we skied Nevada in the morning, California in the afternoon.
From the main street of South Tahoe you can't see the lake, though it is just three blocks away. And the foot of the mountain is so steep you also can't see the ski fields of Heavenly.
As soon as I saw the views from the lookout at the first gondola stop up the mountain, I understood why people use phrases such as "God lives here" to describe the mountain.
Our mountain guide was a former ski-racing coach. His primary-school-age son is so fast down the mountain he has to offer him rewards to get him to make turns.
One of the big focuses of Heavenly is the off-piste skiing. Each chairlift route seems to have its own mogul underneath it. Mostly these runs stay quiet, like their very presence is a dare. Then, occasionally, there is the unmistakable sound of pro skiers picking their way down the run below you. It's a calculated sound – like chalk lines being drawn heavily on a blackboard – with a deliberate pause in between.
Backing the skills of our ski group, our guide took us off-trail and between the trees. Nothing focuses the mind like an oncoming pine tree.
On our arrival at dusk we wandered down from our hotel to the lake, where the snow covered the sand to the water's edge. The sign at the gate said in capital letters: "Please don't kill plants for snowman arms."
Lakeside, the streets are lined with 1960s motels and signs offering simple pitches – "budget rates, phone and TV". It's a reminder that Lake Tahoe was a favourite haunt of the Frank Sinatra-led Rat Pack.
Around Lake Tahoe, Northstar is somewhat unkindly nicknamed by some "Flat Star" due to its long, smooth runs. Could have fooled me.
The aptly named black run Burnout was the scene of my most spectacular stack of the trip. It was a "tumbling down the mountain, how am I actually going to stop, snow down your back" kind of stack.
As the week went on, the mountains became quieter. The sounds of Bob Marley being played by the lift attendants seemed to echo even further down the slopes. All the resorts we visited had specially designed freestyle parks. At Northstar they had three, including a beginners' park. My group gave the mogul run a crack. Our guide's instructions were clear – pick your line, control your speed.
I paused. Again. Then, how good was I, knees together, clean air and bobbing like the suspension on a Range Rover.
Nup. I saw the footage, taken by a Brit from our group – arms everywhere, skis barely leaving the ground, what air? The iPhone never lies.
I wasn't supposed to ski Squaw Valley. We were supposed to go ice skating. But how could I say no?
Squaw is a mountain's mountain. Maybe it's the way the valley surrounds the village, like looking up from inside a funnel, or the intimidating runs that spit out skiers in the village.
On the mountain, home to the 1960 Winter Olympics, there is a discernible vibe that's slightly more serious; the ski gear seems less flashy. The locals we were skiing with that morning ? pointed out that the black-diamond run at the Siberia Bowl we were passing is so steep the grooming machines have to be anchored to fixed poles at the top of the hill to get up the run.
Time poor, we traversed some of the bowls and through the beginners' area before heading back to the village via Home Run. Maybe it was me being constantly overtaken, but that run back to the village felt like a race.
There was one curious thing about skiing California. With the zeal of converts, people raved about the lifestyle, the vibe, the virtual guarantee of snow, but, London to a brick, they say come back in summer – it's even better.
David Rood was a guest of Visit California.
Trip notes
Getting there
Qantas has return economy flights direct from Sydney to Los Angeles from $1421. Return flights from Los Angeles to Mammoth Mountain with Alaska Airlines start from $US210 ($200).
More information
Staying on the mountains
The Westin Monache Resort Mammoth, 50 Hillside Drive, Mammoth Lakes
A lodge feel without a compromise on class. Leave your skis in the hotel's storage room at the gondola. The studio room I stayed in was as modern as a display home, with a large kitchenette, bay window and gas fireplace that easily dried my swimmers after a dip in the outdoor spa. From $US429 ($410) plus tax.
Embassy Suites Lake Tahoe, 4130 Lake Tahoe Boulevard, South Lake Tahoe
Parts of Lake Tahoe are charmingly still in the 1960s. The Embassy Suites is serviceably stuck somewhere in 1986, with a penchant for plastic indoor trees. The accommodation is a little dated but comfortable and spacious, and the location is perfect: half a block from the gondola up to the Heavenly resort, and three blocks from the lake. From $US239 plus tax.
The Ritz-Carlton Lake Tahoe, 13031 Ritz-Carlton Highlands Court, Truckee
Tucked into the side of the mountain, this five-star hotel is a gondola ride from Northstar village. The bed gave me the most comfortable night's sleep on the trip. The room's wall-length balcony meant I might as well have been looking at the snowfields from a chairlift. From $US449 plus tax.
ritzcarlton.com/en/properties/laketahoe.
PlumpJack Squaw Valley Inn, 1920 Squaw Valley Road, Squaw Valley
One of the former athletes' villages of the 1960 Squaw Valley Winter Olympics, PlumpJack has quirky mountain lodge warmth with a sense of refinement. The athletes' bunks are long gone and the rooms are spacious and modern with an open? feel. From $US230 plus tax.
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