So simply to look on anything, such as a mountain, with the love that penetrates to its essence, is to widen the domain of being in the vastness of non-being. Man has no other reason for his existence. Nan Shepherd

When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world. John Muir "Unseasonably Warm" is a documentary series exploring the impact of climate change on Scotland’s skiing industry. In mid-January 2022, in warm, low winter sun, I journeyed from my home in Nairn to two of Scotland’s iconic ski areas: the Lecht 2090 and Glenshee. The temperature that week was what meteorologists might term ‘unseasonably warm’: several degrees above zero on the mountain, double digits in the glens. Too warm to sustain the snow which had fallen over Christmas, which had seen crowds flocking to the slopes after two seasons severely shortened by Covid-19. In February of that year, I returned to the Lecht and Glenshee, and latterly the Cairngorm Mountain, to survey the snow conditions once more. Little had changed. It’s sometimes difficult for people to understand the implications of climate change until they can physically see them. This was certainly the mildest winter I had experienced since moving to Scotland in 2016. Regular snowfall has always been a precarious conditioning factor in the success of Scotland’s ski resorts. My own experiences of skiing in Scotland in the 1980s were of skiing on slush while dodging exposed patches of mud. Those less enamoured of Scottish skiing - enthusiast and detractor alike - argue that it belongs to a bygone era: “It’s had its day, let nature reclaim the mountain.” But this lack of snow and milder climate feels different. Decisive. The landscape is changing before our eyes, and the Snow Road Scenic Route is littered with the ruins of the old ski tourism economy: the Struan House Hotel, the Spittal of Glenshee Hotel, the Blackwater Inn. The winter of 2022-23 had been declared ‘make-or-break’ for a sector worth £30m to the Scottish economy. Given the number of snow cannons dotted around the resorts, resort operators were working hard to maintain some snow cover and keep skiing going. The conditions in the winter of 2021 were said to be the best in a decade, but this seems to be an aberration rather than a cause for celebration. In the short to medium term, all the data points to Scottish winters becoming warmer and wetter. Harsh winters of sub-zero temperatures and roads being blocked by deep snow will become the exception, not the norm, in our lifetime. Little wonder many of Scotland’s ski centres are already pitching themselves as ‘activity resorts’ with a new focus on all-year-round hiking and mountain biking. This has important implications: for seasonal tourism in Scotland and the economic impact on neighbouring towns like Aviemore, Braemar and Tomintoul; for those who have based their livelihoods on skiing in Scotland having a degree of longevity; and, most crucially, for the long-established, delicate ecosystems within the landscape itself. Few environmentalists will shed tears for the decline of an industry which has impacted on the natural beauty of the Cairngorms National Park - and the decline of skiing in Scotland perhaps presents an opportunity to rethink the landscape and rewild the abandoned slopes. Nevertheless, in social, economic and environmental terms, the impact of climate change marks a defining moment in the story of Scottish skiing.