Jeff Paton passed away from natural causes in January of 2026 after a short battle with a top-roped ice climb in Canada. As noted at his memorial by his friend Mark Shipman, Jeff didn't die in an accident or following a protracted illness, but surrounded by friends, peacefully and painlessly in the Canadian Rockies. It seems like a pretty good way to go by any reasonable standard, but especially for a lifelong climber.

I met Jeff Paton sometime around 2016. I can't remember when or where, but I can remember how: while belaying at a crag I heard a goofy guy telling a story around the corner. With Jeff, you may have heard his voice long before you saw him. He was always on the move, and he generally didn't give a lot of thought to what people made of his fashion, his voice (think: decibel level), or his personal antics (think: dating). I met Jeff in his late-middle age or early old-man stage: completely comfortable with who he was, flaws and all...and with a set of World War II quotes that rivaled trained historians.

Jeff was a member of Chelan County Mountain Rescue, where I volunteered for a mere eight years - nothing in comparison to his fortyish years of service alongside other parochial mountain rescue legends like Mark Shipman, Tom Ettinger, Tom Janisch, and Kyle Flick. He immediately welcomed everyone into the group, no matter their personal or political background, climbing origin story, or demographics. He was always happy to help with a knot, a ride, a phone call, an idea, even a dream. His stoke level was regularly dialed up to 11 on a 10-point scale. If you hadn't heard about his last trip, he was already planning the next one, and you should probably check out wherever both trips went. Jeff held opinions, often grounded in experience, maybe presented with bluster, and always with love: of place, of memories, and for the people he shared the mountains with.

I remember showing up to a Cashmere, WA youth wrestling tournament on a sunny winter day several years ago, and sure enough, Jeff was there, doing something as a volunteer, maybe tapping officials as a timer, or at a scoring table. Whatever it was, it wasn't glorious, and he was doing it all day. Jeff volunteered with every organization that mattered to him, from local orchardman groups to Leavenworth Mountain Association to Chelan County mountain Rescue to that lonely chair that needed a butt at the youth sports scoring table.

One of the things that I learned from Jeff, entirely on accident, was that you can't be two places at once. I met Jeff when I was 30, before I had kids, and long after his kids were grown up, when he was a bachelor and empty nester. My impression was that he gave his all for the teams to which he belonged, and to the causes that mattered to him - perhaps to his own detriment at times. I can't speak for Jeff, but as a father of a young child, I realize that we, as humans on planet earth, simply can't be two places at once. To be a super volunteer or a super mountain traveller or super whatever, it has trade-offs. I too feel the pull upward to peaks and trails and trips and friends in the remote and rugged wilderness, but in my current season of life, that pull isn't always aligned with the pull towards my wife and daughter and dog and garden. I can't say how Jeff was or wasn't present elsewhere in his life as a younger man, that's before my time around him. What I can say though, is that sometimes it's easier to learn lessons from those people around you who have lived, learned, and probably made a trade-off or two. I really can't say what trade-offs he made consciously or subconsciously, nor their consequences. Jeff made me aware of the trade-offs that exist in my life as I pursue a balance between raising a family, making a living, exploring the high country, and public service.

I do know that in the time that I knew Jeff, he was all in wherever he was, leading by example, and many people are better off for his service, his kind, welcoming, and inclusive nature, his stoke for the mountains and climbers (especially on Thanksgiving), and his focus on community. I'll recall his commitment to his community and places, and remember the lessons he imparted on many of us, whether he meant to or not. Rest in Peace, Jeff.