‘Ghost resorts’: as hundreds of ski slopes lie abandoned, will nature reclaim the Alps? | Ski resorts

WWhen the Céüze 2000 ski resort closed its doors at the end of the season in 2018, workers thought they would be back the following winter. Trail maps were stacked next to a stapler; staff turnover pinned to the wall.

Six years later, a yellowed newspaper dated March 8, 2018 is folded on its side, as if someone had just leafed through it during a quiet period. A half-drunk bottle of water remains on the table.

The Céüze resort, in the Southern Alps of France, had been open for 85 years and was one of the oldest in the country. Today it is one of many abandoned ski resorts across France – part of a new landscape of “ghost resorts”.

More than 186 have already been permanently closed, raising questions about how we leave the mountains – some of Europe’s last wild spaces – once the ski lifts stop operating.

As global warming pushes the snow line higher across the Alps, thousands of structures are left to rot – some of them collapsing and contaminating the surrounding land, fueling debate over what should happen to the remnants of ancient ways of life – and whether to let nature reclaim the mountains.

Snowfall at Céüze began to become unreliable in the 1990s. To be financially viable, the resort had to be open for at least three months. Last winter it only lasted a month and a half. For the previous two years, it had not been able to function at all.

Opening the resort each season has cost local authorities up to €450,000 (£390,000). As the season shortened, the numbers no longer added up. To avoid a spiral of debt, the decision was made to close.

“It cost us more to keep it open than to keep it closed for the season,” explains Michel Ricou-Charles, president of the local community council of Buëch-Dévoluy, which oversees the site. Even under the most optimistic projections, the future looked bleak. “We considered using artificial snow, but realized that would delay the inevitable,” he says.

It took seven years before trucks and helicopters arrived to begin removing the pylons. Yet the local community mourned the small, family-run resort, which held generations of memories. When the demolitions began, they came to collect nuts, bolts and washers as souvenirs of what they had lost.

Degrading wilderness

In France, today, 113 ski lifts totaling nearly 63 kilometers in length are abandoned, almost three quarters of which are in protected areas. It’s not just about ski infrastructure. The Mountain Wilderness Association estimates that there are more than 3,000 abandoned structures scattered across the French mountains, slowly degrading Europe’s richest wild lands. This includes military, industrial and forestry waste, such as old cables, pieces of barbed wire, fences and old machinery.

The Céüze ski resort is one of these pollutants. The small wooden cabin at the bottom of the first button elevator loses its insulation. The ropes once used to mark the track are in tatters and pieces of plastic are falling from a pylon. The old hangars located at each end of the ski lifts often still contain transformers, asbestos, engine oils and greases. Over time, these substances leach into the soil and water.

Corrosion and rust of metal structures left over from World War II, such as anti-tank rails and metal spikes, have led to changes in plant species in the surrounding area, potentially offering a vision of what could happen if the pylons rust in the coming decades.

“In Latin, we say mori memory – remember that you are mortal. Do not think that you are creating eternal things; they will eventually become obsolete,” says Nicolas Masson, of Mountain Wilderness, who campaigns for the dismantling of old ski infrastructures to make way for nature. “When you build them, ask yourself the question: what will be left?

Some believe the resorts should remain memorial landscapes, honoring the generations of people who lived and skied here; others think they should be returned to wild landscapes without their disintegration machines.

The recovery of nature

The deconstruction of Céüze began on November 4, 2025, one month before the start of the ski season. The resort’s ski lifts were evacuated by helicopter to minimize environmental disruption and ground compression.

French law requires the removal and dismantling of ski lifts if they are no longer used. The law, however, only applies to ski lifts built after 2017. Most last 30 years, so no lift will be considered obsolete until at least 2047. The process is also expensive: dismantling Céüze will cost €123,000. This means that most abandoned ski infrastructure disintegrates in place. What is happening in Céüze is rare.

With the pylons cleared and the station already closed for seven years, the first signs of ecological recovery are already visible. A red mist floats on the white snow: the winter berries of the rosehip grow where the slopes are no longer mown.

The berries are an important winter food for birds such as the rare chough, and their thorny stems are used for nest building in spring. In summer, orchids and yellow gentians bloom on these hillsides. The hills surrounding the site are Natura 2000 listed, meaning they are home to some of the rarest and most protected wildlife in Europe.

The trees are coming back too. “I don’t know if it will take 10, 20 or 50 years, but it’s becoming a forest,” says Masson.

Wild boars and deer living in these forests will benefit from calmer winters. Birds like grouse grouse shelter from the intense cold in winter by digging in the snow and prefer deep powder snow, just like skiers. The species is threatened in all mountainous areas of France.

The dismantling of Céüze comes at a time when many natural spaces are shrinking. Pierre-Alexandre Métral, a geographer at Grenoble Alpes University who studies abandoned ski resorts, says: “There’s a lot of debate about the nature of this dismantling: is it just removing mechanical elements, or are we trying to return the mountains to some sort of original state?”

Ecological recovery can be full of surprises, he says, noting that trail maintenance can benefit some alpine flowers. “If we let nature return spontaneously – in a wild and uncontrolled way – there are also risks that certain invasive species, which tend to be stronger, will colonize more quickly,” says Métral.

There is little research in this area, but studies of the closure of the Valcotos ski resort in Madrid’s Sierra de Guadarrama in 1999 show that this led to a significant recovery of native vegetation and cleaner waterways, while reducing soil erosion.

“These are laboratories of what the mountain could be in the future with new closures,” believes Métral.

At the edge

The question of what to do with these places will arise in the mountains of Europe and around the world. Skiing is disappearing from many alpine landscapes. “Many lower levels are already closed,” says Masson. “A fraction of a degree changes everything in the mountain environment. It’s the difference between having snow and no snow.”

Research suggests that with global warming of 2°C (3.6°F), more than half of existing resorts are at risk of not having enough snow. Higher altitude resorts are vulnerable to loss of permafrost, threatening pylons drilled there. Some resorts, like St-Honoré 1500, were abandoned before construction was even completed. Even the biggest resorts, which usually have funds to invest in new slopes and artificial snow, are struggling to survive.

For some, the loss of Céüze seems premature. Richard Klein, who lives at Roche des Arnauds, near Céüze, believes that the ski resort could – and should – have been saved. “It’s a wonderful place to learn to ski, it’s the best. I think it’s really stupid that they closed it,” he says. “There were always a lot of people.” Klein believes local authorities should have started using artificial snow, adding: “Now it’s too late. »

However, life has not disappeared in Céüze. In October 2025, the resort’s Galliard Hotel will be sold to a developer wanting to open it to events, according to Ricou-Charles. A property developer bought the children’s holiday home and a carpenter moved into the building where the old ticket office was located. The rooms used as a children’s summer camp have cracks on the side, but may reopen in the future.

“Céüze will continue to live, despite the loss of the station,” assures Ricou-Charles. “We are not mourning Céüze because she is not dead.”

On winter weekends, dozens of cars still gather in the parking lot, and people enjoy quieter hillside activities, like walking, snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, and sledding.

Masson doesn’t like the term “ghost station” because it suggests total abandonment while what is happening in his region is more complicated. “People keep coming,” he said. “We don’t need big machines to make the mountains attractive.”

What is happening in Céüze is a glimpse of a future that will confront dozens of other small resorts and mountain landscapes across Europe. “What is our heritage that we would like to preserve,” asks Masson. “And what is a simple ruin that we want to dismantle? It’s a question we have to ask ourselves every time, and it requires reflection.”