Arrowhead’s Winter Games

We went in search of snow. It did not seem an unreasonable quest. It was late January, after all, and we looked toward the mountains, where snow is often found.

Our two children had made it through the holidays, through all the white-mantled tales and movies and songs, patiently accepting our promises of post-New Year sledding and snow forts. We chose a weekend when those who live in snow country said the odds were pretty dang good. But as the preceding week ticked by, the temperature rose and rose and rose.

From Wrightwood to Big Bear to Arrowhead, no snow had fallen since a dusting before Thanksgiving. This is why one never should promise young children anything that one does not actually have stashed in the back of the garage.

Still, we went in search of snow and found it in the most likely place. They don’t call it Snow Valley for nothing.

Perched between the towns of Lake Arrowhead and Big Bear, Snow Valley Mountain Resort makes its own snow, and not just for the ski set. It’s made for the sledding set as well.

We left Glendale with a friend’s family at 10:30 on a Saturday morning--two carloads of ski pants and sleds and granola bars and children--and pulled into Snow Valley’s parking lot a bit before noon. Sliding out of the car, we shivered with anticipation, awaiting the bracing rush of frosty mountain air.

With temperatures in the low 50s, frost was not a factor; Arrowhead was cooler than L.A. but warm enough to make Richard and me feel more than slightly foolish shoving our kids into snow pants.

But there was snow. We could see it from the parking lot: a whole hill devoted to sleds and saucers, with enough piled up at the bottom for a decent snow fight or two. So we shouldered our trusty Flexible Flyers and went to the cashier.

For an Easterner, paying $10 a person to sled is bad enough. But when the cashier told me that our sleds weren’t allowed--we would have to rent plastic sleds at $5 a pop--I began to question the wisdom of the whole venture.

I turned to my husband to protest, only to see the three kids in our group racing toward the snow, laughing and reveling. My friend and I shrugged and handed the woman three 20s. “And two sleds,” we said.

It was clear why Snow Valley didn’t want heavy, traditional runner sleds on the slopes. The place was mobbed with kids, big ones and tiny ones, who clearly had little tobogganing training. No one seemed to grasp the importance of leaning as a steering mechanism. The only thing these kids knew how to do was scream.

But it didn’t matter. Our kids loved it. Loved it. Loved it. The children made pint-size snow folks, knocked them down and made them again. Fiona, my younger one at 22 months, wanted to slide down the hill so many times that my rear end, sans snow pants, went numb from the cold. My son, Danny Mac, and his friend, Bailey, both almost-4-year-olds, had numerous races (with rules that changed depending on who hadn’t won in a while).

We brought snacks even though food was also available at the resort. As the afternoon wore on, the hillside got a bit crowded; Danny was knocked off his feet by a careening teenager, and while the little guy manfully got back on the slopes, some of the fun was gone. Rosy-cheeked and breathless, all three kids were soon eager to get to the hotel.

One of the joys that offsets the difficulties of traveling with small children is their unadulterated enthusiasm for staying at a hotel. Any hotel.

The Lake Arrowhead Resort is right on the water, and as we checked in we realized we had just enough time to make the last ride of the Arrowhead Queen, a paddle boat that takes 11/2-hour tours around the lake year-round.

The two families quickly checked out our rooms, two adjoining units that didn’t have lake views but were spacious. After a few obligatory bounces on the beds and a brief fight over who would push the elevator buttons, the kids thundered out of the hotel and down toward the boat.

It was a great big boat, and mercifully only a few people--patient, lovely people--were on it. Because after the thrill of watching the wheel turn and the shoreline slide away, the children were mostly interested in running around.

We asked the captain, who had seen our kids in action, for a recommendation for dinner. He suggested the Cedar Glen Inn, and it was perfect: cozy and family oriented, with a big booth in the corner that gave the kids some wiggle room. The service was fast and friendly, and most of the food was great. The kids ordered grilled cheese all around. The adults had lemon pepper chicken, prime rib and scampi.

The shrimp, unfortunately, wasn’t so great. When the waiter noticed the full plate and discovered my friend didn’t like the dish, he took it off the bill. Everything else was delicious. The kids got scoops of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and lots of whipped cream. The desserts were so large that the adults were forced to help finish them.

Back at the hotel, we availed ourselves of an outdoor hot tub even though the temperature had dropped. The resort has two tubs outside, one ingeniously set at a lower temperature for children. It was just warm enough for the adults to enjoy, and the kids were as happy as seals.

The next day, my family ordered room-service breakfast: waffles, pancakes and two “early risers,” spreads that included cooked-to-order eggs, toast, and bacon or sausage.

While the dads got ready, the moms took the kids to the resort’s small beach, where we skipped stones. Then we all headed out to the small outlet mall behind the hotel for a little shopping and a visit to the Lake Arrowhead Children’s Museum (admission $3 or $4, depending on one’s age).

“Museum” may be overstating it. The place is more of an elaborate play area. But the kids had plenty to do: an anthill climbing area, a faux grocery store, the obligatory firefighter costumes. It was good for an hour or two, after which it was time for lunch at nearby Casa Coyotes’ Grill & Cantina, where we commandeered the banquet room and feasted on fairly good quesadillas, tacos, chicken salads and tortilla soup.

We checked out and said goodbye to our friends. Richard and I had planned to take our kids hiking in nearby Green Valley. When we finally did set out for the trail, Fiona and Danny Mac fell sound asleep in the car. So after driving around a bit and enjoying the glorious views, we departed. In two hours we were home, promising ourselves that the moment there was snow, real snow, Christmas-type snow, we would be back.

Mary McNamara is a features reporter at The Times.