As the chairlift creaked upward at Cypress Mountain last February, the view below wasn’t the pristine white powder that had drawn generations of Vancouver skiers to these slopes. Instead, patches of mud and rock peeked through a thin layer of manufactured snow, with nearby runs closed entirely. For Marissa Chen, who learned to ski here as a child, the scene was jarring.
“My parents have photos of me learning on these exact runs when I was five, completely buried in snow,” she told me as we balanced on the narrow strip of artificial snow. “Now my own kids might not get to experience real winter here at all.”
Chen’s concerns reflect a growing reality across Canada’s winter sports landscape. What was once considered a distant climate threat has arrived at our doorstep, transforming beloved winter traditions and threatening the economic foundation of communities built around snow and ice.
The data tells a sobering story. Environment and Climate Change Canada reports that winter temperatures have increased by 3.3°C in Canada since 1948, more than double the global average. In British Columbia alone, the average snowpack has declined by approximately 5% per decade since the 1950s, with low-elevation coastal mountains experiencing even steeper drops.
“We’re essentially witnessing the slow-motion disappearance of reliable natural snow conditions at many traditional winter recreation sites,” explains Dr. Daniel Scott, University Research Chair in Climate and Society at the University of Waterloo. His research indicates that under current emissions scenarios, more than half of Canada’s ski areas may struggle to maintain economically viable seasons by mid-century.
The impacts extend far beyond recreational inconvenience. In Whistler, where winter tourism generates over $1.5 billion annually, the town council declared a climate emergency in 2019 after witnessing shrinking glacier coverage and increasingly unpredictable winters. The resort now invests millions in snowmaking technology while simultaneously developing summer attractions as insurance against warming winters.
For Canada’s winter athletes, the changing climate has forced adaptation on multiple fronts. Emma Stevens, a freestyle snowboarder from Halifax who competed internationally, describes training challenges that were unimaginable a generation ago.
“When I started competing ten years back, we worried about too much snow or extreme cold,” Stevens explains as we walk around a half-pipe that opened two weeks late this season. “Now we’re constantly checking forecasts for rain events or warm spells that can destroy a course overnight. We’ve had to travel much further north to find reliable training conditions.”
Indigenous communities across northern Canada face particularly acute disruptions to traditional winter activities. In Iqaluit, where temperatures have risen almost twice as fast as the global average, changing ice conditions have made traditional hunting routes increasingly dangerous.
“The ice doesn’t form the way our elders taught us to read it,” says Pitseolak Alainga, who has organized community-based ice monitoring programs. “Knowledge that sustained our communities for generations is becoming less reliable with each passing winter.”
The economic ripple effects extend throughout winter sport ecosystems. Small businesses from equipment rental shops to restaurants in ski towns report shorter viable seasons and more volatile weather patterns disrupting their operations. Statistics Canada estimates that winter tourism contributes approximately $5.7 billion to the Canadian economy annually, a figure increasingly threatened by warming temperatures.
At Cypress Mountain, operations director Patrick Gendron walks me through the expanding snowmaking infrastructure that has become essential to the resort’s survival. Nearly $3 million has been invested in high-efficiency snow guns and water storage capacity in recent years.
“Twenty years ago, snowmaking was supplementary—something we did at the beginning of the season or during dry spells,” Gendron explains as technicians monitor computer systems controlling the artificial snow production. “Now it’s fundamental to our entire operation. Without it, we simply couldn’t open many seasons.”
Yet snowmaking itself faces limits in a warming world. The technology requires temperatures below freezing, increasingly scarce in coastal regions during early and late winter months. It also demands substantial energy and water resources, raising questions about sustainability in regions already experiencing climate-related water stress.
Not all winter sport adaptations are technological. In Quebec’s Eastern Townships, cross-country ski operator Réseau Plein Air Sutton has diversified its trail network to include fat-biking and winter hiking options that require less snow coverage. The organization has also shifted its business model, offering flexible membership options rather than traditional season passes to accommodate unpredictable conditions.
“We can’t fight nature,” explains network coordinator Isabelle Groulx. “So we’re learning to work with what each winter gives us while helping our community understand that variability is the new normal.”
Climate scientists emphasize that while adaptation is necessary, reducing carbon emissions remains essential to preserving Canada’s winter recreation heritage. A 2023 report from the Climate Action Network Canada indicates that limiting warming to 1.5°C could preserve viable winter conditions at roughly 65% of current ski areas through 2080, while unmitigated emissions would reduce that figure to less than 30%.
As our society grapples with these changes, winter sports communities increasingly find themselves on the front lines of climate advocacy. The Protect Our Winters Canada organization has mobilized thousands of outdoor enthusiasts to push for climate policies that might preserve the recreational activities they love.
“Winter athletes and enthusiasts have become some of our most powerful climate messengers,” notes David Erb, the organization’s executive director. “When someone who’s spent their life on snow or ice describes how dramatically their environment has changed, it cuts through political noise in a unique way.”
Back at Cypress Mountain, as Marissa Chen and I complete our run on increasingly slushy snow under unusually warm February sunshine, she points toward the North Shore mountains where her grandfather first taught her father to ski in the 1970s.
“I wonder what my kids will tell their children about Canadian winters,” she says quietly. “Will it be stories about something lost, or about how we managed to save what matters most?”
The answer, like so much regarding our climate future, remains unwritten. But for those whose identities, livelihoods, and traditions are tied to Canada’s winter landscape, the urgency of the question grows with each passing season.
