I had never encountered a ski lift quite like this one. Each one-person seat looked like a pizza box hung from a cable on a metal hook. Only a low backrest stood between the rider and the thin air.
I inhaled a sharp breath of cold air and got in line.
The lift whisked me up into the mist, through which I spied the ghostly outline of the volcanic Mount Yotei. Skiing down the slope minutes later, I carved through powder sublime enough to entice me onto that precarious lift once more. By the third ride, I felt confident enough to contemplate using my free arm to take a photograph.
I had come to the Japanese island of Hokkaido seeking the light, fluffy “Japow” powder and a ski culture known for steaming bowls of ramen and long soaks in hot springs, all surrounded by stunning natural beauty.
The northernmost of Japan’s main islands, Hokkaido features more than 100 resorts — nearly a quarter of the country’s ski areas. Even those at lower elevations benefit from the cold air from Siberia that crosses the Sea of Japan and stalls over the mountains, dumping up to 50 feet of snow every year.
As many marquee U.S. resorts struggle with a historic lack of snow this season, Hokkaido is adding to its growing reputation as a global skiing destination. International visitors now head to resorts like Furano and Niseko, which are now both part of the Ikon Pass.
Last February, I went on my own powder quest at Furano and Niseko.
Ample Snow, Elusive Food
The Furano resort, about two hours north of Sapporo by train, consists of two ski zones: Furano and Kitanomine. Each offers dozens of runs; a day pass costs 8,000 yen, or about $51. As I rode the chairlift linking the two zones, I found myself in a landscape that looked like a hybrid of Dr. Seuss and abstract sculpture — fir trees with three or four feet of snow atop their branches.
“The snow is super light, super fluffy and amazing to ride,” said Vincent Forth, 28, an employee of the Rhythm Japan ski shop, where I had rented my equipment. But something else set Furano apart from other places I had skied: the price. For Americans used to lift tickets that have soared to $250 or more, Furano was a bargain. “They’re telling me it’s cheaper to fly out here and get a ski pass here than going to Colorado,” Mr. Forth added.
After a tasty lunch of tempura and soba (¥1,700) at the aptly named Restaurant Downhill, situated on the slopes, I rode a lift high up Kitanomine, passing through a forest of silver birches as the sunlight filtered through. Suddenly, nothing felt relevant but my next run. As I repeated the ride, the steep upper runs at the top became my favorite.
Hokkaido is known for its sweet, rich curry dishes, so I thought Furano would offer an abundance of food options. The restaurant at the Nozo Hotel, where I was staying, served a delicious breakfast buffet. But finding meals outside the hotel proved challenging.
I arrived at Furanoya, an unassuming but highly recommended curry restaurant on a back street in downtown Furano, around 7 p.m. But soon after I had joined the long line outside, a server started turning people away. The restaurant had run out of food for the evening.
I tried a soba restaurant by the hotel, but it was out, too. Finally, after wandering the icy streets, I ended up eating superb barbecued eel at Don Furano, a restaurant inside the Petit Hotel Melon. I shared a table with an American backcountry skier named Anatoly Belyayev, who had ended up there because he couldn’t find anywhere else that accepted credit cards.
In the ‘Playground of the Gods’
The next day, I went to explore Daisetsuzan National Park, which covers more than 875 square miles and includes lakes, rivers and mountain ranges. Hokkaido’s Indigenous Ainu refer to it as Kamui Mintara, which loosely translates to “Playground of the Gods.”
The Fukiage open-air hot spring lies in the forest surrounding Mount Tokachi, an active volcano. After hiking about 10 minutes through knee-deep snow along a steep path, I reached three connected pools of steaming water tucked into a slope. As a Canadian, I thought I knew snow, but the volume of powder coating the trees around me was unlike anything I had ever seen.
I stripped down to my swimsuit and joined the cluster of locals and tourists. “How was the skiing?” I heard through the steam. Anatoly, my dining companion from the previous evening, was unwinding after a vigorous day in the backcountry.
I hiked back out after a lengthy soak, motivated mostly by the desire to see Shirahige Falls, near the small town of Biei, before dark. I was glad to have made it. The brilliant cobalt blue of the Biei River struck a stunning contrast to the snowy forest. In the last remaining light, several deer stood in the shallows drinking.
I didn’t make it back to Furano in time for curry. At Furanoya, a sign said that it, again, had run out of food for the evening.
Postcard-Worthy Slopes
A roughly five-hour drive southwest of Furano, Niseko encompasses four individual ski resorts around the 4,291-foot Mount Annupuri, grouped as Niseko United. You can ski among the resorts, but because public transportation is limited, you’ll probably want to rent a car.
The first ski lifts came to Niseko in the 1960s, but it began to build an international following in the 1990s and early 2000s with the arrival of Australian skiers and investors. More recently, Americans have started to fill its high-end hotels and restaurants. Charging ¥12,000 — less than $80 — for a day pass, Niseko is considerably more expensive than Furano, though still far less costly than major resorts in the United States.
I opted to stay in Annupuri, one of the four resorts. Small chalets and houses were clustered along the snowy streets, all within walking distance of the ski lifts. On my first ride up the gondola, the sight of Mount Yotei, often called Hokkaido’s Mount Fuji, took my breath away. Its snow-capped peak seemed like a postcard image of skiing in Japan.
I spent the afternoon on Grand Hirafu’s more challenging slopes. Its runs were much more crowded than those in Furano, but as I rode higher and left the ski schools behind, the numbers thinned. Then I discovered the “pizza box” lift — yes, locals actually call it that — and skied those blissful upper runs until the lifts closed.
The Treats of ‘Eat Street’
I could have ended my evening after soaking among the pines at the Ikoino Yuyado Iroha ryokan’s hot spring, which is open to the public, but Niseko is famous for its nightlife. I was soon back in Grand Hirafu drinking warm sake to the sounds of techno music.
The better restaurants in Niseko often book up months in advance, but fortunately, street food abounds. I found a cluster of food trucks, makeshift tables and tiny charcoal grills for hand warming in an area known as Eat Street. It was packed with people lining up for treats like Hokkaido ice cream, fried chicken, gyoza and mochi burgers.
I didn’t want to fill up because I had dinner plans at Ramen Horieya Niseko888, an intimate wood-paneled spot run by a couple, Chef Joe, a former boxer from Tokyo, and Miho Iwai, an interior designer from Sapporo. My steaming ramen topped with alpine leeks was worth the wait.
On my last day of skiing in Niseko, I decided to explore the Annupuri resort, traveling higher with each subsequent chairlift. I noticed while dismounting the last lift that some skiers and snowboarders were carrying their gear through knee-deep snow, trekking up the peak to the last patch of ungroomed powder. The wind in their faces didn’t seem to deter them.
I watched them climb, and one snowboarder — just a speck above me — began to maneuver down. I began popping off my skis to join them, but I felt conflicted. I didn’t have much time until my flight back to Tokyo. Then the universe decided for me: I saw someone midway up the hike turn back, then another and a third. Maybe I didn’t need that last fix of ungroomed powder after all.
I stepped back into my skis and began my descent, cutting into the fresh powder below me. This snow would have to do.
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AloJapan.com