Blaming the symptom or the cause? (Part Three)

With today’s world population over 8.3 billion and expected to grow to 9.8 billion in 2050 and then peak from 10.3 to 11.2 billion between 2080 and 2100, its growth rate would have to steadily decline in order to reach these, thanks to global fertility rates dropping almost everywhere. Many countries are now worried about shrinking workforce, aging populations and economic contraction which would suggest that partially, the future environmental challenge will not totally be “too many people,” but partly how the existing population chooses to live or survive depending on its material “progress”. 

Well, AI will come to the rescue and replace a vanishing labor force. We also all know that the subject of population is fraught with delicate issues and has a dangerous history. This in fact is one of the biggest reasons why institutions like government and NGOs avoid openly breaching that taboo subject. Blaming overpopulation has historically been used to justify racist policies, forced sterilization, anti‑immigrant rhetoric that target specific regions or ethnic groups. 

Because of this, scientists and policymakers, with the notable exception of Trump and his supporters, tread very carefully. They focus on systems rather than people and claim that if the world suddenly had 2 billion fewer people but was still burning fossil fuels, deforesting like crazy, continuing over-fishing and still using industrial agriculture the planet would still be in trouble. Situation shows that beyond the well-meaning declarations and broad pledges, very little that’s been seriously done in that direction as we seem woefully incapable of meeting our short-term goals. 

Of course, if we humanity was serious about changing energy systems, land use, and consumption patterns — even with the current population — the planet might recover with an intensity proportional to the kind of sacrifices no one is willing to make. Without exceptions, sacrifices hurt and are hard to make, particularly in our comfortable, cocooned society. 

We need an accident or a crash in order to be forced to change or accept the seemingly unfair governmental restrictions, like we did during Covid-19. This explains why the focus is on the “symptoms” because they’re actually the mechanisms of environmental damage. 

With a “comfortable” developed world unwilling to give up any element of its comfort, the proposed remedial efforts are for naught and I still believe that we’ll need to crash into the wall of an inhabitable planet to realize that we might have irremediably damaged it.

Blaming the symptom or the cause? (Part Two)

Demographers are telling us that the global population may peak around 2050–2100, and growth rates are already falling in most regions. According to the United Nations, the world population is projected to reach 9.8 billion in 2050 and then rise toward a peak of 10.3 to 11.2 billion between 2080 and 2100, depending on fertility. 

This is supposed to mean that the future environmental trajectory will depend more on how people live than on how many people exist and that energy transitions, land management, and consumption patterns should matter more than raw population numbers, but will they? This would require getting away from fossil fuel dependence, industrial agriculture, deforestation, urban sprawl and wasteful production systems that are all the dominant causes of warming and biodiversity loss. 

This, in my view, remains a huge question mark. It remains obvious that population increase puts pressure on land use, water demand and habitat pressure. At this moment, it’s fairly easy to claim that one billion additional low‑consumption people have far less impact than a few million high‑consumption people, but who can guarantee that with time, a low poor people’s per‑capita footprint is not going to catch up as their economic situation improves? 

Society is extremely dynamic and with information circulating like never before the “bad example” of runaway consumption we display isn’t going to influence the poor in the good direction. Sure, if the population is a multiplier, it’s hard to put most of the burden on the symptoms. 

These are viewed as the “drivers”, our fossil‑fuel energy systems, our industrial agriculture, deforestation, mining and extraction, consumption patterns and waste systems. All are seen as the lower hanging fruits. Clearly, a growing population makes these drivers bigger, but if it’s not creating them, it’s a bit cavalier to speculate that it can’t amplify them. 

If we removed the drivers but kept the population the same, the impact would drop dramatically but it doesn’t as for instance the Trump administration is no longer motivated to fixing the drivers and the European Union has other priorities against a predatory Russia. We also know that the biggest environmental damage comes from a small fraction of people in the planet’s wealthiest nations. For example, the top 10% of global consumers produce nearly half of all emissions while the poorest 50% produce less than 10%. 

Countries with declining populations (Japan, Italy, Germany) have very high environmental footprints and conversely, countries with fast‑growing populations (many in Africa) have very low footprints. Still if given the opportunity through economic development these same countries would emulate their richer “models”! In the next blog, we’ll explore how a slowing world population might help, so please, stay with me!

Blaming the symptom or the cause? (Part One)

I have always wondered why planetary pollution, climate warming and biodiversity destruction are never blamed on overpopulation, but instead on elements resulting from specific aspects resulting from human population on earth. To me, it always felt as if we were treating the symptoms instead of the cause. Still, many disagree with me, and say I missed one key nuance in the way in environmental science, population is not the “root cause” in the simple way it appears, even though it’s an important part of the equation. 

They say the real root causes are more complex, as overpopulation may be part of the scientific discussion, but is rarely framed as the “main culprit” because research shows that the drivers of planetary damage are not sheer numbers of people, but the unequal and highly concentrated patterns of consumption, emissions, and land use. 

Did I mention that without a growing population, that of the economy and the religions would be hindered as well? 

The counterpoint to my beliefs is that the biggest environmental impacts come from consumption, not headcount as a small percentage of the global population produces the majority of emissions and waste and wealthy nations with stable or declining populations have the highest per‑capita environmental footprint. In contrast, poorer, fast‑growing populations contribute far less to climate change. 

This is why experts argue that consumption patterns, energy systems, and industrial practices are the primary drivers of climate warming and biodiversity loss—not population size alone. Sure, die-hard environmental scholars claim that population‑blame has often been tied to racist or xenophobic narratives, policies targeting specific regions or groups and attempts to shift responsibility away from high‑consumption societies. 

This sounds nice and good, but in my view is an obsession with fixing the seemingly easy and intractable (the symptoms) and neglecting the harder and main part (the cause). In a next blog, I’ll try to dig deeper into these arguments and honestly see if the position I’ve held for a long time holds any justification.

Doing great stuff with limited resources…

This thin and snow-less season will have taught me a very important lesson. It’s always possible to have a whole lot of fun with limited resources. Quantity has very little to do with quality in fact. It’s all in the way we direct the spotlight to see the good, the potential and improve on what seems bad at first sight. In short, a complete change in perspective! 

A few days ago, I was skiing on what’s always been for me, and still is today, ma favorite slope around Park City, called “Thaynes” and served by a rickety, 1975 Yan double fixed-grip chair that gets you 876 feet (267 m) higher up in just over 6 minutes. 

An ideal slope profile for a slalom course! 

The picture doesn’t do justice to the difficult, highly technical run it serves. I’ve written many times about that place and still love it in spite of its ski lift being very long in the teeth! 

Remember the Fall’s weather forecast? (Part Two)

In addition to the ups and downs of El Niño and La Niña, there has also been some atmospheric blocking and jet‑stream instability. During the fall of 2025, the jet stream did not set up in the classic 

La Niña pattern. Instead of steering Pacific storms into the Northwest and northern Rockies, it frequently split or stalled. 

This led to Storms missing the West entirely, with warm, dry ridges forming over the Great Basin and Rockies. In addition, the snow arrived later and in different regions than forecast had told us. 

According to the specialists, these blocking patterns are notoriously hard to predict more than 2–3 weeks ahead. The same experts also claim that local terrain effects amplify forecast errors. 

For instance, mountain regions like the Wasatch (here in Utah), Sierra (California), and Cascades (British Columbia, Oregon and Washington) depend on very specific storm trajectories. A shift of even 100 miles in the storm track can mean some heavy snow in one range but almost nothing in another. Once more, seasonal models cannot resolve these fine‑scale differences. 

Should I mention that the Farmer’s Almanac forecast uses non‑scientific methods and isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on? Unlike NOAA, the Farmer’s Almanac does not use physics‑based climate models. Its long‑range predictions rely on proprietary formulas, historical patterns and probably, fairy tales, which certainly don’t account for sudden ENSO shifts, jet‑stream behavior and anomalies, ocean‑atmosphere coupling and climate‑driven extremes. 

Seasonal snow forecasts will always carry large uncertainty, especially in the West where mountains create microclimates. NOAA’s probabilistic maps (like the snowfall probability tools I’m referring to) are more reliable than the Famer’s Almanac, but still cannot guarantee outcomes months ahead. Short‑range (1–2 week) forecasts remain far more accurate for snowfall than seasonal outlooks. 

The same specialists don’t mention climate change and the new trend for atmospheric rivers. I guess it’s only me who thinks that way. As a result, just don’t even consider long-term forecasts and make your own instead, or ask your dog if you have one!

Remember the Fall’s weather forecast? (Part One)

The fall‑2025 snow forecasts for the western United States promised us almost the same precipitations and temperatures as an average winter for Utah. In reality, it ended up being totally wrong and quite the opposite (no snow and milder temperatures) because the large‑scale climate signals that NOAA (US weather forecast) and the Farmer’s Almanac relied on, behaved totally differently than expected once the season actually arrived.

Even though the sources I’m mentioning were focused on general winter outlooks, they highlighted their key weakness as seasonal forecasts are probabilistic and heavily dependent on ENSO patterns (El Niño-Southern Oscillation). The ENSO cycles are natural, recurring, 2–7 year climate variations involving shifts in tropical Pacific Ocean temperatures and atmospheric circulation. 

These oscillations consist of three phases, El Niño (warm), La Niña (cool), and Neutral, all of which influence global weather, including precipitation, temperature, and hurricane activity, particularly during winter. As it looked into the winter 2025-26, NOAA, our national weather forecasting expected La Niña to continue, with a transition toward neutral conditions sometime in early 2026. 

But apparently the strength, timing, and regional impacts of La Niña vary widely from year to year. In 2025, the pattern weakened earlier and behaved irregularly, which disrupted the typical storm track that brings early‑season snow to the West. This means that even when the broad climate pattern is known, the exact distribution of snowfall was extremely difficult to predict months in advance. 

Our scientists are not talking much about climate change and the increased number of atmospheric rivers. This must be in my own head! There are however additional reasons that we’ll discuss tomorrow...

Sharp eye and sure footing…

When I heard we had received eight inches of powder overnight, I figured this new day was offering me an unexpected gift. Since I couldn’t get out in the morning, I set my sights on the afternoon, convinced that higher elevation would still hold the fluffiest snow. 

From the lift, everything looked promising—soft, untouched, inviting. But the moment my skis touched the surface, the illusion vanished. What had looked like powder had turned into heavy plaster, the kind that grabs your skis and makes every turn feel like a negotiation. I left that area and tried another, only to find the same stubborn, uncooperative snow. 

Still, something in me switched from disappointment to curiosity. Instead of fighting the conditions, I treated them like a game. And little by little, I found ways to make it fun. The challenge itself became the reward. That’s when it struck me: all these years on snow have built a catalog of sensations that live in the soles of my feet—tiny variations in pressure, edge angle, and balance that I don’t consciously think about but rely on constantly. 

My eyes, too, have been trained by thousands of runs to read terrain instantly, to spot both opportunity and danger long before I reach them. In difficult conditions, those two systems—vision and foot‑feel—start talking to each other. My feet recognize echoes of past situations and quietly offer solutions. My eyes scan ahead and choose the line that gives those solutions the best chance to work. When they sync up, even terrible snow becomes a kind of game. 

The frustration dissolves, replaced by a sense of competence, presence, and flow. And that’s when I’m reminded, once again, that there’s really no such thing as a bad moment on skis. There are only different moments—each one adding another layer to the skill, memory, and joy that keep me coming back.