Standing on top of a mountain 3048 metres above sea level, I take a quiet moment to look around. Beneath me, powder-capped peaks spear the sky, deep ravines twist and turn, and gusts of wind make the snow dance like icing sugar in the air. But a vista like this comes at a price - and that price is to get back down the mountain on two skis. I hover; a cold shiver moves down my legs. Beside me, dozens of skiers move like marbles on glass towards the bottom. I count to three, take a deep breath, and lunge forward.

For an adventurous outdoors holiday, skiing is hard to beat - and the Rockies is one of the best places in the world for winter sports and après-ski activities. My trip begins in Alberta, Canada's fourth-largest province and home to Banff National Park - a World Heritage site filled with emerald forests, pristine rivers and wildlife (if you're lucky you will see elk, moose and bears). But for me, the real attraction is the snow. The park is home to three major ski resorts - Sunshine Village, Lake Louise and Mount Norquay, all within one hour's drive of one another.

It's a bone-chilling -5ºC when I land at Calgary International Airport, 120km east of Banff, and a 90-minute drive to my resort through a Narnian landscape filled with mountains and snow-topped trees. A magnet to anyone who loves snow, Banff attracts a diverse crowd: from celebrities (Catherine Zeta-Jones and Meg Ryan have been spotted on the slopes) to yummy mummies in designer gear and trendy young travellers who bounce from one ski field to another. (A quick tour of the shops reveals that many travellers are Australian - almost every second sales assistant in Banff has an Aussie accent.) Meanwhile, 4WDs cruise the town's wide streets, where tourist shops sit alongside ski shacks, bars and the occasional luxury store like Louis Vuitton.

The ritziest address in town, however, is the giant 770-room Fairmont Banff Springs, which rises from the mountains like something out of Harry Potter - a Gothic jumble of turrets, towers and cornices. Boasting 12 restaurants and luxury boutiques, the 120-year-old Fairmont is the place to stay, and my room doesn't disappoint. Not only is the ensuite bathroom (which comes complete with a jacuzzi) bigger than my entire Sydney flat, but the view from my room takes in the surrounding snow-covered peaks.

The next morning, I treat myself to a sumptuous breakfast at the hotel's Bow Valley Grill restaurant, then make the 30-minute drive to Sunshine Village resort. With 13 square kilometres of ski-worthy terrain, Sunshine Village is almost three times the size of Australia's biggest ski field, Perisher Blue, and caters for every skill level. Not only are the green and blue runs the perfect practice ground for beginners, but there are plenty of double black-diamond runs - appropriately named Delirium Dive or Bye Bye Bowl - for more experienced skiers.

I haven't skied for six years, but once I hit the slopes I'm surprised at how quickly it all comes back. I start on the extravagantly wide greens and blues, and although I am repeatedly overtaken by five-year-old speed demons without poles, by the end of the day I'm feeling ready for something a bit more daring.

That night I sink into the hotel's outdoor Willow Stream Spa for some serious muscle soaking. Banff is well known for its natural springs, which have attracted travellers for more than 100 years. The Willow Stream Spa has several mineral pools of varying temperatures and sizes, all housed under a domed roof with fairytale views of the mountains. For the brave there is even an outdoor pool, which steams seductively in the cold night air. Looking around at the spa's other luxurious facilities, including a steam room, inhalation room and sauna, I decide that this is a place I could easily get used to.

I wake the next morning refreshed and ready to strap on my skis. This is fortuitous considering I'm about to experience one of the most terrifying - and exhilarating - days of my life. It starts gently enough, with a trip to one of Canada's largest resorts, Lake Louise, a 45-minute drive away. Covering 17 square kilometres of perfect skiing terrain, with a green run down every mountain, it's an excellent location for novices like me. The resort has its own ski and snowboard school offering lessons for every level, but I opt to take a guide for the day.

With tanned skin and limbs of industrial steel, my 50-something Austrian guide is named - what else? - Hans. An expert skier, who knows everything that's worth knowing about the mountain, Hans is determined to test my skills. "Are you ready to try something more challenging?" he asks, with a twinkle in his eye. Buoyed by my
newly rediscovered skiing talents, I nod.

However, 30 seconds into our descent, with Hans expertly carving tight arcs into the mountain ahead of me, I spot it: a black-diamond signpost. Before I know it, I'm careening down the slope and have to make an emergency stop, spraying snow into the sky. Seeing my ashen face, Hans promises to get me down the mountain in one piece. Hesitantly, I follow him as he heads down the slope, strange whimpering noises escaping from my throat. Then, just a few seconds into my descent, something clicks. Suddenly, I'm off. Skis pointed downhill, poles tucked neatly under my arms, I leave
a perplexed Hans staring after me. It is the highlight of my trip, yet I don't think I've ever been more petrified in my life.

That evening I set off for Emerald Lake Lodge, a magical resort set among pine forests 40km west of Lake Louise. Unlike the other resorts I have visited, my private chalet is set in a quaint, secluded village deep in the woods.

I'm instantly struck by the silence of the snow-blanketed landscape, which is only broken by the occasional shuffle of snow falling from rooftops. Emerald Lake itself (a vast, peppermint-coloured pool in the spring, but now frozen over) was only discovered in 1882, and it's as if, after building a tiny village alongside it, someone decided to leave it alone. There is no television, mobile signal or internet, and that's just the way it should be. It is the perfect "time-out" escape after hard days of skiing.

The next day I head for one of British Columbia's newest ski resorts, Kicking Horse, a 40-minute drive away. Once I arrive, a super-fast gondola speeds me to the top of the mountain, where I enjoy lunch - 2350 metres above sea level - at Eagle's Eye restaurant.

When Kicking Horse opened in 2000, it was the first new resort built in the Rockies in 25 years. Unlike other fields I've skied in the past few days, most of the ski runs are advanced. It's a wonderful setting, but probably best left to the pros.

Five resorts later I'm starting to feel like a ski veteran, comparing conditions, techniques and bruises with anyone who'll listen. I'm comfortable on almost any blue run, and start to wonder what it will be like to wake up and not pull on my ski boots.

The Rockies are not only the perfect place for skiers of any level, but the breathtaking scenery and elegant accommodation make it great for keen après-skiers as well. Winter wonderlands just don't come better than this.