John Wilbur Williams

“The mountains are calling, and I must go.”
— John Muir

Obituary

John Wilbur Williams, of Belfair, Washington, passed away on August 30, 2026, after a courageous journey with Alzheimer disease. He was 83 years old.
John was born on May 19, 1943, to Wilbur and Helen Williams. Shortly after his birth, his family moved to Portland, Oregon, where he spent most of his childhood alongside his two brothers and sister. When he was about 15, the family relocated to Belfair, Washington, the place he would call home for much of his life.
At just 17 years old, John enlisted in the Army, serving on active duty from 1960 to 1963 and continuing in the reserves until 1966. Not long after, he began working at Mission Creek Youth Camp, where he remained for more than 30 years. Even after retiring, John kept busy, working at the Port of Allyn for another 10 years.
More than anything, John loved the outdoors, and mountain climbing was one of his greatest passions. He became serious about hiking in the early 1970s, taking his family on camping and hiking adventures throughout Washington and Oregon. Some of his family’s fondest memories were made on those trips.
John took hiking and climbing courses at Olympic College, where he met some of his closest friends—Lloyd (Willie), Kent, Jim, Jack, and Jerry, to name a few. His experience and passion eventually led him to become a guide, helping the instructors lead students on climbing trips and sharing his knowledge with others. He loved telling his kids about their adventures, and nothing thrilled him more than discovering a new route up a mountain.
Over the years, John summited more than 200 mountains, some of them more than once. He climbed nearly all of the Olympic Mountains and a third of the Cascades and was even acknowledged as a contributor in the book *Olympic Mountains: A Climbing Guide, Fourth Edition.*
One climb on The Brothers left him injured and required a Coast Guard rescue, which, at the time, became the highest aviation rescue above 4,000 feet—a major milestone in Coast Guard aviation history. *Good Morning America* wanted him to fly to New York for an interview, but John, never one for the spotlight, politely turned them down. He did, however, sit down with KING 5 News, his favorite station.
As a younger man, John raced motorcycles and won many trophies. Once, after breaking a limb, he cut off his own cast just so he could enter a poker run race—which he went on to win. That was John: determined, adventurous, and never content to sit still.
John also shared a very special bond with his daughter-in-law, Crystal Williams, who considered him a father figure in her own life. That love was returned in the care and devotion she showed him, especially in his later years. Crystal was there every step of the way, helping care for John throughout his journey with Alzheimer disease and making sure he was surrounded by love and family. Her devotion to him was a reflection of the special relationship they shared.
John was preceded in death by his daughter, Malisa May Kauffman; his parents, Wilbur and Helen Williams; and his brothers, Frank and Myrl. He leaves behind his daughters, Laura Lea Mathews and Ruth Roxanne Vaughan; his son, Jonathan Allen Williams, and daughter-in-law, Crystal Williams; and his sister, Vonda Bartholomew. He also leaves behind his beloved grandchildren: Stephen Dale Sundin Jr., Audrey Adair Ginsbach, Angelica Lynn Bailie, Bryce Cole Williams, Crystial Leann Williams, Alisha Marie White, Jeremiah John Appel, Ash (Adriana) Nicole Appel, Kenny Ethan Williams, and Mary Elizabeth Williams; and his great-grandchildren: Roman Dale Sundin, Grayson Cole Sundin, Kiera Lea Ginsbach, Riley Mae Ginsbach, Alexis MacyMay Robinett, Archer Aaron Robinett, and Andre White. His family was an important part of his life, and the love, memories, and adventures he shared with them will carry on for generations.
John accomplished so much in his life and touched so many hearts, but perhaps his greatest legacy can be found in the people who loved him and the memories he left behind. His family will remember his adventurous spirit, his determination, his sense of humor, the mountains he climbed, the motorcycle rides, the stories he shared, and the countless ways he showed up for the people he loved.

He will always be deeply loved and greatly missed.

From Crystal Williams:

It’s hard to find the right words to express what you meant to me and how much I will miss you. You were so much more than just my father-in-law. You were someone who helped shape my life and gave me memories that I will carry with me forever.
I will always remember when you took me on my very first hiking trip when I was 10 years old. We hiked to Third Beach, and I had no idea then how special that memory would become. You loved hiking and being out in nature, and I’m so grateful that you shared that part of yourself with me. Every time I see a beautiful trail, the ocean, or a place that takes my breath away, I know I’ll think of you.
You taught me so many important lessons throughout my life—lessons that I may not have always realized I was learning at the time, but that I will carry with me forever. You were always willing to help others, often putting yourself aside to be there for someone who needed you. Your kindness and generosity were simply a part of who you were.
Thank you for welcoming me into your life and for all the memories, lessons, and moments we shared. I wish I could have one more hike, one more conversation, and one more chance to tell you how much you meant to me.
You may be gone, but you will never be forgotten. Your memory will live on in the lives you touched, the lessons you taught, and the love you gave so freely.
I will miss you more than words can say, and I will always be grateful that I got to know you, learn from you, and call you family.
Until we meet again, may your spirit always find its way along the beautiful trails.

From Stephen Sundin:

When I think of my childhood, I think of my grandfather and all of our adventures together—the camping trips, climbs, hikes, and bike rides.
I remember him teaching me the art of finding the balance point when doing a wheelie on those bikes! I have fond memories of our many Christmases together. He taught me so many things growing up that I could not endeavor to name them all in a day, much less an hour—especially in a letter.
Recently, I found myself telling a friend and fellow rider about how my grandfather taught me to ride dirt bikes and what an amazing role he played in my life. He demonstrated what hard work looked like and instilled in me a strong work ethic and drive, which have served me well and been of great value throughout my life. My grandfather was so knowledgeable and versatile that he often surprised me with his abilities. He had a great sense of humor and always managed to make me smile. He worked hard and stayed busy right up until his body gave out on him, never content to sit still. My grandfather could always be counted on to help those he loved. Whether he agreed with us, understood our choices, or could even afford to help, he was always there for us. My grandfather could never understand my struggles with addiction, yet he never withheld his love from me or gave up on believing in me and wanting me to succeed. I know that I made him proud in many ways, and I know he thought the world of my two boys. It hurts my heart that I’m not there, that I hadn’t seen him in so long, and it burns that I didn’t get to say goodbye. But I can say this:
Everyone has someone dear to them—someone who, through their love, respect, and actions, leaves an indelible mark on their soul and has a profound impact on who they become. For me, that person is my grandfather. May he rest in peace. I owe so much of what I love about myself and my life to him. I find warmth in knowing that he is no longer suffering and is now at peace.
There is an old saying I want to share: “A man dies two deaths: one when his body leaves this world, and another when his name and honor are spoken for the last time.”
Here’s to John Williams. May your name live forever.
We love you, Grandpa.

From Angie Bailie:

Thank you all for being here today to remember and celebrate the life of John Wilbur Williams.

Throughout his 83 years, he was known by many names. To some, he was John. To others, Dad, Grandpa, Papa, brother, uncle, friend, coworker, or simply someone they could count on. Each of those names represents a different relationship, a different collection of memories, and a different piece of the life he shared with all of us.

To me, he was Papa. And because these are my final words to him and about him, that is the name I’ll use today.
It’s difficult to put 83 years of a life into words, especially a life as full as his. Papa was a father, grandfather, great-grandfather, brother, father-in-law, friend, veteran, mountain climber, motorcycle rider, teacher, guide, and adventurer.

But to those of us who loved him, he was so much more than any list of titles or accomplishments could ever describe.
Papa was born on May 19, 1943, in Nampa, Idaho, to Wilbur and Helen Williams. Shortly after his birth, his family moved to Portland, Oregon, where he spent much of his childhood. When Papa was about 15, the family moved to Belfair, Washington. He made Belfair his home from that day forward, remaining there for the rest of his life and ultimately passing away in his home there, in the community he had known and loved for nearly seven decades.

At only 17 years old, he enlisted in the Army. He served on active duty from 1960 to 1963 and continued in the reserves until 1966.
He later began working at Mission Creek Youth Camp, where he spent more than 30 years. And even retirement apparently wasn’t enough to make Papa sit still. He went on to work another 10 years at the Port of Allyn.
Anyone who knew him knows that sitting still really wasn’t his style.
Papa was happiest outdoors.

The mountains weren’t simply somewhere he went—they were a part of who he was.
He became serious about hiking and climbing in the early 1970s. He took hiking and climbing courses at Olympic College, where he met many of his closest friends.

Eventually, Papa went from being a student to helping guide others. He assisted instructors in leading students on climbing trips, sharing the experience and knowledge he had gained along the way.

Over the years, he summited more than 200 mountains, some more than once. He climbed nearly all of the Olympic Mountains and about a third of the Cascades. His knowledge was so extensive that he was acknowledged as a contributor in the book: Olympic Mountains: A Climbing Guide, Fourth Edition.

And then there was The Brothers.
One climb ended with Papa injured on the mountain and needing to be rescued by the Coast Guard. At the time, the rescue became the highest aviation rescue above 4,000 feet and a milestone in Coast Guard aviation history.
The story was remarkable enough that Good Morning America wanted Papa to fly to New York for an interview.
Papa said no.

Because, apparently, climbing hundreds of mountains and being rescued from one by the Coast Guard was fine—but flying to New York to talk about himself was asking too much.

He did agree to an interview with KING 5, though—his favorite station.
That was Papa.

He accomplished extraordinary things without needing attention for doing them.
And mountains weren't his only adventure.

As a younger man, Papa raced motorcycles and won many trophies. At one point, after breaking a limb, he actually cut off his own cast so he could enter a poker run.

And then he won it.

If you knew Papa, that story probably doesn't surprise you nearly as much as it should.

That determination stayed with him throughout his life. He worked hard, stayed busy, and was never particularly interested in sitting around when there was something that could be done, somewhere that could be explored, or someone who needed his help.
But when we talk about Papa's adventures, the number of mountains he climbed isn't really the most important part.
It's that he brought us along.

Some of our greatest memories of him happened outdoors—camping, hiking, climbing, riding motorcycles and bikes, and simply exploring.

Crystal, who has been with Papa’s only son Jonathan for 21 years, shared a special relationship with Papa that began long before she became part of the family. She remembers Papa taking her on her very first hiking trip when she was only 10 years old. They hiked to Third Beach. She couldn’t have known then how important that memory would become—or that the man taking her on that trail would one day become her father-in-law and, more importantly, a father figure in her life.

Crystal wrote:
“Every time I see a beautiful trail, the ocean, or a place that takes my breath away, I know I’ll think of you.”
Their relationship came full circle in Papa's later years. The man who had helped guide Crystal through so much of her life eventually needed others to help guide him.

And Crystal was there.
Throughout his journey with Alzheimer's, she helped care for him and made sure he was surrounded by family and love. The devotion she showed him reflected the love and bond they had shared for so many years.
Papa's oldest grandson, Stephen, also described him as a father figure.
When Stephen thinks about his childhood, he thinks about Papa—the camping trips, climbs, hikes, bike rides, Christmases, and motorcycle rides.

And, apparently, Papa also considered knowing how to properly do a wheelie an important life skill, because Stephen remembers him teaching him how to find the perfect balance point.

But Papa taught him much more than how to ride.

Stephen credits his grandfather with teaching him what hard work looked like and instilling in him the work ethic and drive that have stayed with him throughout his life.

Something Stephen wrote captures a part of Papa that I think many of us recognize:
“My grandfather could always be counted on to help those he loved. Whether he agreed with us, understood our choices, or could even afford to help, he was always there for us.”

I think that's an important part of Papa's legacy.
He didn't have to understand everything about the people he loved in order to love them.
He didn't have to agree with every decision.
He simply kept showing up.
And sometimes, the things people teach us aren't lessons we recognize while we're learning them.
We recognize them years later—in the way we work, the way we raise our children, the way we help someone who needs us, the places we choose to explore, or the stories we suddenly find ourselves telling about them.
That's how a person's life continues.

Papa died on August 30, 2026, after a long journey with Alzheimer's disease.
He leaves behind children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, family, and friends who carry pieces of him with them.
And although Alzheimer's may have taken things from Papa during his final years, it cannot take what he gave us during all the years before.

It cannot take the mountains he climbed.
It cannot take the trails he showed us.
It cannot take the motorcycle rides, the Christmases, the camping trips, the laughter, or the stories.
It cannot take the lessons he taught us.
And it cannot take the ways he helped shape the people we became.

Stephen shared an old saying that feels especially fitting today:
“A man dies two deaths: one when his body leaves this world, and another when his name and honor are spoken for the last time.”
If there is truth in that, then I don't think Papa needs to worry about that second death for a very, very long time.

His name will be spoken when we tell his stories.
When someone remembers a climb.
When one of us sees a beautiful trail.
When a motorcycle fires up.
When his grandchildren tell his great-grandchildren about the things Papa used to do.
And probably whenever someone goes out of their way to help another person—without asking what they’ve done, how they got there, or whether they deserve it—we’ll think, “That’s something Papa would have done.”
His adventures didn't end with him.
They became our stories.
His lessons became parts of us.
And his love continues through generations of his family.
Papa accomplished a tremendous amount during his 83 years, but I don't think his greatest legacy can be measured by the number of mountains he summited, the trophies he won, the years he worked, or even the extraordinary adventures he had.
His greatest legacy is standing in this room.
It is all of us.
The people he loved.
The people he taught.
The people he helped.
And the people who are different because John Wilbur Williams was part of their lives.
So, Papa, thank you.
Thank you for the adventures.
Thank you for the lessons.
Thank you for showing us what determination and hard work look like.
Thank you for showing up.
And thank you for giving us a lifetime of stories to tell.
There are five simple lines that seem especially fitting for a man who spent so much of his life searching for the next trail and the next mountain:
Take me to the mountains
For that's where I belong.
Just birds and trees
And wind and leaves
And silence as my song.
Papa, I hope wherever your next adventure has taken you, there are mountains.
May the trails be beautiful, the views endless, and your spirit finally free to wander them all.
We love you, Papa.
And we will carry you with us wherever our own trails lead.

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