Puncak Jaya—also known as the Carstensz Pyramid—is a 4,884-meter (16,024-foot) peak in the highlands of Papua, Indonesia, famed as the only place in the equatorial Pacific with year-round ice. In recent years, an intriguing rumor has circulated: that a ski resort once operated on the slopes of Puncak Jaya, making it the world’s second-highest ski area despite its tropical location. The notion of skiers carving turns in equatorial Papua sounds unbelievable. This report dives into the facts and fiction surrounding the so-called “Puncak Jaya ski resort”—examining the region’s geography and climate, the feasibility of skiing there, economic and political barriers, the origins of the ski-resort legend, and any real attempts at skiing on Puncak Jaya. The goal is a clear-eyed, research-driven look at whether this mysterious ski resort ever existed, and what evidence or lack thereof lies behind the legend.
Geography and Climate of Puncak Jaya
Puncak Jaya sits in the Sudirman Range (part of the Maoke Mountains) of New Guinea. Despite being just 4° south of the equator, its massive height sustains a frigid alpine environment. Several small glaciers historically blanketed its slopes—including the Carstensz, Northwall Firn, and (until recently) the Meren Glacier. The summit itself is mostly bare rock, but icefields cling to the mountain’s upper flanks above ~4,500 m. These are among the only tropical glaciers in Asia.
Being equatorial, temperatures on Puncak Jaya vary little through the year—averaging around 0°C (32°F) at the summit. In fact, one analysis found the mean temperature is about 0.5°C year-round on the mountain. Precipitation, however, is abundant. The region sees heavy rainfall and snowfall in cycles influenced by the tropical monsoon. There is a wetter season (roughly December–March) when daily snowstorms are common at high elevations, and a drier season (May–October) with somewhat more stable weather. Even in “dry” months, afternoon clouds and precipitation can occur, but there are more clear spells—which local lore suggests is the best time for skiing on the mountain.
No official records of annual snowfall exist (the area is too remote for regular monitoring), but climbers report that fresh snow and ice cover can vary dramatically. During storms, deep snow may blanket the glaciers, while warm equatorial sun can cause rapid melt on clear days. The high altitude keeps temperatures low enough for snow to fall year-round at the peaks, but the warm tropical air means the glaciers are in retreat. Over the past century, Puncak Jaya’s ice coverage has shrunk rapidly. A NASA analysis noted that five distinct ice masses were present in 1989, but by 2009 two (including the Meren Glacier) had completely vanished, and the others had dramatically retreated. Climate scientists project that the last remaining glaciers of Puncak Jaya will disappear within the next decade or two if current warming trends continue. In short, Puncak Jaya’s “eternal” equatorial snow is rapidly becoming a memory. This stark trend raises serious doubts about the long-term feasibility of any skiing activity in the area—permanent snowfields are literally melting away.
Historically, when the glaciers were larger, a few kilometers of terrain were indeed skiable on Puncak Jaya’s slopes. The steep summit pyramid isn’t skiable (it’s bare rock and sheer faces), but the icefields below allow for some descent. Estimates suggest around 500 m (1,600 ft) of vertical drop could be skied on the Carstensz and Northwall Firn glaciers in years past. The terrain is not particularly steep or challenging on these glacier runs—they would equate to easy-to-moderate “blue” slopes in ski resort terms. However, skiing here is anything but ordinary: the altitude of 4,500–4,800 m means thin air and risks of altitude sickness for anyone exerting themselves. The weather can be extreme and unpredictable (intense UV exposure when sunny, sudden snowfall or rain, and even daily thunderstorms). Crevasses in the glacier and the remoteness add to the hazard. All these factors make Puncak Jaya a very challenging place to ski, suitable only for the most prepared and adventurous—and even then, only during brief windows of good weather. With glaciers shrinking and snow cover now intermittent, one must also ask how much snow is left to ski on. By 2015, researchers observed that two of the mountain’s glaciers were gone and the rest were losing on the order of 7 m of ice thickness per year, suggesting that viable ski surfaces are vanishing fast. In essence, while skiing on Puncak Jaya has been physically possible, it is and always was a niche, fleeting opportunity—more the realm of mountaineers with skis than vacationing resort-goers.
The Rumored Puncak Jaya Ski Resort
Stories have floated around ski circles about a secretive ski resort high on Puncak Jaya. According to these rumors and legends, an enterprising adventurer actually built ski lifts on the mountain’s glacier in the 1970s, creating a tiny resort accessible to only a lucky few. The tale reads like adventure fiction, yet it has been repeated often enough to take on the aura of an urban legend.
According to the legend (as compiled from forum posts and retellings), the Puncak Jaya ski resort had the following features:
- Location & Elevation: Situated on the Meren Glacier in the Maoke Mountains, in the shadow of Puncak Jaya’s summit. The ski area’s base was around 4,420 m (14,500 ft) with lifts topping out near 4,785 m (15,700 ft). This extreme elevation would make it the second-highest ski resort on Earth—only Bolivia’s Chacaltaya (now defunct) was higher.
- Founding and Era: Established in 1979 by a Scottish expat known as “Sir John McCisk,” who dreamed of creating his own ski haven. A simple ski lodge and a rope-tow lift were reportedly built first, with additional facilities completed by 1982. The endeavor was by all accounts clandestine and eccentric—essentially a private passion project in a very remote place.
- Infrastructure: The resort allegedly had three ski lifts installed on the glacier: one rope-tow and two Poma platter lifts. These were said to be Japanese-built lifts, flown in by helicopter due to the lack of road access. (The story describes the herculean effort of hauling lift towers and even a small snow-grooming machine through dense jungle and up to the glacier by helicopter.) The lifts served a couple of short runs on the ice.
- Ski Terrain: Around 3.5 miles (~5.6 km) of ski runs were claimed, consisting mostly of gentle glacier slopes. The runs were described as beginner to intermediate level—relatively mellow terrain at very high altitude. At least one steeper “expert” route was mentioned (an off-piste descent dropping ~700 m down to a valley, when snow conditions permitted) for the truly daring.
- Climate & Season: The average temperature at the ski area was about 33 °F (0.5 °C)—just cold enough for year-round ice. Due to heavy rains in the monsoon season, the resort would close during December–March when storms were frequent. The prime skiing season was May through October (the drier months), when the weather was clearer and new snowfalls would be groomed into the trails. Even then, operations were contingent on weather; management would only “open” if conditions allowed safe lift use.
- Operations: All this was said to be done in utter isolation—special permits and logistics would be needed to reach it, and information about the resort was kept very limited. At its peak, it was still just a “small ski resort” with basic facilities. How many people ever skied there is completely unknown—the legend implies only a handful of insiders or adventurous locals might have tried it. Some accounts even suggest the whole project was kept semi-secret, which, if true, would make it one of the most elusive ski experiences in the world.
It must be emphasized that all the above details come from unverified sources—primarily an anecdotal write-up that circulated online. There is no official documentation or confirmation that this resort actually operated in reality. The Indonesian government never publicized any ski development, and no mainstream news reports from the era mention it. The specifics—down to the name “Sir John McCisk”—have the feel of folklore. The “Puncak Jaya ski resort” lives in a space between myth and reality, with intriguing details recorded on enthusiast forums but no hard evidence. Even so, the story has proven irresistible to adventure lovers—enough that it took on a life of its own in popular culture.
Origins and Evolution of the Rumor
How did the world come to hear about a supposed ski resort in the wilds of Papua? The origins of the Puncak Jaya ski resort legend appear to lie in obscure internet forums and word-of-mouth among climbers. Bits of the story were found on a German-language ski forum, likely in the late 2000s. It’s possible that mountaineers who visited Puncak Jaya traded tales about seeing old equipment or hearing rumors from local guides, which then morphed into a more elaborate legend online. By 2013, the English-language ski community got wind of it, with several blog posts popularizing the lore. At that point it was still considered “steeped in fantastic mystery”—a fringe curiosity that even its promoters could not fully verify.
The big break for the Puncak Jaya ski resort myth came in 2016 from an unlikely source: a Guinness beer advertising campaign. In 2016, Guinness (and ad agency AMV BBDO) produced a short film called “Myth” for Southeast Asian markets, basing its narrative on this very rumor. “Myth is based on a rumour that has circulated travel blogs and snowboarding forums for years,” the agency noted, “said that years ago, on the roof of Indonesia’s tropical landscape, someone was crazy enough to build a ski resort…high up on the Equator, in the unlikeliest place on Earth.” The ad follows a group of Indonesian friends who decide to investigate the legend for themselves, trekking from their seaside village into the Papuan highlands in search of this hidden ski lodge. In the dramatized storyline, they endure hardships, reach the snowy mountaintop—and indeed discover an abandoned ski lift at 15,700 ft, “confirming” the myth. Notably, the cast of the film were real Indonesian actors who had never seen snow before—their genuine awe at touching snow for the first time is captured on camera, underscoring just how alien the concept of skiing is in Indonesia. The Guinness campaign, with its high production values and emotional storytelling, injected new life into the Puncak Jaya ski resort legend. To many viewers in Indonesia and beyond, this was their first exposure to the idea that their country might secretly harbor a ski resort atop a jungle mountain.
Of course, the Guinness film was not a documentary—it was creative advertising. It presented the possibility of the resort being real, without outright confirming it as fact. Nonetheless, by visually showing an old ski lift on Puncak Jaya (whether that was real footage or a recreation for the ad), it made the legend feel tangible. After the ad aired, interest in the story spiked. Posts on Indonesian social media and forums excitedly shared the notion that “the world’s second-highest ski resort is in Indonesia!” The Indonesian forum Kaskus, for example, had a thread in 2016 summarizing the ski resort “myth and legend,” listing the supposed facts (in Indonesian) and marveling at the idea. For a moment, Puncak Jaya’s ski resort became a viral piece of trivia that many Indonesians took pride in, despite its questionable reality.
However, even after this burst of publicity, hard evidence remained elusive. “Little has been made of the discovery since,” Ski Asia wrote in 2017, “Skiers, it seems, aren’t much interested.” In other words, the myth lives on in stories and advertisements, but not (yet) through on-the-ground documentation. It remains an intriguing rumor—one that has now been enshrined in advertising lore—but still an “extraordinary resort” that we know only through second-hand tales.
Reality Check: Economic, Political, and Environmental Barriers
Whether or not a rogue ski enthusiast truly built a lift on Puncak Jaya, a closer look at real-world conditions helps explain why such a project would be incredibly difficult to pull off—and likely short-lived.
Puncak Jaya’s location is extremely remote and hard to reach. The mountain lies in dense Papua jungle with no roads anywhere near the glaciers. The nearest town, Timika, is about 100 km away over rough terrain. In the 1970s (the era the resort was supposedly built), the only way in was a multi-day trek through jungle and mountains, hiring local porters—or using helicopters. Even today, most climbers either undertake a grueling 4–5 day hike to base camp or charter a helicopter to drop them closer. Any heavy equipment, like ski lift towers, would have to be flown in by helicopter, as the legend itself acknowledges. This makes construction and maintenance astronomically expensive. For example, the tale of Sir John McCisk describes how finding a suitable helicopter in New Guinea was a challenge and hauling metal structures through bad weather was a “sweaty job,” delaying construction into 1982. Simply put, Puncak Jaya is not a place where you can build anything easily, let alone a recreational ski area.
Since the 1960s, the Puncak Jaya region has been under tight Indonesian government control. Papua (formerly Irian Jaya) has seen a low-level separatist conflict, and the Indonesian military closely monitors access by outsiders. In fact, all foreigners (and even Indonesian citizens from elsewhere) must obtain special permits to enter these highlands. This policy was instituted after Indonesia took over Papua in 1963, and it remains in effect due to security concerns and sensitivity about the large Freeport gold and copper mine nearby. The area around Puncak Jaya has been the site of occasional clashes between separatist guerrillas and Indonesian forces. A massive open-pit mine (Grasberg, one of the world’s largest gold mines) operates just west of the peak, and it is a high-security zone. For any private individual to establish a ski resort here, they would likely need government clearance at the highest levels—or they would have to do it in complete secrecy. The clandestine nature of the rumored ski resort (no public records, “very restricted” access) aligns with the idea that if it existed, it operated under the radar, perhaps tolerated unofficially or hidden from authorities. In any case, the permit hurdles and political sensitivities mean that marketing a ski resort or attracting tourists openly would have been virtually impossible. Even today, organizing a ski trip to Puncak Jaya would require navigating bureaucracy and potential unrest—a strong disincentive for any commercial enterprise.
A ski resort typically needs a steady stream of visitors to justify its existence. In this case, the potential market is minuscule. Local Papuan communities near Puncak Jaya are indigenous tribes with no tradition of skiing and limited economic means. Wider Indonesian society has almost zero skiing culture—Indonesia is a tropical nation where snow is virtually unknown (the country’s only indoor ski dome in Jakarta opened in the 1990s but closed after a few years due to lack of interest). The only likely customers for a Papua ski area would be foreign adventurers or expatriates. Indeed, one could imagine that employees from the Freeport mine (foreign engineers or wealthy Indonesians) might have enjoyed the idea of skiing on their days off. But even that demographic is tiny, and Freeport’s operations are heavily guarded and isolated. There’s no evidence the mine ever supported such recreational activities (their focus is on mining, and employees typically rotate out to Bali or elsewhere for R&R).
The legend portrays Sir John McCisk as a wealthy ski fanatic who essentially built the resort for love of the sport, not for profit. In reality, unless he had limitless funds, maintaining the equipment in harsh tropical conditions would be a losing battle. Think of the challenges: constant high humidity causing rust, glaciers shifting, fuel and parts needing transport for generators or machinery, etc. Without a revenue stream or institutional support, the resort would likely fall into disrepair quickly. This matches the story’s outcome—by implication, it was abandoned after some years. And indeed, by the 1990s any remaining lifts would have been stranded on rapidly shrinking ice. The Guinness ad’s depiction of an “abandoned ski lift” high on the mountain is probably the logical end for such a venture: a rusting relic, if it exists at all.
Additionally, the environment of Puncak Jaya is both fragile and hostile to infrastructure. In 1999, much of the area was designated as Lorentz National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, for its unique biodiversity and glacier-capped peaks. Building a ski resort (with the necessary deforestation for a lodge, disturbance to glaciers, etc.) would clash with conservation efforts and likely be prohibited today. Even in the late 1970s, an impromptu development could have caused concern over environmental impact—though Papua’s remoteness meant there was very little oversight.
Then there is the weather and geology. Frequent earthquakes occur in New Guinea’s central ranges, and heavy tropical rainfall can trigger landslides. The “resort” was situated on a moving glacier, which is not a stable foundation—crevasses can open, ice shifts could topple poorly anchored lift towers. Avalanche risk is low (due to limited snow accumulation) but glacial recession would literally pull the rug out from under a ski area over time. For example, by the late 1990s the Meren Glacier (site of the lifts) had almost completely melted away. If lifts were on that ice, they would be left dangling or collapsed on bare rock. In short, even if someone succeeded in setting up a ski operation on Puncak Jaya, nature would likely dismantle it within a couple of decades—through a combination of climate change and the lack of human upkeep in such an inhospitable place.
All these factors help explain why no verified, enduring ski resort exists on Puncak Jaya. The costs and risks far outweigh any benefit. It would take an extraordinary alignment of passion, money, and access permissions to create it—and even then, the clock would be ticking as the glaciers vanish. Thus, most experts and observers treat the ski resort story as more of a romantic myth than a literal reality. As one ski writer put it, “teetering on the edge of reality and myth, this ski resort must have been stunning…a magical place—[but] a reality I can’t ignore nor completely confirm.” In other words, it’s wonderful to imagine, but extremely dubious in practice.
Expeditions and Attempts to Ski Puncak Jaya
Myth aside, has anyone actually skied or snowboarded on Puncak Jaya? The answer is yes—a few intrepid adventurers have treated the mountain as an extreme ski mountaineering objective. These attempts are rare, but they give a glimpse of the reality of skiing in this forbidding environment.
One notable pioneer is American snowboard-mountaineer Stephen Koch. In April 2003, Koch and partners climbed Puncak Jaya and Stephen Koch made the first snowboard descent of the peak, riding down one of its glaciers. According to an account in the American Alpine Journal, he rode from as high as possible on the glacier (since the true summit had no snow) and considered this one of the “Seven Summits” he aimed to snowboard. Koch described the experience: the descent was short (by ski standards) and involved negotiating firm snow and glacial ice. This feat demonstrates that, at least in the early 2000s, there was still enough snow on Puncak Jaya to allow a continuous ski/snowboard run of a few hundred meters vertical. Koch’s snowboard descent is the first officially recorded skiing/snowboarding achievement on the mountain.
Since then, there have been few if any publicized ski descents. Now-lost photographs on Panoramio (a geotagged photo-sharing site) from the 2010s reportedly showed skiers reaching the Northwall Firn, another glacier in the Puncak Jaya massif. These might have been members of guided Seven Summits expeditions who brought skis for novelty, or perhaps explorers specifically attempting to “ski Indonesia.” There is also the possibility that Indonesian climbers in recent years, proud of the myth, tried to ski there—though no confirmed reports exist in the mountaineering records. (It’s worth noting that the concept of skiing is so foreign in Indonesia that any such attempt would be highly unusual—the Guinness film cast itself had to learn what skiing even was.)
Aside from these isolated instances, tourism on Puncak Jaya remains almost entirely focused on climbing. The mountain is considered one of the Seven Summits (the highest peaks on each continent) and attracts a few dozen climbers each year who are willing to brave the permits, expenses, and difficulties. These climbers typically aim for the rocky summit of Carstensz Pyramid (another name for Puncak Jaya) rather than the snowfields of the lesser peaks. There are a couple of commercial outfitters that run Carstensz Pyramid expeditions, but none advertise skiing as an activity—it’s purely alpine rock climbing to reach the top. The logistical challenges (and lack of reliable snow) mean there are no organized ski tours to Puncak Jaya as of now. It remains an adventure for individuals with very specialized goals.
In contrast, the rumored ski resort would suggest a more casual, repeatable ski experience—which clearly has not materialized. If anyone had truly skied at a functioning Puncak Jaya ski resort in the 1980s, they would belong to an exceedingly exclusive club. But no such eyewitnesses have ever come forward in a verifiable way. Even John McCisk, the purported founder, is not a known figure outside the resort tale—he does not appear in historical records. All of this reinforces that if the resort existed, it was likely known only to a tiny number of people, or it is simply a captivating story woven from a mix of fact and fantasy.
Conclusion
After an in-depth investigation, the Puncak Jaya ski resort appears to be more legend than reality. The geography and climate of Puncak Jaya do offer the raw ingredients for skiing—cold temperatures, occasional deep snow, and (formerly) sizable glaciers—and indeed a handful of adventurers have skied those slopes in passing. However, the notion of an actual ski resort with lifts and regular visitors in such a remote, inhospitable, and politically sensitive location is not supported by any solid evidence.
What we have instead is a fascinating urban legend. Stories passed between climbers, embellished on forums, and eventually immortalized in a marketing campaign. The legend likely contains grains of truth—perhaps some equipment was installed by someone at some point, or a group of miners and explorers did set up a makeshift tow rope on the glacier for a brief period. But if so, it was an ephemeral venture, never officially recorded and long since swallowed by the ice and mist (or by the jungle as the ice retreated). In the absence of hard proof, we must treat the ski resort as a tantalizing mystery. Even enthusiastic researchers who “believe it existed” admit they “can’t completely confirm” its existence.
From a practical standpoint, numerous factors would have worked against the success of a Puncak Jaya ski area: the extreme isolation, the need for special permits, the lack of any local skiing community, and the rapidly deteriorating climate for snow. Any structure that might have been there in the 1980s would likely be unusable now, given that two of the key glaciers have disappeared since then. The vanishing glaciers are perhaps the final coda to this story—as the ice fields melt, they erase even the physical possibility of a ski resort. If future explorers went looking for remnants (as the Guinness film imagined), they might find twisted scrap metal or old cables at best, or nothing at all, where once there was snow.
In terms of how many people have skied on Puncak Jaya: only a very small number. Documented cases include Stephen Koch’s snowboard descent in 2003 and a few unnamed skiers reaching the glaciers in the 2010s. We are talking on the order of single digits of individuals, not crowds by any measure. There is no evidence anyone has ever skied via an actual lift there—those who did ski had to climb the mountain first, then ski down under their own power. In all likelihood, the legendary ski resort had at most a handful of users (if it had any), and it did not operate for long. It exists far more substantially in the imagination than it ever did on the mountain.
In the end, the Puncak Jaya ski resort occupies a unique place in adventure lore. It represents the allure of the unlikely—the idea that even in our thoroughly mapped world, there might be a secret ski paradise hidden on the equator, awaiting discovery. It captures the imagination because it juxtaposes tropical jungles with alpine snow in a way that almost seems like magic. And for Indonesians, it sparked a sense of pride and wonder to think that their country, known for surf and sand, could also boast a slice of the ski world’s glory. That symbolic value remains, whether or not the resort was ever real.
From a journalistic standpoint, we conclude that there is no credible evidence of a permanently operating ski resort on Puncak Jaya. The consensus among experts is that it’s at best an “on the edge of myth” story. However, Puncak Jaya does have real snow and has seen real skiing in a limited sense—just not the lift-served resort of legend. In a few more years, as climate change claims the last of those glaciers, even that fleeting opportunity will be gone. The myth of the Puncak Jaya ski resort will then truly live up to its name: a legend of a bygone era, when tropical glaciers still existed and someone dared to dream of skiing on the “roof of Indonesia.” It’s a story that will continue to be told, hopefully with the proper context, as equal parts fact and fantasy.
