George lived a life that refused to be neatly defined or contained — as untamed and unpredictable as the wilderness he surrounded himself with. He passed away alone, in his sleep, on December 23rd, leaving behind a legacy as rugged and enduring as the log homes and furniture he spent his life building.

A true outdoorsman from Jasper, Alberta, George was never more himself than on the mountains, across the glaciers, or on horseback beneath a wide‑open sky. He carried a profound connection to the natural world and a scholar’s knowledge of the stars and mountain ranges. Though he often struggled to find steady footing here on solid ground, he could always navigate by the constellations, landing on his feet and finding in the cosmos a peace that was sometimes at odds with his earthly choices.

George was a man of striking contradictions. To some, he was a restless wanderer, impossible to anchor to traditional ideas of heart and home. To others, he was a constant – the man they looked up to — capable of anything, a steady presence who arrived exactly when needed: strong, helpful, and without judgment. He carried an infectious personality, a loud laugh that boasted a hint of mischief, a work ethic as unyielding as the logs he built with, and a disarming charm that made it hard not to root for him.

George was remarkably creative and could pour his craft and passion into others, including starting a log‑home building course for Indigenous youth — one of the rare projects where his talent, generosity, and sense of purpose aligned, reflecting both his skill and his belief that knowledge should be shared, not hoarded. He would have given the shirt off his back to anyone in need, an especially generous offer considering how rarely he wore one.

What many didn’t know was that George was also a poet. He saw the world in images and metaphors long before he ever put them to paper. His writing, unlike his life, was filtered, refined, even dignified. And yet, despite the poet in him, he moved through the world like a wild being — sometimes reckless, but always instinctive; not lost, but following his own compass. He had little to no regrets, never held a grudge, and lived fully in the moment, wherever that moment happened to take him.

Though he left behind little in the way of material possessions, George departed this world rich in stories. He lived a thousand lifetimes’ worth of adventure — so absurdly wild they would sound like fiction were it not for the witnesses who lived alongside him. From surviving falls and fire, train-hopping and kicking bears (to see if he could outrun them) as a kid, rescuing stranded hikers as a mountain rescue guide, working alongside lions and giraffes, saving a friend who fell into an ice crevasse, saving another friend from a collapsed building, there was simply no harnessing him. He was a builder of homes he seldom stayed in, a lover of nature as untamed as he was, and a man who is finally, perhaps, at rest among the stars he loved so deeply.

George was predeceased by his parents, George and Beth Mullen of Jasper and survived by: his three children, Jacob (Ashley and their children, Juniper and Oak), Jory, and Michael (Alex); the kids’ mother, Arlene (Dale); his siblings, Denis Mullen (Louise), Rita John (George), Devota Donnelly, Gregory Mullen, Kathleen Dunn (Mike), and Clare Mullen-Pearson (Ron); many nieces and nephews; and by a community of friends and fellow explorers who will forever keep his “impossible” stories alive.

A celebration of life will be held in BC in the future TBD.