greener

It’s the worst ski resort nightmare: hillsides of shaggy yellow grass streaked with slush under a leaden sky that’s coughing up sleet. Parts of Europe – places previously accustomed to crisp snow fields and pristine blue skies – are now facing this calamity, something meteorologists might describe as a British winter.

Not everywhere, of course. Only lower altitudes are seeing such disasters. Higher up, normal service continues. I’m in the Swiss resort of Laax, where most of the slopes are at about 2,000 metres, lofty enough to be snow-secure, for now. The halfpipe is busy with dudes in baggy trousers and headphones nonchalantly practising their double corks. On the traditional pistes there are four-year-olds who could probably ski before they could walk. And then – Switzerland has its wacky side – three young men in first-world-war greatcoats on antique wooden skis propel themselves with rough-hewn quarter-staves.

Is all this destined to disappear, perhaps in our children’s lifetimes? To put it in stark, white and black terms: are ski resorts in the same predicament as oil-dependent desert states, watching their one key source of wealth dwindle and disappear?

If so, Laax is not going down without a fight. This unusual Swiss resort, close to the Austrian border, is making a bold attempt to be carbon neutral by 2030, a goal that requires cutting out all oil use, making all energy generation sustainable, and reducing food waste to zero. Stung by climate crisis criticism levelled at the ski industry, this community is now far ahead of most. What I have come to see may turn out to be the future of winter sports.

Down in Laax, I meet Reto Gurtner, 71, CEO of the Flims Laax resort. His father built the first ski lifts back in 1962. “Although there had been summer visitors since the 19th century, Laax was a poor village back then,” says Gurtner.

In the 1970s, something significant changed. Gurtner went to study at UCLA and, under the California sun, discovered skateboarding. Even now the memory makes his eyes light up. “They were inventing new sports and I loved the style: no nationalism or militarism. Skateboards, mountain bikes, snowboards – if you did a good run, everyone applauded. It didn’t matter who you were. There was a freedom about it.”

He came home with a degree in economics, but more importantly perhaps, a snowboard and a mountain bike. “We went up on the glacier and built the first halfpipe with shovels.”

At first, there was a lot of resistance. Local ski outfitters refused to stock snowboards, while in summer, farmers were outraged at the sight of cyclists pelting down mountain tracks. “We made every cyclist wear a bib,” says Gurtner with a chuckle. “Then the farmers thought it was a race and were fine with that.”

Conversation with Gurtner is a wild ride. We cartwheel through Steve Jobs, the German poets and the Wu-Tang Clan, as he describes how his visionary approach evolved into something he calls “greenstyle”, an optimistic and well-designed future.

That vision is found in all the new buildings around the resort, nowhere more so than the ski lift in the neighbouring village of Flims, where I head with local guide Doris Rellstab. “The new gondola system does away with unoccupied ski gondolas going up and down the mountainside,” she says. A complex algorithm allows skiers to choose one of five destinations up the mountain, despatching individual gondolas, which balances energy efficiency with passenger demand. As we are lifted smoothly up over the fir trees, the quiet efficiency of this on-demand system becomes immediately apparent.

Rellstab tells me how things have changed in the half century since she began teaching winter sports. “Yesterday, I taught my first Arab group. They were a lot of fun.”

Our destination is Segnes, high above the treeline at 2,100 metres. Having left the gondola, we don snow shoes and head into a bowl-like snow-filled valley. A couple of miles ahead, the valley ends in a sheer rock face topped by a jagged range of peaks. “That’s the Tschingelhörner,” says Rellstab. “Can you see the line in the rock below the peaks? That was once a geological mystery.”

In 1848, the celebrated geologist Roderick Impey Murchison arrived here with a local expert, Arnold Escher von der Linth. Older rocks were overlaying younger, a puzzle for which there was no explanation. It took more than a century for scientists to solve the problem: the ancient African tectonic plate was riding up over the younger European one. The world was indeed upside down.

In summer, this area is covered in rare Alpine flowers and there’s a mountain hut to stay in. Next to us are the tracks of a snow hare. “Wildlife is doing well here,” says Rellstab. “The wolf and lynx have both returned.”

In fact, climate change appears to be assisting wolves in the Alps. The first Alpine pack was recorded in 1993, and by 2021 there were more than 250, with an annual growth rate of about 25%. Switzerland, once entirely wolf-free, now has about 40 packs. Rellstab shows me a website where sightings are monitored. There are conflicts with farmers and hunters, but the numbers keep growing, an indication that parts of the ecosystem are doing well out of retreating snowlines.

Perhaps more surprising is that lack of snow is not a big worry to the resort. As Gurtner points out: “Laax is not snow-dependent. A halfpipe or a snow freestyle playground doesn’t need a lot, and we make it with hydro power. And we’ve got mountain bikes and amazing hikes.”

Later that day, I am up on the mountain with my skis, wandering around on blue runs. Conditions are a bit icy and I’m playing safe, finding myself on a less frequented route that dips down into the valley. And then I come over a ridge and the snow on either side is gone – only the piste remains, a broad band of white curling down through green pasture dotted with lovely old barns. Cannon snow is more durable, surviving longer when the “real” stuff melts. Most Alpine ski stations are already reliant on it, but unlike many, Laax does not add any chemical or biological additives to the water in its cannons. With sustainable power sources and electric piste-grooming machinery now becoming available, cannon snow is not as environmentally destructive as it may appear.

At the foot of the hill, I reach the village of Falera, neighbour to Laax. There is one old chair lift, clanking and squeaking, and as I approach it comes to a halt. “Sorry,” says the attendant, “we are closed now.”

I wander into the village, all hand-hewn barns with neat log stacks. I can’t see any cars. If Laax is taking the technological solution, its neighbour appears to have chosen a less frenetic and more traditional route to net zero. After 20 minutes, a bus (electric, naturally) appears. As I ride back to Laax, I check the wildlife website that Rellstab recommended. And I get a shock. According to a CCTV report from a few hours earlier, a wolf had walked within a mile of me. Outside my hotel, I jump off the bus. Evening is falling. I wait for a line of silent cars to go by. With electric motors everywhere, the town is hushed. Climate change, I reflect, is nothing if not unpredictable. When the wolves howl, you will hear them.

The trip was provided by Flims Laax and rental equipment by Ecoski . Trains run from Zurich via Chur and the Rhine Gorge to Ilanz, where there’s a bus service to Laax. Inghams offers a seven-night trip to Laax from £1,618pp B&B, including flights