The Economist Asia - 27.01.2018

52 International The EconomistJanuary 27th 2018

2 trously snowless seasons between 1988

and 1990. Even asthe climate haswarmed,

their ski season has lengthened. It may be

no coincidence that some of the world’s

biggest makers of snow machines are

based in the Dolomites.

As for environmentalists’ accusations

that ski resorts are wasting water, not to

mention electricity, Mr Cappadozzi is un-

moved. They account for a fraction of the

water used for agriculture or industry, he

argues. Most of the snow ismade in a short

burst at the start of the season; the water is

only temporarily held on the slopes before

it flows back into streams and aquifers.

Even so, Mr Cappadozzi reckons snow-

making accounts for about 13% of his ex-

penditure, a cost passed on to skiers.

In some places water really is scarce.

The small Kaberlaba station in Asiago (alt.

1,000 metres), in Italy, is on porous rock;

water quickly drains away. Rather than

make snow with expensive (and some-

times rationed) tap water, Paolo Rigoni, the

manager, started to use treated municipal

sewage in 2010, an idea for which he re-

ceived a presidential prize. Customers do

not mind skiing on recycled effluent, he in-

sists: “It’s not that different from water

treatment in some American cities.”

Beyond snow-making there is “snow

farming”, as practised in the Austrian re-

sort of Kitzbühel. At an altitude of only 800

metres, it is often regarded as the most vul-

nerable of the big Alpine stations. The re-

sort stockpiles some snow in winter and

covers it through the summer for use in the

autumn. This allowed Kitzbühel to open its

first runs on October 14th last year, before

most rivals; it hopes to keep skiers going for

200 days, its longest-ever season. Is this a

marketing wheeze? No, smiles Josef Burger,

boss of the Kitzbühel lift company, it is a

strategy to draw keen skiers and athletes:

“The early bird catches the worm.”

For Carmen de Jong of the University of

Strasbourg, the headlong rush into snow-

making is costly, environmentally damag-

ing and ultimatelyself-defeating. “Many

resorts are closing their eyes to reality,” she

says. She advocates a “deceleration” in the

winter-sports industry.

Nowhere are things more unreal than

in north-east Asia. Pyeongchang, and espe-

cially the area around Beijing, are certainly

cold in winter, but are largely snowless.

And with relatively low mountains, new

runs are being cut through forests to ac-

commodate the Olympic downhill races.

Ski resorts are proliferating in China, in-

cluding those in the Chongli district north-

west of the capital that will host some of

the sites for the Olympics in 2022. They are

covered completely with artificial snow.

This is despite the fact that the water table

in Beijing has dropped alarmingly over the

decades, and enormous diversion works

are sending some of the Yangzi’s waters to

the capital. In a warming world things here

could get yet drier. Wind turbines may be

spinning on ridges in Chongli to provide

the snow-makers with green power; but

the surreal white streaks painted on barren

mountains, as if by a calligrapher’s hand,

seem to spell “waste”.

China’s golf courses, which also have

an exorbitant thirst, face punitive water ta-

riffs. The Chinese state regards golf as a

source of corruption. But skiing is, for now,

clean middle-class family fun, and thus

gets an environmental free ride. “It is white

opium. It’s addictive,” pronounces He

Huan, a gym instructor who snowboards

at Wanlong, the biggest resort in Chongli.

Xi Jinping, China’s president, has spo-

ken of 300m Chinese taking up winter

sports. Where the leader points, the state

follows. Skier-days are growing by 20% a

year; 78 new (mostly small) resorts opened

in 2016 alone, says Benny Wu, a consultant.

“It could grow at this rate for another 15-20

years,” he declares. Chongli is served by a

four-lane highway; a high-speed railway

line will be completed by next year. Soon

Beijingers could live in the clean air of

Chongli and commute to the capital.

Around the world, operators are hop-

ing that just a fraction of the potentially

huge cohort of Chinese enthusiastswill

one day travel to their resorts. That is one

reason why most will not admit that they

face a bleak future. Many recognise it indi-

rectly, though, when they speak of diversi-

fying, particularly by expanding the sum-

mer season. In shrinking winters, they say,

ski resorts compete against each other; in

summer they can take a biggerchunk of

the fast-growing global tourist market.

Another possibilityis, like Johannes Ba-

drutt more than 150 years ago, to lure win-

ter visitorswith no skiing at all. Rather

than invest in snow-making, the operators

of Stockhorn in Switzerland decided in

2004 to build a restaurant at the top of the

cable-car (alt. 2,100 metres) offering visitors

candlelit dinners overlooking Lake Thun.

On the slopes there is winter hiking, night

snowshoeing, ice-fishing, an igloo village

and more. “We changed from noisy skiing

to soft winter,” says Alfred Schwarz, its

boss. “We have more visitors, especially in

summer, and we are more profitable.”

Perhaps in ever hotter summers more

holiday-makers will seek the coolness that

high altitudes provide. Might mountains

once again become summerretreats, as in

the 19th century? Chamonix, the home of

mountaineering, makes almost as much

money in summer as it does in winter. Chi-

nese day-trippers, among others, are keen

to glimpse Mont Blanc.

This is not a future which everyone be-

lieves in. Not every ski resort has an iconic

mountain that looks wonderful in sum-

mer. And for all the golf, horse-riding and

mountain-biking that may be on offer,

nothing draws people quite like the thrill

of snow, many resort officials say. Their

mantra is: “Skiing is not everything. But

without skiing there is nothing.”

On top of the world

Sooner orlater (through regulation and

carbon pricing, or global warming) resorts

will have to rethink their model. Small,

low-lying stations will have to find alterna-

tives to skiing or close. Rich ones in high

places and with good sources of water and

electricity may thrive. Chamonix, though

at just 1,000 metres, has pistes reaching

3,300 metres. “If we will not be able to ski

here any more, we will not able to ski any-

where,” says Eric Fournier, the mayor. “We

may even attract more people.” That may

be a problem, too. The Chamonix valley is

often shrouded in smog, the product of

wood-burning chimneys and the exhaust

fumes of lorries rumbling to the Mont

Blanc Tunnel between France and Italy.

How paradoxical. Snow-sports enthu-

siaststhink of themselves as great lovers of

nature and clean air, more conscious than

most people ofthe changing climate. Yet

their sport is becoming ever more man-

made, expensive and exclusive. Perversely,

it is also becoming more polluting, produc-

ing ever more emissions of greenhouse

gases to survive. That only hastens the

melting of the snow and ice. As Victor

Hugo put it: “How sad to think that nature

speaks and mankind will notlisten.” 7

Schaffhausen Garmisch-Partenkirchen

Bellinzona

Innsbruck

Salzburg

Bolzano

Trento

Kitzbühel

Davos

St Moritz

St Anton

am Arlberg

Ischgl

Sölden

Wildkogel

Wilder

Kaiser

Zillertal Arena

Alta

Badia

Lienz

Val Gardena/

Grödental

Marmolada

glacier

Vaduz

Zürich

SWITZERLAND

GERMANY

SLOVENIA

AUSTRIA

Do

lom

ite

s

50 km

Not viable

Viable, with snowmaking

Viable, with natural snow

Source: R. Steiger & B. Abegg

Alpine resorts

2°C rise in average temperature

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