Taos, of course, is the stuff of legends. In skier lore, it ranks with Aspen, Sun Valley, and Squaw Valley among North America's must-ski places. So, when I'm standing at the bottom of Al's Run, the legendary trail at the legendary resort, and reading the sign that starts out by saying "Don't panic!" and goes on to explain that what you see before you is only a fraction of what the place has to offer, I can't help wondering if even I, a damned good skier, have bitten off more than I can chew.

Indeed, Taos offers as much as any skier could care to chew. Picking our way across the High Traverse ledge, the runs drop so steeply to our right that vertigo sets in. You'd best know how to set an edge up here. The hike-to shots under Kachina Peak offer 3,274 vertical feet of steep, bone-dry powder shots. But that too is just a fraction of what's to be found here. You can hike up from the top of Kachina Lift (some say it's a 20-minute hike, but we flatlanders would lean toward 45) and take on the awe-inspiring bowl off Kachina Peak, or drop in en route to a series of chutes and glades that depart the Highline Ridge at regular intervals, each a bit more memorable than the last.

These, then, are the downhill routes that made the Taos legend. That and Ernie Blake's somewhat absurd notion of putting a Bavarian-style alpine resort in the middle of the American southwest. Whether Bavarian style makes sense is a matter of aesthetics. But the need for a more intermediate-friendly ski hill eventually became obvious. And Taos has responded to the challenge. Both sides of the mountain offer surprisingly pleasant intermediate cruising, especially off the Kachina Lift, but

Taos, of course, is the stuff of legends. In skier lore, it ranks with Aspen, Sun Valley, and Squaw Valley among North America's must-ski places. So, when I'm standing at the bottom of Al's Run, the legendary trail at the legendary resort, and reading the sign that starts out by saying "Don't panic!" and goes on to explain that what you see before you is only a fraction of what the place has to offer, I can't help wondering if even I, a damned good skier, have bitten off more than I can chew.

Indeed, Taos offers as much as any skier could care to chew. Picking our way across the High Traverse ledge, the runs drop so steeply to our right that vertigo sets in. You'd best know how to set an edge up here. The hike-to shots under Kachina Peak offer 3,274 vertical feet of steep, bone-dry powder shots. But that too is just a fraction of what's to be found here. You can hike up from the top of Kachina Lift (some say it's a 20-minute hike, but we flatlanders would lean toward 45) and take on the awe-inspiring bowl off Kachina Peak, or drop in en route to a series of chutes and glades that depart the Highline Ridge at regular intervals, each a bit more memorable than the last.

These, then, are the downhill routes that made the Taos legend. That and Ernie Blake's somewhat absurd notion of putting a Bavarian-style alpine resort in the middle of the American southwest. Whether Bavarian style makes sense is a matter of aesthetics. But the need for a more intermediate-friendly ski hill eventually became obvious. And Taos has responded to the challenge. Both sides of the mountain offer surprisingly pleasant intermediate cruising, especially off the Kachina Lift, but the novice trails remain somewhat limited. The ski school, however, is so good that novices should be tackling blue runs in relatively short order.

Meanwhile, if it's southwestern flavor you're after, the trick is to stay in town—about a half-hour drive down the access road. Replete with a classic, central town plaza and dozens of atmosphere-rich B&B's, eateries, and art galleries, and a stone's throw from the famous Taos Pueblo, this is the place that first got Georgia O'Keeffe hooked on New Mexico and where D.H. Lawrence liked to hang out. Taos offers classic skiing, excellent facilities, great family programs, and 305 inches of annual snowfall.

Be aware, however, that you will have to make a choice between lodging on the mountain or in town—a choice because the access road can be a laborious trip, particularly during the pre- and post-skiing rush hours, but also later when the apres-ski life has worn you to a nub.