There is a great quote in Shakespeare's Hamlet: "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

The point of this quote is to argue that the universe is fundamentally neutral. When an event happens, it is neither good nor bad; the label is determined by the judgment we ultimately bring to it.

Take snow, for instance.

Here in Toronto, I find that when it snows, people tend to look at it as a bad event. They think of the traffic that will ensue and the work that will be required to clear out walkways and driveways. But I love snow (maybe because I don't have a driveway). Snow is good. As an avid snowboarder, it gets me excited for the winter season.

And right now I can tell you that I'm praying to the snow gods for a dumping or two in Northern Utah. The entire Mountain West region is off to a slow start this season and has had to delay resort openings. My judgment tells me this is "bad."

Now, let's consider the real estate development market.

The prevailing narrative right now is that it's bad. But Hamlet would say that only thinking makes it so. An alternative way to think about the market is that it's presenting a generational buying opportunity.

Like snow, I would call that a good thing.

We landed on Hokkaido yesterday. And when we got out of the airport, it was snowing. The first thing we did was stop in Sapporo for lunch and, while we were there, it continued to snow.

After lunch, we drove west to Niseko, and for almost the entire 2-hour drive, it was whiteout conditions. It was the first time I had ever seen a place use flashing red arrows hung above the road to indicate the edge of the outer lane.

This, I quickly learned, is invaluable in a place like Hokkaido; it's so that both drivers and snowplows know where they're going and know their limits. But to be honest, many other places should probably adopt it as well.

We are now on day two and it's still snowing. The stats do not lie: this is one very snowy place. As I understand it, the main reason for this is its location, and not its elevation. I'm sitting at ~280 meters right now (whereas Park City is over 2,000 meters up).

But it does have mountains.

And when warm air from the Sea of Japan mixes with cold fronts from Siberia, and then intersects these mountains, it produces beautiful dry powder snow, and lots of it. "Japow" is no joke, as you can tell from the above photos.

I've been reading this book before bed over the last few days. It's about the Wasatch Mountains in Utah, but more broadly it's about how snow works, why and where in the world epic storms happen, how not to get killed in avalanches, and how global warming is impacting our climate. It's written by Jim Steenburgh, who is professor of atmospheric science at the University of Utah and author of the blog Wasatch Weather Weenies. And I'm finding it really fascinating, even if there are limits to how granular I want to get on the science behind stellar dendrite snowflakes.

One of the main questions he answers is, of course, the title of the book: Why is the powder skiing and snowboarding so good in Utah? Is it in fact, the greatest snow on earth? (The State of Utah started using this very successful slogan in 1962 and it made its way onto license plates starting in 1985). It turns out that there's lots of science to support this claim, particularly when it comes to the Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons on the east side of the Salt Lake Valley. This is where you'll find resorts like Snowbird, Alta, Brighton, and Solitude.

Little Cottonwood Canyon has one of the most dramatic snowfall contrasts in the world. At its entrance in the valley, the average annual snowfall is about 100 inches. But drive 7 or so miles into the canyon to Snowbird (which during a snowstorm can be super treacherous), and the average annual snowfall increases to over 500 inches. Generally speaking, the average annual snowfall in the canyon increases by about 100 inches per 1,000 feet of elevation gain.

One of the reasons for this is that the terrain surrounding the Cottonwoods is both high and broad, which means that it is exposed to storm flows coming from nearly any direction. During "stable storms", this can also create a blocking front, where storms get caught on the windward side and continue to dump in one place, instead of passing over the mountain. This is one of the reasons why there's this saying: "It doesn't need a reason to snow in Little Cottonwood Canyon; it needs a reason to stop."

Another very snowy place in the world is Japan's Hokkaido Island. In fact, Jim argues that if there's any place that could give Utah a run for its money with the claim of the greatest snow on earth, it's here. Based on historical data, Hokkaido Island has a 90% chance of at least 100 inches of snow in the month of January. This is a lot more than Utah, though snowfall falls off more quickly outside of the peak months.

So statistically, if you want the highest probability of powder snow during the month of January, Hokkaido is the place for you. It also happens to be where we're going for our annual ski and snowboard trip this year. I'll be sure to report back and confirm whether this is true or not.

The last chapter in the book is on climate change and he starts by stating the obvious: global warming is real. The climate of the Wasatch Mountains today is demonstrably warmer than it was when they were mining silver in Little Cottonwood Canyon in the late 19th century. That is bad news for skiing and snowboarding, and already in the Western US, declines in the average snowpack below elevations of 8,000 feet have been observed.

The good news is that there's yet to be a clear and consistent trend above 8,000 feet (at least according to Jim when he wrote the first edition of this book about a decade ago). So stay high up, my friends. If you're interested in this topic, or climate in general, I would highly recommend you check out Jim's book. Or at the very least, his blog. I'm going to take my copy of the book and leave it at Parkview Mountain House the next time I'm there so it's available to everyone who visits. It's fascinating stuff.

Cover photo by Alex Moliski on Unsplash

There is a great quote in Shakespeare's Hamlet: "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

The point of this quote is to argue that the universe is fundamentally neutral. When an event happens, it is neither good nor bad; the label is determined by the judgment we ultimately bring to it.

Take snow, for instance.

Here in Toronto, I find that when it snows, people tend to look at it as a bad event. They think of the traffic that will ensue and the work that will be required to clear out walkways and driveways. But I love snow (maybe because I don't have a driveway). Snow is good. As an avid snowboarder, it gets me excited for the winter season.

And right now I can tell you that I'm praying to the snow gods for a dumping or two in Northern Utah. The entire Mountain West region is off to a slow start this season and has had to delay resort openings. My judgment tells me this is "bad."

Now, let's consider the real estate development market.

The prevailing narrative right now is that it's bad. But Hamlet would say that only thinking makes it so. An alternative way to think about the market is that it's presenting a generational buying opportunity.

Like snow, I would call that a good thing.

We landed on Hokkaido yesterday. And when we got out of the airport, it was snowing. The first thing we did was stop in Sapporo for lunch and, while we were there, it continued to snow.

After lunch, we drove west to Niseko, and for almost the entire 2-hour drive, it was whiteout conditions. It was the first time I had ever seen a place use flashing red arrows hung above the road to indicate the edge of the outer lane.

This, I quickly learned, is invaluable in a place like Hokkaido; it's so that both drivers and snowplows know where they're going and know their limits. But to be honest, many other places should probably adopt it as well.

We are now on day two and it's still snowing. The stats do not lie: this is one very snowy place. As I understand it, the main reason for this is its location, and not its elevation. I'm sitting at ~280 meters right now (whereas Park City is over 2,000 meters up).

But it does have mountains.

And when warm air from the Sea of Japan mixes with cold fronts from Siberia, and then intersects these mountains, it produces beautiful dry powder snow, and lots of it. "Japow" is no joke, as you can tell from the above photos.

I've been reading this book before bed over the last few days. It's about the Wasatch Mountains in Utah, but more broadly it's about how snow works, why and where in the world epic storms happen, how not to get killed in avalanches, and how global warming is impacting our climate. It's written by Jim Steenburgh, who is professor of atmospheric science at the University of Utah and author of the blog Wasatch Weather Weenies. And I'm finding it really fascinating, even if there are limits to how granular I want to get on the science behind stellar dendrite snowflakes.

One of the main questions he answers is, of course, the title of the book: Why is the powder skiing and snowboarding so good in Utah? Is it in fact, the greatest snow on earth? (The State of Utah started using this very successful slogan in 1962 and it made its way onto license plates starting in 1985). It turns out that there's lots of science to support this claim, particularly when it comes to the Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons on the east side of the Salt Lake Valley. This is where you'll find resorts like Snowbird, Alta, Brighton, and Solitude.

Little Cottonwood Canyon has one of the most dramatic snowfall contrasts in the world. At its entrance in the valley, the average annual snowfall is about 100 inches. But drive 7 or so miles into the canyon to Snowbird (which during a snowstorm can be super treacherous), and the average annual snowfall increases to over 500 inches. Generally speaking, the average annual snowfall in the canyon increases by about 100 inches per 1,000 feet of elevation gain.

One of the reasons for this is that the terrain surrounding the Cottonwoods is both high and broad, which means that it is exposed to storm flows coming from nearly any direction. During "stable storms", this can also create a blocking front, where storms get caught on the windward side and continue to dump in one place, instead of passing over the mountain. This is one of the reasons why there's this saying: "It doesn't need a reason to snow in Little Cottonwood Canyon; it needs a reason to stop."

Another very snowy place in the world is Japan's Hokkaido Island. In fact, Jim argues that if there's any place that could give Utah a run for its money with the claim of the greatest snow on earth, it's here. Based on historical data, Hokkaido Island has a 90% chance of at least 100 inches of snow in the month of January. This is a lot more than Utah, though snowfall falls off more quickly outside of the peak months.

So statistically, if you want the highest probability of powder snow during the month of January, Hokkaido is the place for you. It also happens to be where we're going for our annual ski and snowboard trip this year. I'll be sure to report back and confirm whether this is true or not.

The last chapter in the book is on climate change and he starts by stating the obvious: global warming is real. The climate of the Wasatch Mountains today is demonstrably warmer than it was when they were mining silver in Little Cottonwood Canyon in the late 19th century. That is bad news for skiing and snowboarding, and already in the Western US, declines in the average snowpack below elevations of 8,000 feet have been observed.

The good news is that there's yet to be a clear and consistent trend above 8,000 feet (at least according to Jim when he wrote the first edition of this book about a decade ago). So stay high up, my friends. If you're interested in this topic, or climate in general, I would highly recommend you check out Jim's book. Or at the very least, his blog. I'm going to take my copy of the book and leave it at Parkview Mountain House the next time I'm there so it's available to everyone who visits. It's fascinating stuff.

Cover photo by Alex Moliski on Unsplash