Utah’s legendary ‘Greatest Snow on Earth’ wouldn’t exist without Great Salt Lake. The lake is crucial in fueling the state’s snowpack, creating the deep, fluffy powder that defines its world-class ski industry. But as Great Salt Lake shrinks, this delicate cycle is unraveling–impacting everything from snowfall levels to the broader ecosystem. The consequences of a diminished lake stretch far beyond its shoreline, reaching all the way to the mountain peaks.
Great Salt Lake’s cycle begins kilometers away over the Pacific, where storm clouds form and move east. As they pass over the Sierra Nevadas, the warm and humid air butts up against the mountain range and an upward ascension causes the air to rapidly cool—water then condensing and falling from the sky as rain. Not all of it falls, however, and the nearly depleted clouds continue on towards Utah’s Wasatch range.
Great Salt Lake, a 1,600 square mile body of water that’s too salty to freeze, recharges the storms with moisture—and these refreshed storms head right towards Alta, Snowbird, Solitude, Brighton, Deer Valley, and Park City: Utah’s premier ski resorts and home to the “Greatest Snow on Earth.” The reason our snow is oh-so-good is because Great Salt Lake has just the perfect touch of water to add to those storms that come rolling by. The quality of our snow is directly affected by the lake: not too heavy, not too wet, but a perfect balance.
In spring, the snow will melt and make its way into aquifers. These groundwater stores hold the once lake-water for a time before it runs down in mountain streams and joins rivers heading back to Great Salt Lake, where it will wait to evaporate and come down as snow once more.
At least, that is how the cycle should work. In reality, much of the water never makes it back to Great Salt Lake. Instead, it’s diverted for human consumption. About 20% of diverted water goes to municipalities and industry, eventually returning to the lake after treatment. But the remaining 80% is used for agricultural exports, alfalfa feed and the like, that are predominately exported out of the state, thus breaking the Utah water cycle and leaving Great Salt Lake water levels in a perpetual decline that not only harms the ecological functioning of our state, but also disrupts our famous ski season.
A shrinking lake means fewer storms picking up moisture, leading to less snow. But the impacts don’t stop there: as more area of the lake-bed is exposed, wind picks up fine dust and deposits it on the Wasatch snowpack. Like wearing a dark shirt on a sunny day, the dust particles paint the snowpack a darker color that absorbs heat rather than reflects it. This causes the snow to melt faster, and can actually end the ski season early. In a future with a damaged Great Salt Lake, we will see lower elevations resorts dry first: Park City and Deer Valley. Then the Cottonwood resorts. Until the only skiing to be had will be at the tops of Alta.
Like any other Utahn, I spend most of my winter obsessing over, daydreaming about, and battling traffic for that fluffy white stuff. Skiing lights my fire. There is no better feeling than slashing two pieces of wood through 6 feet of powder. And to be honest, a big reason why I’ve stayed in Utah is for the unparalleled ease of access to world-class snow skiing. But the future of skiing here is at risk. Without action, the legendary snow we all cherish could disappear.
There are many reasons to save the Great Salt Lake—ecosystem health, air quality, human well-being—but for many, skiing is the most tangible connection to this crisis. People move here for the snow, buy timeshares, invest in property, and build their lives around access to world-class skiing. Even those who don’t live here are stakeholders in preserving this natural resource.
The solution is simple: We must work together as a state and as a community to use less water. This means helping farmers transition to water-efficient technology, adopting water-wise landscaping, and donating water shares to the lake. If you love skiing the Wasatch as much as I do, and don’t want to see it disappear, now is the time to act. It’s possible to change our course, to fix our water cycle. It’s possible to save the lake. But we can’t do it without you: our community of outdoor enthusiasts, our recreationalists, our visitors, and our skiers.