Jack Oliver Ernest

1931 - 2025

Jack O. Ernest of Sequim, Washington has gone fishin' - Permanently. He has officially gone off the grid. As of July 4th, 2025, he's sloughed off this mortal coil, kicked the bucket, and cashed in his chips. He is now fishing on the other side, presumably on Eagle Lake with no catch limits. He was 94 years old, which is impressive, though we know he's probably a little salty about missing the 100-year mark.

Back in 1951, he enlisted in the Marine Corps during the Korean Conflict (congress insisted it wasn't a war-just a very heated disagreement). This strategic move was prompted by the prospect of being drafted and his personal belief that if he was going to get blown up, he'd rather it be with some dignity-and ideally with people who could bring his body back home. His dad, a proud WWI Marine, gave him sage advice: "Go Marine. They're the best. Also, they have better uniforms."

He was preceded in death by his sharp-witted, directing wife who abandoned him, eight years prior, probably to get a head start on picking out their celestial high desert, dry, hot, home. After that, his daughter, Donna and her husband John, brought him up to the cool, damp, salmon-rich lands of the Pacific Northwest. Jack adjusted quickly-because if you had a pulse and half a smile, you were already on your way to being his new best friend.

Jack had a particular set of skills-mostly related to fishing and storytelling (the accuracy of which was... flexible). He was a pro at untangling fishing line disasters, braving snow melt rivers to rescue rods, and keeping his cool when a bear decided to crash a family fishing trip. If it had scales, Jack was after it. Nurses would tell each other to ask him how to defuse a bomb, because he would tell them how to, as well as how to build a hospital bed. If it was funny, he'd tell it. If you needed cheering up, he was your guy.

Those who knew Jack are invited to raise a glass-beer, whiskey, or that weird health tonic the youth prefers, most likely containing caffeine -and toast a life well lived. Just make sure you do it with a smile and maybe a fish tale or two.

Instead of flowers, Jack would hope that you would do an unexpected and unsolicited act of kindness for some poor unfortunate soul in his name.

Semper Fi, Jack. The fish up there don't stand a chance.