That's a 23 percent decline attributed to conservation efforts, something we'll need even more if snow becomes precious in years ahead. Yet snow as resource, and snow as policy, really doesn't get to the root of our fascination with the stuff. It's a midwinter psychological release. The first modern ski lift was built to accompany the first modern ski resort, at Sun Valley, Idaho, in the 1930s, starting an industry so dependent that the first snow-making machines were introduced in the 1950s. The wet glop that is our ski-slope snow is groomed like a lawn, tidying up after downhill skiers who can each shove a ton of snow out of place in a day.
Nothing transforms the environment more quickly, or more magically, than snow.
What seems cold to us is a sheltering cocoon for over-wintering plants, crawling insects and burrowing mammals. Snow itself is often rich in algae, bacteria, ice worms, fallen vegetation, dirt, bugs and spiders. Snowpack is necessary for the most arresting parts of our scenery, from Mount Rainier glaciers to wildflower meadows. A snowy mountain is a sculpture garden of depressions around the trunks of trees, fantastically flocked branches, sensuous drifts and surface cups where pockets of dirt absorb sunlight and melt their own depressions. In the weird lakes of Antarctica, these dips can become 3 and 4 feet deep.