I had definitely made the best choice, I thought smugly as I stepped into my cross-country skis. I was on a winter getaway in Colorado with two friends, Amy and Diana, who were into alpine skiing and spas, respectively. While Amy was zooming down runs at nearby Winter Park Resort and Diana was tucked into a dark room having muscles kneaded, I'd be exploring the renowned Devil's Thumb Ranch on Nordic skis, peacefully drinking in its incredible beauty.

Devil's Thumb Ranch sits cradled in the Fraser Valley about 15 minutes west of Winter Park. Surrounded by the Rockies, including the Continental Divide, its 5,000 acres of lush meadow and woodlands are filled with an abundance of wildlife. They're also criss-crossed by more than 100 kilometers of groomed cross-country trails, making the Thumb Colorado's largest Nordic resort.

With only about an hour to ski, I couldn't begin to do Devil's Thumb justice. But I was heading out with an expert guide who would help me make the most of my time. She and I spent the first 30 minutes or so trekking around the ranch's immense meadow, my neck craning here and there to ooh and aah at the surrounding peaks. Then it was time to tackle the wooded, undulating mountainside.

Suddenly the guide looked past me and said, "Oh, look! We're going to get a little snow." No sooner had the words left her lips than a light curtain of white swept across us. Within minutes the pleasant snowfall became thick and heavy, the wind picked up and we were in the midst of a whiteout. We turned back to the resort's Adventure Center, which I couldn't even see.

After what seemed like hours of slogging through the now-ungroomed snow, we stumbled back into the center covered in such a thick layer of flakes that my eyes were nearly pasted shut. When I finally opened them fully, I saw Diana, post-massage, sprawled across an overstuffed chair, practically purring. She took one look at me and smirked. OK, so maybe I was freezing and needed someone to shovel me off, but I'd experienced some of the magic of the Thumb. And I was mesmerized.

Simple beginnings

Devil's Thumb opened as both a working ranch and guest dude ranch in 1940. By the 1970s, the Olympic cross-country ski team had begun training there. In the winter of 1975-76, the resort first welcomed guest skiers, who quickly spread the word about its great trails and scenery. The skiing remained prime over the years, but the facilities slowly became outdated. In 2001, Devil's Thumb and the adjacent Diamond Bar T Ranch were put up for sale.

To stop a developer from turning the properties into a golf course surrounded by homes, Colorado residents Suzanne and Bob Fanch snapped up both parcels. To preserve both the pristine environment and the Thumb's cross-country heritage, they created a luxury, environmentally friendly resort. The result: 16 lush log cabins furnished with antiques, the Ranch House Restaurant & Saloon and the Broad Axe Barn, which houses a spa, pool, wine cellar.

Woven into the design of each are geothermal heating, fireplace chimneys that limit emissions and restaurant menus that emphasize locally grown foods.

My experience had hooked me. The next winter, I returned with my husband, Ed. On our first night, we climbed the steps of our cabin in the darkness and heard an owl's hoot loudly echo through the still night air. The next morning at breakfast, folks chattered about the moose that one family spied outside their cabin door a few hours earlier. The staff wasn't surprised, though, since the ranch is home to moose, elk, bear, coyote, fox, antelope and beaver, to name a few.

Happy trails

Eager to see what we'd spy on the trail, we quickly grabbed skis and headed out. Activities manager Seth Martin pointed us to one of the best intermediate trails, Blue Extra, and told us we'd feel like we had the place to ourselves. About 75 percent of the visitors, most of them beginning skiers, ski on 10 percent of the trail system, he said. "If you're an intermediate to advanced skier, you can go out and never see anyone."

The trail wound through stands of aspen and swaths of lodgepole pine. As we effortlessly climbed hill after hill, and easily negotiated some steep downhills, we realized we had prime conditions. The Thumb sits at 8,500 feet; that means the air is dry and the snow basically never gets slushy or icy, instead remaining powder.

Just when our stomachs started to grumble, we came upon one of three yurts scattered about the grounds to provide shelter for weary skiers (or those caught in a whiteout). The interior was toasty, thanks to a wood-burning stove, which was flanked by two overstuffed chairs. Tables and folding chairs were also provided, and there was a porta-potty and deck outside.

Back in our cabin that night, Ed was pondering whether we should return next winter with our dog, Riley. "After all," said Ed, "I read that two of the cabins here are dog-friendly, and they rent skijoring equipment." I quickly nixed that idea; there's no way I'd hook myself up to our hyper English setter and have him pull me on skis. But a return trip with Ed? Absolutely.