When Snow Doesn't Fall: Colorado's Climate Wake-Up Call

Colorado's ski resorts are playing a waiting game they can't win. With only 57% of average snowpack by late January and half their runs closed, resort operators are learning a harsh lesson: you can't manufacture winter.

Winter Storm Fern dropped 23 inches on Crested Butte last weekend, bringing temporary relief to an industry that's been holding its breath since Thanksgiving. But this welcome snowfall feels more like a brief reprieve than a season-saving miracle.

The numbers tell a sobering story. By Thanksgiving 2025, Colorado had just 45% of its typical snowpack. Denver's December temperatures ran 11 degrees Fahrenheit above normal. This isn't just bad luck—it's a four-decade trend of declining November snowfall and shrinking March snowpack.

The Artificial Snow Mirage

Ski resorts have turned to technology for salvation, racing to fire up snow guns before Halloween. Keystone won the opening-day battle this year, but even their victory reveals the industry's vulnerability.

Even the most sophisticated snowmaking operations like Keystone can only cover 40% of their terrain. Most resorts manage less than 10%. The physics are unforgiving: you need wet-bulb temperatures below 28°F, and Mother Nature isn't cooperating.

Vail Resorts has poured over $100 million into snowmaking over the past decade. Yet this technological arms race comes with steep costs. Snowmaking devours 67% of a resort's electricity budget and billions of gallons of water. In the water-scarce West, expanding snowmaking isn't just expensive—it's legally complex due to rigid water rights laws.

Echoes of 1976

The industry has been here before. The winter of 1976-77 brought no snow until after Christmas, causing skier visits to plummet 38%. That crisis sparked the first major snowmaking investments, with Winter Park spending $1.2 million to save the following season.

But there's a crucial difference between then and now. The '76-'77 season was an anomaly. Today's challenges reflect a structural shift. Climate change isn't just making winters warmer—it's fundamentally altering the mountain West's seasonal rhythms.

Beyond the Slopes

The stakes extend far beyond the $5 billion ski industry. In Colorado's semi-arid climate, 80% of water comes from snowpack. Less snow means summer droughts, increased wildfire risk, and reduced flows for whitewater rafting, fishing, and river recreation.

Resorts are adapting with season pass pre-sales and summer diversification. Vail and Alterra now require October purchases or face daily tickets exceeding $300. The sport is pricing out middle-class families, becoming increasingly exclusive.

Some resorts like Winter Park have invested heavily in mountain biking and music festivals. But these summer activities can't fully offset a lost winter season.

The Waiting Game

Coloradans remember miracle turnarounds—the March 2003 blizzard that dumped 3 feet overnight, or the 2010-11 season that started dry but became the wettest on record. Hope springs eternal in mountain towns.

Yet the forecast through April remains ominously warm. The industry's technological solutions—snowmaking, season passes, summer activities—feel increasingly like band-aids on a deeper wound.