There comes a time in every new skier's life where you have to strap on your goggles, get a firm grip on your poles, look down the wind-battered slopes below and say: "Aaaaaaaaaaarrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! What am I doing here, and please tell me that lift thing can carry me back down!"For me, that first warm-and-fuzzy moment of terror came at Alpine Meadows, where I ventured for my first real ski excursion in May 2003. That was the time the Sierra got hammered by snow late in the spring, leaving great skiing for the only resorts still open - Squaw Valley and …