Jon Schleicher Always Went Out of His Way for His Community

Every January, we share a tribute to members of our community who we lost last year. Some were legends, others were pillars of their community, all were climbers. Read the full tribute to Climbers We Lost in 2025 here.

Jonathan Paul Schleicher, 32, June 26

Jonathan “Jon” Paul Schleicher was born in Kansas City, Missouri on September 29, 1992, where he grew up in a loving home with his sister Jaqueline and parents, Paul and Julie Schleicher. It’s hard for his climbing friends to believe it, but he was reportedly shy in his youth. After discovering sports and the outdoors, he blossomed into a charismatic and deeply likable young man.

Becoming an Eagle Scout and learning to rock climb in the Ozarks were formative experiences for Jon. He attended Kansas State University, earning degrees in mathematics and mechanical engineering. As a student, trips to Arkansas’s Horsetooth Canyon Ranch turned climbing from a hobby to a lifelong passion that would eventually fuel his desire to make Colorado home.

In 2017, he moved to Denver, Colorado, with his girlfriend at the time. She jokingly referred to rock climbing as “the third person in their relationship.” Jon became a staple of authenticity and relatability in the Front Range climbing community. His early years spent weightlifting translated incredibly well to the strength and focus required to send hard rock climbs, and he would often send before more experienced friends. But it never seemed to bother anyone because Jon always had such a selfless vibe at the crag. If he caught you questioning your own abilities, he’d challenge you, asking, “You sure about that?” and reminding many of us of what it meant to try our best. When you went climbing with Jon, you knew there would be plenty of gummy snacks, sourdough bread, and infectious laughter to go around.

Jon enjoyed teaching an Introduction to Rock Climbing course at the Movement Baker climbing gym—some would argue, more for socializing than anything else. Whenever he was going through a rough time, whether it was a breakup or layoff, he’d turn to the gym to feel a sense of community and wellness. “I always see Jon at Baker,” was a common mantra for many Denverites. He climbed and built friendships at Rocky Mountain National Park, Lincoln Lake, Mount Blue Sky, Bishop, and Red Rocks with a lot of heart and humility. Jon often complained of his skin being “straight garbage,” but somehow had a knack for pulling off sends even when his thrashed tips had everyone thinking it was time to go home. On his send of Crimping Matters (V10) at Guanella Pass, every finger was double-taped and bleeding.

Jon was always kind and patient, even toward the biggest gumbies at the crag, with a comical exception when some high schoolers were in desperate need of a manners check over pad placement. Somehow, he found time and energy to take up running on top of everything else. He challenged the theory that you can’t climb hard and run hard. With his famed sourdough bread and infectious smile, he became a beloved member of the Denver running community, occasionally leading group runs and pacing friends’ ultramarathons.

Jon stayed busy, but always had time for his cat, Jasper, and for deep conversations with loved ones over coffee and a sweet treat. Friends often joked that he was everywhere all at once: the unofficial mayor of Denver. We all wondered, does he sleep?

The past few years, Jon got more into sport climbing, quickly sending Stuffed Wolf (5.13b) in Clear Creek Canyon. He also started doing summer trips to Ten Sleep, Wyoming. Jon loved finding a sense of community everywhere he went, and he found a special affinity for the Big Horn Mountains. The climbers there meant the world to him; he adored collaborating on crossword puzzles, playing pool, and of course, climbing with them. This past summer, Jon was especially excited for a longer trip to Ten Sleep, where he was sharing a campsite with a dear group of friends. He was almost fully healed from a breakup and a knee injury from skiing, and was excited to send routes he had been training for all winter.

On Thursday, June 26, 2025, he went on a run in Ten Sleep and posted on Strava about the stunning wildflowers and getting swarmed by butterflies. He even stopped to give a struggling bee the last of his sugar water. Then, before heading out for a day of climbing with friends, Jon texted another close friend: “Hey man, how are things going? Settled into Rifle yet? How are things in the house?” He was checking in just for the hell of it, like he often did for people he cared about. In those final hours, in his own selfless way, he assured us that he was loved dearly, loved others deeply, and was extraordinarily happy.

That afternoon, on a send attempt of Give Up the Funk (5.13a) at the Funky Town crag, Jon took a fatal ground fall due to an unfinished knot.

This tragedy has devastated the Front Range climbing community. So many people considered him their go-to shoulder to cry on. He would often remind us that our feelings were valid with his iconic, “…and that’s okay.” Friends poured in from all over the world to grieve this enormous loss and celebrate his life with ceremonies in Denver and his hometown of Kansas City. The loss reminded his friends of how he would say, “That’s showbiz, baby,” when things went sideways. In his life, he inspired so many to keep dancing when the world felt darker than it should be.

Jon’s legacy is a testament to how a big, toothy smile and a lot of selflessness can accomplish so much. His intensity, passion, and love are missed beyond words.

Read the full tribute to Climbers We Lost in 2025 here.

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