The Gade Family were my Loomis neighbors; our pastures were separated by fencing. They were always such a tender example of Christ-like love to everyone & what (eventually) lead my family & I to join  the LDS Church as well. I've known Mike since we were children...he was always so kind even way back when. Mike lived an honorable & wonderful life of faith by giving, caring & loving those in his life & career. His love of nature, cabin life, backpacking & especially fishing exemplified who he was at heart & what joy & peace it brought to his soul. Mike was always such a good man, his true example of kind words & deeds touched many lives throughout his life & dentistry career. This world was a sweeter place because of Mike's blessed life. My heart goes out to the Gade families & praying they will be blessed with all they stand in need of today & the years ahead.  I am so sorry for your loss. God's speed Mike. Happy Trails. 

Diane (Hongslo) Euer & families

I first got to know Mike on a five-day backpacking trip through a rugged stretch of the Rubicon River. Somewhere between the granite, the river, and the questionable trail decisions, our annual adventure became known simply as “the float trip,” because there ended up being more floating than hiking. Over the next half-dozen trips, I became a full-fledged Mike fan club member. Mike was the ideal trail companion: equal parts comedian, philosopher, and wilderness dentist.

You could always count on Mike to have a joke ready, usually delivered with that grin that suggested he had been saving it for just the right moment. But even in the middle of the mountains, Mike could never fully turn off the dentist switch. More than once, while we were talking, I realized he was studying my teeth instead of listening to my brilliant outdoor wisdom. Eventually he would say, in that gentle, matter-of-fact way of his, “You know, Scott, we could fix that front tooth and give you a pretty amazing smile.”

For a couple of years I resisted. Then, like many of Mike’s patients, I finally surrendered to the inevitable. Of course he was right. The change was life-changing for me. After that, every time I saw Mike, whether at church, in his office, or out in the mountains, I reminded him that he had not only given me something to smile about, he had actually upgraded the smile itself. Mike had a way of improving lives, sometimes one tooth at a time.

Mike also approached backpacking the same way he approached dentistry: be prepared for absolutely anything. Before one trip, we were doing a pack check, and I proudly announced that my pack weighed less than 20 pounds. Mike looked impressed and then puzzled. “Why does mine weigh 45 pounds? I have all the same stuff.”

So we unpacked his backpack. What emerged was less “ultralight backpacking” and more “mobile wilderness kitchen and emergency room.” There was a frying pan. “Need that for the fish fry.” A full-size metal spatula. “Need that to flip my pancakes.” A surgical staple gun. “Need that to suture your head wound.” Every item came with a reason, and every reason ended with some variation of, “we might need it.” Mike packed for the mountains the way a squirrel prepares for winter, if the squirrel also expected pancakes, trout, and minor surgery.

Mike also loved his swimming pool at home and was devoted to his daily swim routine. Apparently, not even the wilderness could interrupt that streak. On later trips, he started bringing swim goggles and a snorkel. After we set up camp, while the rest of us were trying to recover from the hike and wondering if freeze-dried stroganoff counted as food, Mike would march down to the river, find the fastest current he could, and swim against it like a salmon with a gym membership. Watching a man in swim goggles and a snorkel powering upstream in a mountain river was one of those sights you never forget. It was wonderfully, gloriously Mike.

I was lucky enough to be invited on many adventures with Mike and Gary. There was the snowshoe trip to Carr Lake, where the snow was deep, the air was cold, and somehow Mike still managed to make everyone laugh. Then there was the trip where we got caught in a freak spring blizzard overnight. Most people would remember the storm. I remember Mike, completely unfazed, probably checking everyone’s teeth by flashlight and making sure we still had the spatula, just in case.

We really only disagreed on two things: when to stop fishing—and whether or not to have a fire.
Mike would fish until midnight if you let him. I on the other hand, liked to call it at a more reasonable hour… like 10PM.
And I loved a good campfire. Mike would tolerate it sometimes—but only long enough to remind me that he was going to bed smelling like smoke. 

We had a lot of great trips, but one always comes to mind.
We went up to Alpine Lake for a long fishing weekend. Mike had just gotten a new tent camper and was pretty excited to try it out. I came up the next day with my truck camper—mostly so we didn’t have to listen to each other snore.
That first night, we cooked steaks, played a few games, and turned in early so we could catch the morning bite.
At about 2 a.m., I woke up to the sound of what I can only describe as a 10-year-old boy screaming, “GET OUTTA HERE!!”—followed by a whole lot of banging and crashing, it sounded like he was banging on pots and pans. 

I looked out my window toward Mike’s camper and saw two bears running away.
And I remember just laying back down, chuckling, thinking… yep, that sounds about right—Mike, out there at 2 a.m., banging pots and pans together to scare off bears. 

The next morning, I got the full story.
Mike had heard the bears scratching on the side of his camper and, in his half-asleep state, figured it was a mouse in one of the lower compartments. So he gets out of bed and starts crawling on his hands and knees toward the door, looking in every storage compartment trying to track the sound.
He finally gets to the doorway… leans around the corner…
…and comes face-to-face with a bear that has just shoved its head through the door and screen.
For about one second, the two of them just stood there… sharing the same oxygen… Mike later said he even had time to notice how perfect the bear’s teeth were. 

And then came the scream.
And what I thought was Mike banging pots and pans?
That was actually the frightened bear—standing up and ripping the entire door off the side of the camper.
So the next morning, as we’re sitting there trying to process all this, Mike’s wondering, “Why did the bear come to my camper?”

 Turns out… he had hung the steak bones on the door handle the night before so he could throw them away in the morning.
He basically rang the dinner bell for every bear within ten miles. 

We spent the next few hours trying to find bear spray. No luck. But one very helpful store clerk offered Mike her pink pepper spray for five bucks.
Mike gave her ten… and slept with it for the rest of the trip. 

And that was Mike.
Always all in. Always up for the adventure. Sometimes making things a little more interesting than they needed to be—but always giving us a story we’d be telling for years. 

I’ll always be grateful for those 13 years… for the miles, the laughter, and the memories. There was no one better to share them with.

I had the pleasure of assisting Dr. Gade at Blue Oak from time to time.  He was not only an amazing man and dentist, but truly loved his job, patients, and coworkers.  I will never forget his laugh - it was pure joy.  

My first Halloweeen at Blue Oak, he dressed up like Shrek! I will never forget that! 

 Thinking of him and sending prayers to the entire Gade family.