PARK CITY, Utah -- Eight of us stand at the summit of Jupiter Bowl, where a rope marks the boundary of Utah's Park City Mountain Resort and the backcountry, an area typically off limits to those with lift tickets.

Indeed, the sign next to us says, ''Area closed. Out of bounds." On this guided trip, however, the goal is to spend most of our time out of bounds. We will leave behind the ski lifts and groomed trails, and enter a pristine region where we blaze our own tracks through knee-deep powder and tune in to the sounds of the wind and the wintering chickadees.

Ski Utah's Interconnect Adventure Tour takes skiers into the heart of the Wasatch wilderness. In one day, we will cover 20 miles as we ski to five resorts -- Park City, Solitude, Brighton, Alta, and Snowbird -- stopping for a few runs at each area. Connecting the resorts by car would require 75 miles, or about 90 minutes of driving. A sixth resort, Deer Valley, has been added to the Interconnect lineup for the 2004-05 season, which runs now through April, weather and conditions permitting.

''This is the only place in North America where you can ski so many resorts in one day," says Rodd Keller, Interconnect's lead guide and a 30-year veteran of off-piste (unpatrolled, unprepared snow) skiing.

Adds Mark Menlove, another guide leading our tour, ''We are also the only group that has permission to ski out of bounds in the Wasatch Range," that permission granted by the Forest Service, a branch of the Department of Agriculture.

The tour is geared to people like us: advanced alpine skiers who have little to no experience exploring the backcountry. Skiers use the lifts at each resort to gain altitude, so there's minimal hiking and traversing along the Interconnect route. However, participants must be in good physical condition, because most of the tour is at altitudes between 8,000 and 11,000 feet. Participants must also be able to handle a variety of snow conditions, which can include deep powder, crud, and crust.

Those of us on this trip range from our mid-20s to 60s, and although we consider ourselves upper-intermediate to expert skiers, we are all apprehensive about journeying into the wilderness. Skiing off-piste demands specialized equipment, including avalanche beacons, and a knowledge of the terrain and ever-changing snow conditions. This is provided by Interconnect.

Menlove calms our nerves by giving us a run-down on safety issues and an overview on how to use our beacons and survive an avalanche, all skills we hope we won't have to use.

''Our first line of defense is to stay out of areas that can be dangerous," he says, as he checks to make sure our avalanche transmitters are on.

Another key to backcountry survival is being prepared: A 40-pound pack on Menlove's back contains a radio, cellphone, rope, shovel, avalanche probe, climbing skins, first-aid kit, snow analysis equipment, spare clothes, water, Clif Bars (energy bars), and chocolate.

''Ready to 'drop in'?" Keller asks, as the sun beats down on eight inches of fresh snow.

''Let's go!" someone says, and we slip past the ''Area closed" sign and the resort's ski patrol shack.

Single file, we make our way along a trail that cuts through pine forest and shoots us out several hundred yards later in Big Cottonwood Canyon, a large snow bowl dotted with aspen and firs standing in fresh, untracked powder that buries our skis. From the top of the Wasatch crest, the main divide in this region, we can see 50 miles, including peaks all across the range, the lifts at Solitude and Brighton, and the ridges dividing Big Cottonwood and Little Cottonwood canyons.

As a New Englander, I have the least experience skiing in powder of anyone in the group, so I let everyone else go first and study their moves, then hop and swoosh my way across an open field and down a sharply graded slope, trying to avoid the aspens along the way. We soon cross Guardsman's Pass road, a groomed route used by snowmobilers. When we reenter the deep powder, fellow skier Harriot does a ''dinner roll," as she calls it, taking an impressive plunge that leaves her embedded in several feet of snow with her feet well above her head.

I help Harriot to her feet, and we spend the next hour hop-turning and dinner-rolling down the valley. At the end of our long backcountry descent, we arrive at the base of Solitude Mountain Resort. From here, we catch several lifts (jumping into the ski-school lines to avoid the crowds) and shoot over to Brighton for several runs before returning to Solitude for lunch.

At Last Chance Mining Camp, we kick off our boots and fill up on much-needed burgers, chili, and hot chocolate. Rested and warm, we make our way to the top of the Summit chair, slip past another ''Out of bounds" sign, and prepare for our journey across the Highway to Heaven, a dramatic 1,500-foot traverse along the back side of Solitude's Davenport Peak. ''For some people, this is the white-knuckle part of the tour," says Keller.

With a grade of between 32 and 40 percent, this is prime avalanche territory. It is so steep I can reach out and touch the mountain with my hand. To my left, the slope sweeps down to the Twin Lakes and a small dam. Keller and Menlove wouldn't let us on the slope if they weren't confident we would be safe. Still, they tell us to keep at least 100 feet of space between one another.

As we're about to embark, Menlove adds, ''Also, you don't want to fall here."

It's not that we would tumble down to the frozen lakes at the bottom of the basin. The challenge, if one falls or dinner rolls here, is that the snow is so deep, it is virtually impossible to get up on your own. Jason, another skier in our group, finds this out the hard way, halfway along the route, when he loses his balance, tips over, and spends a frustrating few minutes trying to get up, until our guide helps him.

It takes almost an hour to get across the Highway to Heaven, and we all flop down in the snow atop Twin Lakes Pass to catch our breath and survey the route we've just tackled. Then we drop into Little Cottonwood Canyon and make another long descent to Alta ski area, some of us taking the forested route, others sticking to open spaces with sweeping views of the valley. We linger in Alta, a collective favorite, then shoot over to Snowbird for several final runs of the day, before a van picks us up to bring us back to Park City.

After nearly seven hours of skiing through large forests, in deep powder, and on steep slopes, we're all feeling a lot more confident with our backcountry skills. We agree that you need a healthy sense of adventure and strong alpine skills to do this trip, not to mention a curiosity for exploring what's on the other side of the ropes.

As we're returning our avalanche beacons to Menlove, we also agree that it's great having two guides to show us the way, be there when we need help, and teach us about backcountry travel as we go -- plus offer pointers that will keep the ''dinner rolls" to a minimum.

Kari Bodnarchuk is a freelance writer in Somerville.