You just can't rely on one thing anymore
Each winter, the Australian alps offer a quiet test of how much a society will spend — in money, in technology, in hope — to preserve a seasonal ritual that the climate is slowly withdrawing. The 2026 ski season opens with genuine snowfall and strong bookings, yet beneath the optimism lies a more difficult truth: artificial snow-making has become essential infrastructure, lift pass prices have doubled in fifteen years, and scientific modelling suggests the season itself may shrink by weeks before mid-century. What unfolds on these slopes is not merely a leisure story, but a parable about adaptation, denial, and the cost of holding on.
- Snow cannons worked overtime before opening weekend, quietly filling the gaps that nature left — a sign of how dependent the industry has become on manufactured conditions.
- The Bureau of Meteorology is forecasting below-average snowfall and a likely El Niño, putting the resorts' bullish optimism in direct tension with the science.
- Lift pass prices have more than doubled since 2010, and visitors are already arriving with their own food and tents — the economics of a ski holiday are quietly breaking down.
- A 2024 ANU report projects Australian ski seasons could shrink by up to 55 days by 2050, making snow-making not a luxury but a question of whether the industry survives at all.
- Resorts are pivoting hard toward summer — alpine coasters, mountain biking, hiking — betting that the mountain itself, not the snow, is the lasting asset.
The snow arrived just in time. Between twenty and forty centimetres fell across the Victorian and New South Wales alps before the long weekend, enough to open the season — though cameras revealed a patchwork of white slopes and bare brown earth. What the resorts were quieter about was how much of that white had been manufactured. Snow cannons and snow factories had worked through the nights, filling in what nature had not provided. This is now standard practice, not a backup plan.
Thredbo's general manager Stuart Diver was confident, pointing to strong sales and dismissing the Bureau of Meteorology's forecast of below-average snowfall. Vail Resorts, which operates Perisher, Falls Creek, and Hotham, reported solid advance interest. But senior Bureau forecaster Jonathan How was direct: dry, warm conditions and a likely El Niño were converging in ways that historically produce unreliable snow cover. The resorts could manufacture snow, but not the sustained cold that keeps it from melting away.
The cost of a day on the mountain has become its own pressure point. A single lift pass that cost around one hundred dollars in 2010 now costs more than double that, even as resorts offer family discounts and multi-day deals. Vail's opening weekend special — ninety-nine dollars, echoing the 2010 price — acknowledged the strain. Visitors have been arriving with their own food and camping gear to manage expenses, and online frustration about pricing has become a persistent backdrop to every season launch.
The longer horizon is sobering. A 2024 Australian National University report found that under current emissions trajectories, ski seasons could shrink by forty-four to fifty-five days by 2050. Even aggressive emissions cuts would still mean a shorter season, at least until later in the century. The industry's own summit in May recognised snow-making as a climate resilience measure serious enough to be considered public infrastructure.
Diver framed the challenge as an invitation to reinvent. Thredbo has invested ten million dollars in an alpine coaster drawing over one hundred fifty thousand visits a year, and is building out summer offerings in mountain biking and hiking. The season would open, people would come — but the resorts are already designing for a future in which snow in Australia is a bonus, not a given.
The snow came in time for the opening weekend. Between twenty and forty centimeters fell across the Victorian and New South Wales alpine regions in the days before the long weekend, enough to blanket some slopes while leaving others patchy and bare. The Bureau of Meteorology confirmed the falls were widespread, though the cameras told a more complicated story—some areas genuinely white, others showing through to the brown earth beneath. What the resorts didn't say out loud was that much of what skiers would see had been manufactured. Snow cannons and snow factories—machines that produce snow regardless of temperature—had worked overtime to supplement the natural falls. This is the new reality of Australian skiing: technology as essential infrastructure, not luxury.
Thredbo's general manager, Stuart Diver, was bullish. Sales were up. He dismissed the Bureau of Meteorology's forecast of below-average snowfall, pointing to last year as proof that the experts had been wrong before and would be wrong again. Vail Resorts, which operates Perisher, Falls Creek, and Hotham, reported strong advance interest in the 2026 season, though the company released no actual numbers. The resorts wanted the narrative to be simple: the season is here, it's good, come spend your money.
But the meteorologists were not optimistic. Jonathan How, a senior forecaster at the Bureau, laid out the problem plainly. Dry, warm conditions were moving in. El Niño was likely to form in the coming weeks. Together, these were a bad combination—the kind that produces slushy, unreliable snow cover rather than the deep, stable base that skiers need. Lower rainfall and higher temperatures, he said, tipped the odds against a good season. The resorts could make snow, but they couldn't make the cold that keeps it from melting.
The cost problem was separate but equally pressing. A one-day lift pass in 2010 cost about one hundred dollars. By 2026, that price had more than doubled, though resorts now offered discounts for families, beginners, and multi-day passes. Vail was running an opening weekend special at ninety-nine dollars—effectively returning to the 2010 price—with an optional one-dollar lesson attached. The message was clear: we know you're struggling. Last year, the ABC reported that visitors were bringing their own food, tents, and barbecues to cut costs. Online complaints about lift pass prices had become a constant hum.
The long-term picture was darker still. A 2024 report from the Australian National University modeled what climate change would do to the ski season. If current emissions trajectories held, Australian ski seasons would shrink by between forty-four and fifty-five days by 2050. Even if carbon emissions were cut aggressively and kept down, the season would still be twenty-eight days shorter by mid-century, though recovery might begin by 2080. The Snow Resorts Australia Summit in May had acknowledged that snow-making was now a critical climate resilience measure—so critical, some argued, that it should be considered public infrastructure.
Diver acknowledged the challenge but framed it as an opportunity. Thredbo was diversifying. The resort had invested ten million dollars in an alpine coaster that drew about one hundred fifty thousand visits annually. Summer trade in mountain biking and hiking was being developed. "It's got to be multi-pronged," he said. "You just can't rely on one thing." The ski season would open this weekend, and people would come. But the resorts were already building for a future in which snow, in Australia, could no longer be taken for granted.
Notable Quotes
It does not favour good deep snow cover for skiers. Lower rainfall and higher temperatures tip the odds against a good season.— Jonathan How, Bureau of Meteorology senior forecaster
It's got to be multi-pronged. You just can't rely on one thing.— Stuart Diver, Thredbo general manager
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter that they're using artificial snow if the natural falls are already happening?
Because the natural falls are becoming unreliable. Twenty to forty centimeters is decent, but it's also patchy—some areas got buried, others got nothing. Without the machines, you'd have a season that's uneven and short. The machines are becoming the difference between a viable business and a closed resort.
The resorts seem confident despite what the meteorologists are saying. Who's right?
Both, probably. The resorts are right that they've been wrong before—forecasts miss. But the meteorologists are describing a structural problem: El Niño plus warming means less reliable snow cover, not just this year but every year going forward. Confidence and reality can coexist for a while.
The lift pass prices have doubled. Are people actually staying away?
Not yet, apparently—bookings are strong. But the behavior is changing. People are bringing their own food, camping instead of staying in lodges. The resorts are feeling it enough to offer discounts. The cost-of-living crisis is reshaping who can afford to come and how they experience it.
What does a forty-four to fifty-five day reduction in the season actually mean?
It means the season gets shorter at both ends. It starts later, ends earlier, or both. If you're a resort operator, that's a massive revenue hit. If you're a skier, it means fewer weekends when conditions are good. By 2050, you might have a season that's barely worth operating.
Is diversification into summer activities actually viable for ski resorts?
It's the only play they have. Thredbo's alpine coaster is already drawing one hundred fifty thousand visitors a year. Mountain biking and hiking work in the same terrain. But it's not the same business—different customers, different margins, different infrastructure needs. It's a hedge, not a solution.