With a warming planet, and if radical action isn’t taken to combat climate change, ex-competitive freestyle skier, adventurer and travel filmmaker WADE HOLLAND takes a look at what snowsports may look like in the future – by backpacking, hiking and skiing his way through the highest sand dune national park in North America…
Every skier lives for face shots. Face shots of that crisp, fluffy, buttery, white stuff. Face shots that send grown-ups back into their childhood selves with hoots and hollers. Face shots that transform men and women into complete animals! Hounds; local legend powder hounds! But what if, in the near future, we completely lose that? What if someday we’re living in a world where that fluffy white stuff gets replaced by SAND?! Tragically, that dystopian future might not be as far off as you think.
The facts are there: the Earth is warming at alarming rates. June 2021 was the hottest month in recorded history in North America, and just last month Sicily reported a temperature of 48 degrees Celsius, making that the warmest temperature recorded in Europe EVER. While summers seem to be getting increasingly unbearable, winters are getting shorter and more mild. The United Nations Environment Programme identified the ski industry as “one of the most vulnerable industries” to climate change worldwide. The world is changing for the warmer, and snowsports will be the first among the casualties.
THE MOGUL SKIER
I grew up as a competitive freestyle mogul skier in Montana in the ’90s. These were the days before Montana became “cute” and “trendy.” Before Kevin Costner’s hit series Yellowstone made it cool to be from the Great White North. When I was growing up, I remember Montana had bitterly cold winters, and serious snow storms that absolutely dumped for days. Storms that left cars completely encased in snow, that forced schools to cancel class due to hazardous conditions, and that enabled the kinds of skiing that became the stuff of legends. The REAL legends of Yellowstone. In my early ski days at Bridger Bowl, there was so much snow that as you were riding the chairlift, you’d see only the top of a snorkel curving its way down the mountain slopes. You’d realise that, yes, that was a person underneath all that snow. This is how I’ll always remember my early childhood days of skiing, and a large part of why I got obsessed with the sport in the first place.
The rule breakers and best skiers on the mountain were always mogul skiers. Those were the ones pushing the sport forward and always getting the most shouts and cheers from the chairlift. So that’s what I became, a competitive freestyle mogul skier. Mogul skiing led me to Colorado — Ski Country USA, baby! The ski history there is rich: you have the oldest operating ski hill in all of North America there, and it’s the original home of the 10th Mountain Division — legends in the annals of ski history. These were the hardened troops in World War II who were trained and taught to use weapons and conduct operations in deep powder on skis, and at elevations of over 9,000 feet in preparation for missions in the Italian Alps. So needless to say, as far as North America is concerned, Colorado essentially claims the founding seeds of the sport.
SNOW vs SAND
By contrast to the postcard picturesque ski imagery of Colorado, the southern part of the state might be the most otherworldly, alien-like part of the whole Rocky Mountains. The dramatic rocky peaks juxtaposed with striking high desert, with little to none of the iconic forestry that’s quintessentially Colorado, almost feels like another planet. This almost-Martian environment (which happens to be the largest alpine desert in the world) seems about as extraterrestrial a landscape as you can imagine. You’re also greeted with Colorado’s only alligator farm and UFO Watchtower, so you really start to feel far far away in a distant galaxy. You almost have to stop and constantly remind yourself that, wait a second, I’m still in Ski Country USA. Weird. This is where I was introduced to North America’s highest sand dunes, with the largest being Star Dune. These mountains of sand got me thinking: first, can I ski those, and second, what if this becomes the future of skiing?
As an adventure personality and environmental advocate, my belief is using my platform to enact radical action — or at least move the needle in one way or another. So why not attempt to ski the highest sand dunes in North America and show what skiing may look like in a not so distant future. I hauled my gear out into the desolate dunes outside of Mosco, Colorado. I threw my skis over my shoulder and hiked into the backcountry of what felt like the Sahara desert. I got to the top of Star Dune and reflected on those childhood days of literal winter wonderlands in Montana, and I couldn’t help but think about how now, I was transported as an adult into a giant hourglass – grains of sand spilling further and further down over time until nothing remains.
Looking over a vast sea of sand, I thought of all the livelihoods that would be terribly affected if the ski industry had to shift this dramatically, to adapt entirely to dunes instead of slopes. I clicked into my bindings and stood at the top of the dune ready to race to the bottom like I had a million times before. It felt strangely familiar, only this time I was drenched in sweat and was getting scorched by the pounding desert sun. I pushed off the dune racing to the bottom of the valley… but it wasn’t really racing.
I felt stuck, like I was skiing down a slip-n-slide covered in tar. I tried picking up momentum, but I immediately realised this was nothing-at-all like snow. It felt like I had sandpaper on my feet. It was a struggle picking up any real speed and to maneuver with the same ease I was accustomed to. I eventually found a rhythm, but this was not skiing. This was something else. This wasn’t the cold smoke that I fell in love with as a kid in Montana — the kind of skiing Warren Miller described as, “a dance, and the mountain always leads”. There was no dance here, and instead of leading, the mountain was actively resisting. This was more like trying to do the tango underwater.
I got a taste of what a world without snow would be like. It was certainly novel and an unforgettable experience, but once the skis were off, it was gruelling, hostilely arid, exhausting, and felt almost nothing like the sport that I know. Snow is forgiving. Sand on the other hand — is not. When the wind starts to howl (which is all hours of the day), sand feels like a million little rocks relentlessly pelting you all over your body. I wore shorts and a tank top, so I’d totally underestimated that level of exposure with this sand. Every single crevice of my body had tiny grains wedged in it, and this was just from the hike out to Star Dune. If you’ve ever walked on a beach, you know it can be slow moving — now add a backpack with boots, skis, equipment and hike up a steep mountain face of sand under the blistering sun.
CLIMATE CRISIS
I won’t mince words. The next day we are beyond climate change — we’re in a full-on climate crisis. Over my lifetime, I’ve watched the lesser-known slopes around the American West disappear. As winter storms fail to bring in fresh powder, artificial snow-makers have become a necessary insurance policy resorts are increasingly investing in to stay in business. But not everyone is playing at the same level, and ultimately the small hills will be (or in some cases, have already been), the first to go.
Year after year, more of the smaller ski resorts around the world are closing their doors. Just last week Holiday Mountain Resort in Manitoba announced they will not open this upcoming winter due to an unprecedented drought that has persisted over the summer. Locally run mom and pop ski hills who can’t afford snow-making machines to run throughout the season, or struggle to financially stay afloat with a shorter season (fewer operational days to run the lifts), are falling by the wayside. This might be one of the biggest tragedies of the sport as a result of a rapidly changing climate.
Some of these smaller hills just get gobbled up by the major ski corporations. The problem here is that once you lose these independent ski hills, you lose a part of ski culture. These hills helped birth the sport and created the beloved spirit of skiing. Affordable lift tickets, no frills, unrestrained creativity and an utter absence of corporate liability were essentially the core pillars baked directly into the DNA and spirit of skiing.
This ethos was central to the explosion of the sport in the late ’70s ’80s and ’90s, and is exactly what Warren Miller set out to represent in his films, which spread that message globally. Yet today, this version of the sport seems so foreign. With lift tickets hitting US$210 for a day of skiing, it’s no longer a sport for the common person. It’s become more of a country club experience and with the climate shuttering doors to more and more of these original small ski hills, we’ll start seeing more of a “tee time reservation” kind of experience rather than the original version of the sport I fell in love with. Eventually, the original version of skiing (like we once saw in Greg Stump’s Blizzard of Ahhhs) will be lost altogether.
If this sounds dire, that’s because it is — we’re watching this happen in real time, and anyone who’s paying attention or has ties to the snow has taken note. I’ve watched snowsports legends like Jeremy Jones form organisations like Protect Our Winters, and fight on the front lines to try to protect and preserve even a shadow of the joy we didn’t realise we were taking for granted as kids. Some major gear companies have even gone on the record saying they’re shifting focus from developing new snow sports equipment to developing more water and land-based sports gear.
As one voice in a growing movement of creators who believe the outdoors should be for everyone (and should also still be there for our grandkids), I am comforted at the increasing support I’m finding on this shared mission to be more proactive, informative, thoughtful and responsible with how we explore this planet — and more importantly, how we encourage others to do so as well. I’m keenly aware, through comments and DM’s and emails and Zoom calls, that the desire to “ensure that the outdoors are still out there when we finally get the chance to reacquaint ourselves with them” is a message that is resonating stronger and further than ever.
The world is working around the clock to return to normal and people are working aggressively to make up for the lost time. With any luck, they’ll do so with a shared acknowledgement that if we’re not all careful, we the occupants of this small blue ball will soar upward to the sun with reckless abandon — only to fall hard in a barren and desolate pile of sand where the great outdoors of our generation once stood. Take it from me, sand is an absolutely miserable substitute for snow. ■
Wade Who?
Wade Holland is an adventure personality, award-winning filmmaker and popular multi-channel content creator. He has developed, produced and starred in creative content and advertising campaigns for major networks and multi-national brands while his original content has won accolades including GoPro Awards, Emmy nominations and air time across global networks.
A former competitive freestyle skier originally from Montana, Wade’s lust for life has led him from snow-capped slopes to capturing and creating his own content. After winning TNT’s adventure reality show, 72 Hours, Wade built his own content shop, spotlighting original series and telling the stories around the adventure sphere.
In the relentless pursuit to get more people off the couch and out into nature, Wade has fully devoted himself to creating content that helps make the outdoors more approachable and inclusive, while promoting individuality and conservation.
For more on Wade check out wadeholland.media or follow him on Instagram at @wadeholland
Photographed by Connor Tieulie/Shandrew PR
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