A TOWN 11,000 FEET HIGH

Ever since our son, Grael, and daughter, Lia, were tiny, we'd taken winter trips to Lake Tahoe, the closest cluster of ski resorts to our home in San Francisco. The problem, judging by Tahoe's increasing congestion, was that so did everyone else in Northern California. Last winter, we decided to find a more manageable locale.

Mammoth Lakes isn't exactly a secret; no town built around an 11,000-foot-high peak big enough to be called Mammoth is going to go unnoticed. But its remote location in California's eastern Sierra Nevada (259 miles from San Francisco, 309 from Los Angeles) saves it from the spoils of success.

Although you can fly to Mammoth from Long Beach in Southern California, that was impractical for us. My kids, my daughter's friend and I decided to make the five-hour drive. After the long trip, we welcomed the sight of Mammoth's signature snowcapped volcanic peaks.

Mammoth Lakes, a faux-Alpine-style village of 5,000, glittered at the base of the mountain. While it may not have the Old World charm of St. Moritz or Gstaad (the chalet-style McDonald's doesn't quite qualify), it does offer all the amenities that families need, amid scenery that rivals the real Alps. Besides downhill skiing, Mammoth offers such options as cross-country skiing, dogsledding, sleigh rides, snowshoeing and snowmobiling.

Our vacation began with a good night's sleep at the Sierra Lodge, a comfortable motel on Main Street. In the morning, we headed to the Mammoth Mountain Ski Area (888-462-6668). Mammoth grooms more than 3,500 acres, but we didn't find its size intimidating. The 31 lifts are spread out over a wide area, and a fun-to-ride people-mover connects outlying sections.

At the Main Lodge rental shop (760-934-0670), we got fitted for gear. The kids wanted to try out a new sport. Fifteen-year-old Lia, who grew up on cross-country skis, now favors downhill ("not as much work"). Eighteen-year-old Grael, at least temporarily, has swapped downhill skiing for the rush of snowboarding. Lia's friend, fourteen-year-old Krista, a veteran downhill skier, decided to try snowboarding so she and Lia could keep up (or at least fall down) with each other. I pride myself on trying anything once--except snowboarding. I stuck with skiing.

After a morning on the slopes, we stopped for lunch at the Mid Chalet. The views from this 9,500-foot-high midmountain cafeteria cinched our decision to ride the gondola another 1,500 feet to the summit to take in the full panorama.

After two days of commuting to the ski area from town, we moved to the Mammoth Mountain Inn, situated across from the Main Lodge. We paid a bit more for the location, but there was no denying the convenience. You can even check your skis with the concierge.

Late one afternoon, as we returned to the inn from skiing, we heard much barking. Near the entrance stood several dogsleds and teams of malamutes and Siberian and Alaskan huskies. Dogsled outings are pricey, but considering how unusual a chance this was, we couldn't resist. We took off up a long winding hill, sped through the woods, and finally raced downhill at full canine throttle.

The next morning, we opted for a different kind of vehicle: snowmobiles. This sport, though very popular at Mammoth, isn't for everyone--I still have misgivings about fouling the air with noise and fumes--but the try-anything-once syndrome runs strongly in my family, so we signed up for an excursion. With Grael at the controls of one machine and me at the other--Lia and Krista opted to sit behind us--we roared off across the snow, looking vaguely menacing in helmets, goggles, gloves and boots.

Swooping around curves and over rises, we soon reached a wide snow-covered meadow. There, our guide turned us loose to rev it up, after warnings not to "hit any trees or go on that ice-covered lake over there." As luck and a bit of discretion would have it, we didn't--but I kept wishing I'd taken out the insurance, especially when I saw Grael, who doesn't yet drive a car, whiz by me in the direction of the lake. (Although you don't need a license to drive a snowmobile, you must be age 13 or over; smaller children can ride behind the driver.)

We also went cross-country skiing past towering mountains that resembled huge white sugar bowls. Beautiful as it was, the kids couldn't wait to get back to the land of lifts and half pipes. They skied and boarded right up until we left town, and then, right on cue, quickly fell asleep in the car and snoozed most of the five hours back to San Francisco. Occasionally, they mysteriously managed to rouse to change cassettes in their Walkmen. Was it because they feared that I, infamous for my inability to carry a tune, would spend the drive home singing the praises of Mammoth Lakes?

Please keep in mind that phone numbers, addresses, and prices are subject to change. Updated July 2005.