JACKSON, Wyo. - The first thing to do before your ski trip to northwest Wyoming is rent Shane. The classic 1953 Western was filmed in Jackson Hole. Alan Ladd rides tall in the saddle, and Grand Teton National Park provides the spectacularly craggy backdrop. Do not assume, though, that Jackson Hole, for all its Hollywood iconography, is the be-all and end-all of Wyoming skiing. Or scenery. Or authentic Western personality.

"Everybody thinks of Wyoming as a place of extremes," says Stuart Thompson, at once defiant and wistful. "Steepest terrain, most vertical this, most radical that. . . . But it's not necessarily so."

Thompson owns and almost single-handedly operates the White Pine ski area 80 miles southeast of Jackson in Wyoming's emptiest range, the Wind Rivers. His graying, Marlboro-man mustache twitches over a sideways grin. When we met in his sun-splashed day lodge, he walked in wearing cowboy boots and a blue neckerchief. He couldn't stay long - he had to trailer a horse over to American Falls.

Thompson bought me coffee, changed into ski boots, and took me on a tour of what he says is "not really the little ski area it's thought to be." True, 500 skiers is "a big day" here. (A big day at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort would be closer to 5,000 skiers.) And Thompson and his wife, Mary, and their partner Max Lundberg "empty the garbage, cut the firewood, teach the kids to ski, and change the tires on the truck."

White Pine has a lot going for it, including 1,100 vertical feet of high-quality north-facing snow; 25 trails off the mile-long triple chairlift; natural, rolling terrain perfect for families and intermediates; and the genuine town of Pinedale in the valley.

Pinedale was a rendezvous point during the fur trade of the 1830s, when mountain men trapped and traded for beaver pelts all through these mountains. My motel, the Half Moon Lodge, wasn't that old, but it was a real trophy - a mounted-trout and elk-antler kind of place, its sign a massive tree-ring slice above the office door.

White Pine is one of the oldest lift-served ski areas in the West. It opened in 1939, the same season as Alta, Utah. They got financial help from the local pharmacist, road-building help from the young men of FDR's Civilian Conservation Corps. And they hooked up an old Ford flathead V-8 to run the pioneering cable tow.

When Stuart and Mary Thompson bought White Pine in the mid-1990s, the operation was still fairly primitive. They sold hamburgers through a hole cut in the side of a horse trailer. You'd never know it now. The spacious, wood-and-glass lodge is wired for WiFi and decorated with Mary's museum-quality collection of ski art. The two triple chairlifts are state-of-the-art Pomas.

"We've got Deer Valley skiing without Deer Valley prices," Stuart Thompson says, referring to the famously polished Utah resort.

My next stop was Grand Targhee, on the other side of Teton Pass from Jackson Hole. You drive through Idaho to get there. The road leaves the spud-farming Teton Valley at Driggs and climbs steeply back into Wyoming, up to what the locals call "the Grand side of the Tetons."

They get away with this boast because the 13,770-foot Grand Teton - the highest peak in the range - is actually more prominent here than it is from the Jackson Hole ski area. The "grand" boast sticks, in skier's minds anyway, because Targhee gets a lot more snow than Jackson Hole does.

The afternoon I arrived at Targhee's compact resort village, Jackson had just broken a mini-drought with a 13-inch storm. Targhee reported more than 2 feet, and it was still snowing in the gauzy, apricot light. The roofs supported 6 feet of overhanging snow, like mushroom caps. And the path up to my room in the Teewinot Lodge was a corridor carved 6 feet deep through the drifts.

Targhee's operation is self-contained and environmentally progressive. In a dozen simply designed buildings - all within easy walking distance of the lifts - you have lodge rooms, a general store, rental and pro shops, a kids' club, spa, naturalist cabin, conference center, family movie theater, breakfast deli, fancy steak house, and a high-beamed bar with a red-hot reggae band from Salt Lake City.

It's like Biosphere in the snow.

The ownership may not be quite so folksy as the Thompsons down at White Pine, but the vibe is friendly in a way that the major destinations often find elusive, or a bother. The whole resort is smoke-free. And there is a seven-point manifesto writ large in the central plaza. It sounds a little Pollyanna-ish, but the sincerity was wholly charming: ". . . Dedicated To Our Environment, The Community and The Future."

My future was a whole lot of powder skiing the next morning. At Snorkel's for breakfast, I sat beneath a giant photo mural of a powder skier engulfed up to his goggles and breathing through a snorkel. Targhee is one of the few places in North America where this image is not hyperbole. Alta would be another one. Maybe Red Mountain, British Columbia. Jay Peak, Vt., on a very good day.

I didn't need a snorkel this day. The new snow had come in with a little wind, so it was more like meringue than talcum powder. But it covered every inch of what by any standard is a big mountain: 2,200 vertical feet over 2,000 acres, with three high-speed quad lifts.

Thanks to the mountain's breadth - and a dearth of trees, courtesy of an ancient burn - there is a giddy sense of choice as you descend. The farther down you go, the more options you seem to have. I didn't see my feet all day, and I was still finding untracked snow when the next apricot dusk said, "Stop."

Jackson locals don't come over to Targhee much. It's only an hour's drive. Sure, they have their own hill 20 minutes from home. But there is a snob factor, too. Targhee is not as steep as Jackson Hole. Few places are. Targhee does not have a Swiss-built tram that whisks you 4,139 feet to the summit. Few places do, outside the Alps.

But neither will you find a scrap of untrammeled snow at Jackson Hole the day after a storm. I skied there following my lonely sojourn at Targhee, and while the snow was cold and soft, it was not deep. And I shared the lifts, and lift-lines, with what seemed like the entire North American population of extreme skiers. Very good skiers, most of them, young and ambitious and all riding the latest big-mountain sticks. At times in Laramie and Cheyenne bowls, it felt like swimming with sharks.

Don't get me wrong. Jackson Hole is everything it's cracked up to be. The reputation is earned: steepest, tallest, toughest, just like Stuart Thompson said. The skiing here will kick your butt no matter how accomplished you are.

It's just that, like a chosen few other Rockies towns with rich histories and good ski hills (and nearby airports and movie-gorgeous settings), the rush to claim a piece of this paradise has resulted in a, shall we say, split personality.

For example, I stayed one night at the Snake River Lodge and Spa, a hundred yards from the tram dock. The concierge whisked my skis right out of my hands. The bed would have satisfied a princess. The indoor/outdoor swimming pool had hot waterfalls and a fake-rock grotto.

I spent a second night in Jackson, 12 miles from the ski area, at the 400-room Virginian. The Virginian has a full-sized elk on the roof and two bighorn sheep bashing skulls in the smoky Saloon. In Jackson, you can drink Moose Drool at the Cowboy Bar or sip fine single-malt at 43 North. You can ski with the sport's rock stars or wonder which of the myriad valley-floor subdivisions contains Dick Cheney's country-club home.

Like Aspen and Telluride, Jackson Hole struggles to be both authentic and gated. My favorite spot was a breakfast place next to the Virginian that refused to take itself too seriously. The bacon and hotcakes came fast and generous. There was a big black-and-white photo from Shane ("Shane! Come back!") on one wall.

The local cops had a table staked out for themselves. Another big table appeared to be reserved for guys in coveralls, coffee mugs in hand. A wooden sign identified it as the "Table of Knowledge." A second sign corrected the first. It said: "Table of B.S."

Skiing Hollywood's Wyoming

Jackson Hole Airport is inside Grand Teton National Park, about 12 miles from the town of Jackson, 90 miles from Pinedale, and 50 miles from Grand Targhee. United and US Airways have flights to Jackson Hole from Philadelphia with one stop. The lowest recent round-trip fare was about $519.

Pinedale ("All the Civilization You Need") is on U.S. Highway 191, southeast of Jackson. White Pine Resort (www.whitepineski.com) is out of town, up winding Fremont Lake Road toward Gannett Peak, Wyoming's highest at 13,804 feet. Alpine and groomed cross-country skiing. Lift ticket: full day, $40; half day, $30. For lodging: www.pinedaleonline.com (click on "Businesses"). The ski area has furnished log cabins for rent during the winter; call 307-367-6606 for rates and reservations.

Grand Targhee Resort (www.grandtarghee.com), near Alta, Wyo., is a self-contained resort village on the sunset side of the narrow Teton Range. (Jackson Hole is on the east side.) Slopeside rooms start at $89, suites and townhouses from $189. See winter specials online. 2009 lift ticket price: $69. Cat skiing on an additional 1,000 acres guarantees untracked powder.

Jackson Hole is two places: Teton Village at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort (www.jacksonhole.com), and 12 miles away, the old town of Jackson. 2009 lift tickets start at $55 a day. Lodging runs the gamut, from RockResorts' Snake River Lodge and Spa (www.snakeriverlodge.com) to the clean and comfortable Virginian Lodge (www.virginianlodge.com; standard double $59.), seven blocks from Jackson's monumental elk-antler arches.

On the mountain, you must have at least one Moose Drool at the iconic Mangy Moose Saloon; their dinners are good, too, and reasonable. In town, try 43 North, a "neighborhood pub and grille." Don't hold the spelling of grille against them; the food is excellent, and there is live music most nights.

- Peter Shelton