It’s official: Colorado and Utah have now both recorded the worst snow years in modern history, with April 1 snowpack numbers, confirming what skiers, water managers, and forecasters have been watching all winter.
What should be the high point of the season instead arrived with bare ground, depleted mountain snowpack, and some of the lowest snow water equivalent totals ever measured in either state. Across the central Rockies, a weak winter and an exceptionally warm March combined to erase what little snow had accumulated, turning what was already a poor season into a historic low.
For two states that rely heavily on mountain snow for skiing, reservoirs, rivers, and summer water supply, the implications stretch far beyond a disappointing winter.
Colorado
Colorado’s snowpack usually reaches its seasonal peak around the start of April. This year, it was nearly gone.
By April 1, the state’s long-term snow data showed conditions unlike anything previously recorded. Of the 64 manual snow course sites in Colorado with records stretching back more than 50 years, 60 either tied or set their lowest April 1 readings ever observed. Even more striking, 18 of those sites had no snow at all, despite never having been snowless this late in the season before. That is what ultimately pushed 2026 past Colorado’s other notoriously bad winters, including 1976-77, 1980-81, and 2012, and into first place as the state’s worst snowpack year on record.
The state’s April 1 snow water equivalent averaged just 3.3 inches across 115 SNOTEL sites, or 22% of the 30-year median. In practical terms, Colorado entered what should be peak snow season with less than a quarter of its typical mountain snowpack remaining.
At several long-running sites, the margins were staggering. Places that had never previously dipped below modest April snowpack totals reached zero this year. In some cases, the previous record low had still held several inches of water in the snowpack. This year, there was nothing left to measure.
What made the collapse even more dramatic was how quickly it happened. March brought one of the most extreme warm spells Colorado has ever seen. Large parts of the mountains experienced more than a week of temperatures above previous daily March records, and the state as a whole is expected to finish the month as its warmest March on record by a wide margin. The heat accelerated snowmelt at an almost unprecedented pace, stripping nearly 5 inches of statewide snow water equivalent in just two weeks near the end of the month.
That kind of melt is extraordinary before April even begins. In a typical year, late March is when Colorado is still building or at least holding onto much of its seasonal snowpack. Instead, 2026 saw it collapse in real time.
The consequences are already becoming clear. Water managers are preparing for shortages, drought has intensified across the state, and concerns are growing over what an exceptionally low snowpack could mean for streams, reservoirs, agriculture, and wildfire season in the months ahead.
Utah
If Colorado’s numbers were shocking, Utah’s were arguably even more severe.
According to the NRCS Utah Snow Survey, the state’s April 1 snowpack was the lowest ever recorded since systematic snowpack measurements began in 1930. More than that, it was not even close. Utah’s statewide snow water equivalent on April 1 came in at roughly one-fifth of the previous record low, making 2026 not just the worst year on record, but one that stands far apart from every other bad year that came before it. That includes 2015, 1934, 1977, and 2018, all of which had previously ranked among Utah’s leanest winters. None came remotely close to how little snow remained across the state this year.
Utah’s snowpack also peaked unusually early, topping out on March 7 at just 8.3 inches of snow water equivalent. The statewide median peak is 14 inches, meaning the season never came close to building a normal winter base before it began to fade.
Southern Utah is in especially rough shape. Many basins are sitting at less than 20% of normal, with several registering below 1%. Those numbers point to a difficult summer ahead for both water supply and fire danger, particularly in regions that depend heavily on spring snowmelt to carry them through the dry season.
One of the biggest concerns is what this could mean for Lake Powell and the broader Colorado River system, where low runoff remains a persistent threat. Even with reservoir storage in somewhat better shape than during the worst recent drought years, Utah’s missing snowpack will still be felt across the state through lower runoff, tighter water supplies, and increased long-term stress on an already strained system.
A Historic Winter for the Wrong Reasons
For skiers and riders, this season has already been defined by thin coverage, weak base depths, shortened spring conditions, and increasingly early closures. What should be one of the best stretches of the ski season instead arrived looking and feeling more like late May in many places.
But the bigger story now is what comes next. In both Colorado and Utah, snowpack is more than a winter metric. It is the foundation for summer water supply, river health, agriculture, ecosystems, and wildfire resilience. When that snowpack disappears this early and this completely, the effects ripple far beyond ski resorts. A few April storms may help slow the damage and add temporary coverage in some high-elevation areas, but they will not change the larger picture. The deficits are simply too large, and the seasonal peak has already passed.
At this point, the 2025-26 season is no longer just a bad snow year. It is now officially the worst snow year ever recorded in both Colorado and Utah, a sobering milestone for two states where mountain snow is central to skiing, water supply, and life in the West. What made this winter so striking was not just how little snow fell, but how completely the season unraveled by the time it should have been peaking. Long after the lifts stop spinning, the effects of this winter will likely linger in dry soils, stressed reservoirs, and heightened wildfire risk, making this one of those seasons that won’t be remembered for what happened on the slopes, but for what never arrived at all.