This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
'Tis the season for people like Crazy George to come out of hibernation.
"I'm like a big fat bear, except that instead of sleeping all winter, I sleep a lot during the summer, waiting for ski season," said Crazy George, aka George Pappas, 55, a Solitude Mountain Resort season-pass holder for 38 years now.
"It's a habit I can afford. It's a habit I can enjoy. The camaraderie, just waking up, going up the canyon and seeing what conditions are, making a few laps," he added. "It's Zen. It's peace. It's happiness. It's joy."
He's one of many. Every resort has them, those pass holders unafraid of showing their unabashed adoration for skiing, day after day, usually regardless of conditions.
Altaholics abound. Sundance has an instructor named Kim Francom who didn't let losing a leg keep him off the mountain. There's a bowl at Powder Mountain named after Cheryl "Shug" Sowers, 63, a powerful presence at the Ogden-area resort since its beginnings.
Above Logan, at Beaver Mountain Resort, there's a pack of skiers known as the "Corduroy Posse," ranging in age from mid-70s to 93.
"They ski virtually every weekday of the season — and ski well," said resort spokesman Travis Seeholzer, singling out Wayne Rich, a retired Utah State University math professor who turns 94 in March. He skied 64 days last year and hopes for 75 this winter.
"I've been ready to ski ever since we quit last year," Rich said. "I maintain it isn't a sport, it's an addiction."
Snowbird has Dave Powers — "Guru Dave Powers" on his website, where he chronicles daily conditions at the Little Cottonwood Canyon resort — after personal sampling, naturally.
"I am here because I love to be here," he wrote in his blog, elaborating on his love for Snowbird, which he has called his skiing home for 35 years after transplanting to Salt Lake City from Massachusetts.
"THE BIRD cannot be exaggerated as the reality transcends exaggeration and is replete with legends and memories of all who have plumbed the depths of its incomparable essence," he explained. "I am blessed."
Powers knew from reading ski magazines as a boy and skiing at Nashoba Valley outside of Boston that he wanted to be a skier when he grew up.
And he did, overcoming the worst ski year ever his first winter (1976-77) and taking a beating as he learned big-mountain skiing trying to keep up with friends who were much better than him.
Then, not now.
"I just love the whole stoke," Powers said. "I'm excited about skiing when I go to bed. I'm excited when I get up. ... It's just so perfect. There's only a handful of bad days; otherwise it's ungodly perfect."
Those words could just have easily come out of the mouth of Pappas.
Working at night at his mother's restaurant, Kitty Pappas Steak House in Woods Cross, enabled Pappas to pursue his passion with unbridled enthusiasm "since I caught the infection."
He quickly made a name for himself. "Years ago," he recalled, "the lifties at Solitude dubbed me Crazy George because if it's sunny and above 30 degrees, I'm skiing in my shorts."
And perhaps a Hawaiian shirt, along with a straw hat. Unless there's more than six inches of new snow, he often leaves his poles behind.
"I like the body English" of turning without pole plants," Pappas said. "It's a lot more fun and that way I can carry an adult beverage."
His passion has not gone unrecognized. Friends banded together to buy him an electric sign showing Crazy George skiing powder.
"That boggled my mind. I priced it," he said. "It's neat that people think that much of me. I don't understand why, but I'd be a fool not to be appreciative."
It's probably payback for having helped those folks have many fun times on the slopes — or afterward, when libations are frequently in order.
"As soon as the Eagle gets spinning, we'll be in our usual spot, sweetly referred to as 'George's Corner,' which stokes my conceit even more," Pappas laughed, referring to the parking lot near the Eagle Express chairlift.
His entourage is biggest on Wednesdays and Sundays. "Those are the days we barbecue," he said.
Eagle Express isn't open yet. A long dry fall has delayed that inevitability. But to help persuade Mother Nature to bless Utah mountains sooner rather than later, Pappas has a shrine at the restaurant where like-minded patrons "can light a candle, put it in the sand and collectively we'll pray for snow."
"It's worked for the Catholic crowd for more than 2,000 years," he said. "If it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me."