Alex Cheon Was a Generous Soul, Whether Sharing Topropes, Melons, or His Trumpet

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.

Alex Cheon died last August after a 200-foot fall from Index’s Lower Town Wall. He was climbing a multi-pitch route with traditional protection, and fell from a ledge during an unroped transition between anchors.

Born in Fort Lee, New Jersey, Alex graduated from Rutgers University in 2019 with a degree in marketing. Since then, Alex spent much of his time traveling between climbing destinations, making an impression on everyone he met with his absurd humor, easygoing-yet-ambitious approach to climbing, and generosity. In a GoFundMe post that raised over $32,000, Alex’s brother, Mark, wrote, “He was adventurous, kind-hearted, and full of life.” From Kentucky to Washington, Alex made an impact on the many climbers with whom he shared campgrounds and crags.

I met Alex during the spring of 2025 in Index. While I didn’t know him for very long, Alex impacted my outlook on climbing and the climbing community in ways that are sure to last. Most afternoons, we could hear Alex before we saw him: loud, sudden glissandos from the trumpet he found in a dumpster cut through the din of the Skykomish River at Index’s Wagon Wheel campground. Alex’s trumpet performance improved as spring turned to summer; soon, an attentive listener could make out the melody of “Taps” or “Hot Cross Buns” through what was once a wall of sound.

Alex was eager to share what he’d learned about playing the trumpet with anyone who asked, and he’d relinquish the horn to anyone who wanted to try and play it, even in the middle of practicing. He loved his trumpet, and the day before he died, he gifted another trumpet to his friend, Matt Wittmier. Alex wanted to play duets with his closest friend.

I soon came to learn that the generosity Alex demonstrated with his trumpet was a trademark of his character. In the evenings, when the crew of climbers staying at the Wagon Wheel for the summer gathered in the road to kick a hacky sack around, Alex would stand on the sidelines, slicing a melon he’d purchased into enough slices for everyone. On weekends, when the campground overflowed with climbers from Seattle and its suburbs, he’d slice the melon paper-thin; no one who wanted a taste went without.

Alex introduced me to several varieties of melon that I’d never heard of in Index, where the nearest grocery store boasts only wilting, overpriced produce and most of us relied on the berries that grew alongside the train tracks for roughage. Galia and Canary melons were my favorite. Asked where he found these rare treats, Alex demurred, or told a ludicrous story about a secret melon garden in a friend’s backyard while he scratched at the grocery store produce sticker.

With his close friends, Alex shared decadent, simple meals: thick steaks cooked in butter, corn on the cob grilled over a campfire, sourdough bread ripped from the loaf in fistfuls.

At the crag, Alex was as ambitious as he was glad for others’ successes, willing to climb with anyone. He was strong, but more excited to put up topropes on classics for his friends or to explore obscure, moss-covered routes than to chase hard grades. He was a boulderer who brought his strength and precision to every discipline of climbing, and he had many adventures ahead. Alex will be sorely missed.

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

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