By the time I had strapped on my snowboard at the top of the King Gondola, the wind was howling and snow was coming down hard. Niseko, a ski resort on Japan’s northern island of Hokkaido, is known for epic snowfall, and my first run lived up to the hype. My knees felt wobbly as I plowed 3,500 feet down the mountain through fresh powder, barely able to see the ground beneath me, let alone the skiers whizzing past.
Once night fell, however, everything changed. The flurries stopped, the crowds melted away, and visibility sharpened under huge floodlights that lit up the slope like a Christmas tree. As my legs began to hit their stride, I carved wide S-turns and glided effortlessly around bends. At one point, I caught an edge and flipped over, but it didn’t matter. The snow in mid-February was so fluffy I laughed it off, then zipped down to the gondola for another run.
Night skiing is on the rise, as resorts throughout North America and Europe have extended their hours, promising novelty, convenience, and more elbow room on the mountain. (Skiing at twilight looks great on social media, too.) The capital of after-dark skiing is arguably Niseko. While most ski resorts turn frigid and blustery at night, Niseko softens, as the winds die down and temperatures grow milder. It also boasts one of the brightest lighting systems out there, illuminating the entire mountain, not just the bunny slopes. Niseko is so well lit, you can even venture off-trail at night—a rarity among ski resorts anywhere.
From Left: Fireworks at Hanazono; riding down Annupuri.
From Left: Niseko United; Katie Botwin/Setsu Niseko
My own backcountry adventure, however, would have to wait. After a half-dozen runs, I was ready to unwind. While Niseko has a few slopeside bars, it doesn’t offer the kind of raucous après-ski scene you might find in Vail or Verbier. Instead, it leans in to something quieter and quintessentially Japanese: the onsen, or natural hot spring.
The greater Niseko area is set in an active volcanic zone that is home to more than two dozen onsens. Most upscale hotels have their own hot spring, including Higashiyama Niseko Village, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve—a modern, 50-room property at the base of the resort, where I stayed for the first two nights. After stowing my gear in the high-tech locker room, I made a beeline for the bathhouse—a serene, minimalist space clad in dark stone—and sank my banged-up body into the steaming water. Unlike the hot tubs I’ve sampled throughout the Rockies and the Alps, this one had no harsh chemicals, just a piping-hot stream of mineral-rich water.
The Grand Hirafu resort at night.
Niseko United
Rejuvenated, I kept my spa slippers on and padded over to Sushi Nagi, the hotel’s intimate omakase restaurant. Surrounded by cold, plankton-rich waters, the island of Hokkaido, where Niseko is located, is heaven for seafood lovers. An amuse-bouche of snow crab with salmon roe and yuzu was followed by a jewel-like procession of sashimi and nigiri—ending with a ribbon of tuna so fatty, it melted like butter. I began to wonder if the food might rival the snow.
Skiing, of course, is not limited to nighttime. The next morning, I opened my curtains to blue skies and the snowcapped silhouette of Mount Yotei—a smaller, but no less majestic lookalike of Fuji. The vista from my stone-lined tub was too beautiful to resist, so I drew a bath. After breakfast, I geared up and met Tsuyuki Nakabayashi, a guide with Niseko United, which promotes and oversees the ski area. As we waited for the gondola to open, the easygoing Nakabayashi explained that the mountain is actually made up of four independent resorts. Annupuri, the resort furthest to the west, is less crowded and therefore her go-to.
Yesterday’s storm had left a pristine layer of snow. Cruising down the Panorama run, I finally understood the fuss over “Japow”—the fluffy Japanese powder produced when frigid Siberian winds collide with vapor rising from the Sea of Japan. The result was silky and smooth, like surfing on velvet.
After a few runs, Nakabayashi suggested we try the Shirakaba trail, named after its wispy Japanese white birch trees. Unlike bushy conifers, their elegant, paper-white trunks are thin and widely spaced, making them ideal for tree skiing. “Go at your own pace,” she said encouragingly. Zigzagging through birches, it turns out, was surprisingly easy and fun, like a wintry version of Super Mario Kart.
By mid-afternoon, I needed a power-up. I made my way to Boyo-so, a family-run izakaya housed in a log cabin halfway up the mountain. It serves comfort food like chicken katsu, soba noodles with shrimp tempura, and my favorite, miso ramen—a Hokkaido specialty—which I slurped down at a fireside table, following it with a cold beer. At the ski resorts in upstate New York and Vermont where I learned to snowboard, I would have been lucky to find anything beyond burgers.
The line for Bar Gyu+.
Alex Savu/Niseko United
When the wind cooperates and the summit of Mount Annupuri is open, it’s easy to hop between the four resorts. Over the next few days, I hit the challenging runs of Hanazono, dropped in to the Osawa bowl, tree skied at Annupuri again, and rode the famous King Lift #4, which looks like a meat hook attached to a pizza box, before gliding back to the Ritz-Carlton.
After sharing so many gondolas with strangers, I couldn’t help noticing the resort’s diversity. There were more foreigners than Japanese skiers; I was told that about 30 percent were Australian, 15 percent were Southeast Asian, and, to my surprise, 20 percent were from the United States. The surge in American visitors began in 2018, when Niseko joined the lists of resorts included in the Ikon Pass and Mountain Collective. Since then, rising ticket prices in the U.S. and a favorable exchange rate have meant that skiing in Japan can be cheaper than in Colorado. I even ran into a neighbor from New York City at Tsubara Tsubara, a little restaurant that specializes in Niseko “soup curry”—a brothy twist on the Japanese classic.
The mix of social classes was striking, too. I chatted with a coal miner from Australia, a CEO from Germany, a student from Malaysia, and a tech bro from Seattle. Perhaps that was why the sense of entitlement I’ve encountered at other ski destinations felt refreshingly absent. There was no line cutting, no slope rage, no velvet ropes. I wondered if it had something to do with the Japanese concept of hairyo—an emphasis on being thoughtful and considerate toward others.
A penthouse suite at Setsu with a private onsen.
Aaron Jamieson/Setsu Niseko
Whatever the case, I hope it lasts. Midweek, I moved to Setsu Niseko, a 190-room hotel complex with five restaurants (including Afuri, a terrific ramen spot) that blends modern design with traditional Japanese craftsmanship. Opened in 2022, it’s part of a new wave of luxury development that is transforming what was once a backpacker haven into what some are calling “the Aspen of the East.” In addition to the Ritz-Carlton Reserve and a Park Hyatt, which both opened in 2020, an Aman and Six Senses are slated in the next couple of years, along with a complex of $4 million villas, some of which were designed by the architect Shigeru Ban.
The Setsu is located in the heart of Grand Hirafu, the liveliest of the four resorts and the only one with a downtown packed with bars, restaurants, and hotels. As I strolled Main Street, Niseko’s high-low contrast was on full display: I passed food trucks dishing out ramen, gyoza, oysters, and sushi along slippery, ice-crusted sidewalks before arriving for dinner at Kitchen, which marries modern Japanese and Western cuisine.
Breakfast at the Setsu Niseko hotel.
Setsu Niseko
After another flawless meal, it was time to hit the bars. The crowd was young, tipsy, and overwhelmingly Australian, especially at fratty-sounding spots like Freddy’s and Wild Bill’s. But there were a few stylish lounges, including Bar Gyu+, known for the vintage Coca-Cola vending machine that serves as its entrance. It sounded gimmicky, but once inside I was instantly won over by the bar’s cozy, candlelit vibe, hand-illustrated cocktail menu, and curated list of new-wave Japanese whiskies.
On my walk back to the Setsu, I stumbled on a futuristic metal shed that housed a techno club called Hertzz. The sound system was pristine, red lasers sliced through the haze, and the DJ created a down-tempo soundscape that reminded me of Berlin. The only thing missing was a crowd: I was told it wouldn’t get busy for another hour. I looked at my phone—it was 10 p.m.—and realized another perk to night skiing: I could sleep in and still get plenty of runs. So I sidled up to the bar and ordered another drink.
A version of this story first appeared in the December 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline “Night Shift.”
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