Kyle Steven Wear, a beloved son, brother, husband and father whose life’s work was dedicated to protecting the rare and endangered plants of his adopted North Coast home, died April 29 with his wife and stepfather at his side after battling heart issues caused by a virus he contracted six years earlier. He was 54.

Born to Mary and Bob Wear in San Diego on March 16, 1970, Kyle grew up surrounded by extended family, including both sets of grandparents and numerous aunts and uncles, during a quintessential Southern California childhood spent camping in the region’s inland valleys and swimming, spearfishing and surfing along the coast, the latter sometimes when he was supposed to be in class.

He would often take his adored dog Pepper down to Ocean Beach where she would patiently wait on the shore while Kyle went out, except for the time Pepper decided to jump off the jetty and he had to come home early.

At the age of 8, he gained a second father in Mike Klose, who played a formative role in helping raise Kyle and his younger sister Keely after marrying their late mother and remained a steadfast and guiding presence throughout his life.

Kyle graduated from Point Loma High School in 1988 and attended San Diego State University with an eye on a degree in engineering before transferring to Humboldt State University, where he took a botany course and never looked back.

Not that his college years were all about academics. Among his favorite stories from that time was how Sublime played twice in the living room of the house he lived in on Fern Street, much to the consternation of neighbors who called police, because some of the band members were friends with his roommate.

After receiving his bachelor’s and master’s in biology, Kyle went on to become one of the North Coast’s foremost biological consultants, known for aptly walking the delicate line of advocating for his clients while strictly adhering to regulatory guidelines.

During a visit home to San Diego in December of 2002, Kyle was introduced to his wife, Kimberly, at the party of a high school friend — who happens to be her cousin and married to her best friend — in a not-so-discrete group effort to set the two up. One year later, they were engaged, with Kimberly’s family often joking that he came pre-approved. They married in September of 2004 and settled into their life in Arcata.

The proudest moment of Kyle’s life arrived three years later when their daughter Averie was born on a bitterly cold January day that began with Kyle spraying down the car to de-ice it before they were told there was no need to rush to the hospital. By the time they were ready to go, the doors were frozen shut and an ice slick covered the driveway, leaving Kyle, Kimberly and her mom laughing hysterically in those early morning hours as they gingerly navigated getting into the car while trying not to fall — or wake up the neighbors.

His love for Averie was without bounds and Kyle spent many years taking her on hikes, bike rides and morning trips to Los Bagels. He was the dad who hand-made empanadas for bake sales, attended every school performance, cheered from the sidelines at cross country and BMX races and helped out on science fair projects that often centered around him teaching her about the basic tenets of his field, like using the 50-20 rule to determine plant coverage and how to define a wetland.

More recently, anyone who knows Kyle well enough was probably regaled with videos featuring Averie that were produced by her high school leadership class. Just before he died, Kyle was so proud of her for pursuing and receiving a seal of biliteracy in Spanish and making it to the state History Day competition in Sacramento.

Kyle was profoundly impacted by the loss of his mother Mary, whose outer beauty was outshined by her fierce love for and pride in her children before her life — like Kyle’s — was unfairly cut short at almost the same age. After her death in March of 2002, every major milestone — from his wedding to Averie’s birth — was tinged with sadness that she was not there to share the moment. Kyle often told Kimberly how Mary would have swooped Averie up as soon as they arrived for a visit and they would have been hard pressed to lift a finger to take care of her during their regular trips to San Diego. From Mary, Kyle inherited his artistic talent, which she inherited from her mother, and he, in turn, passed on to Averie.

Like his dad, Kyle loved to tinker on projects around the house, from making the polished concrete countertops in his and Kimberly’s kitchen to installing their home’s hardwood floors, although those sometimes resulted in shouts of “this is a disaster” before, as always, working out in the end.

Bob and Kyle spoke almost daily, often just chatting about the latest Padres game or Kyle’s most recent fishing excursion, with the answering machine regularly ringing out with the message, “Grandad, checking in.”

A talented cook who somehow seemed to use nearly every dish in the kitchen, Kyle loved to experiment with culinary creations, often taking his latest bread baking or wood-fired pizza endeavors to share with the many friends he made at Six Rivers Brewery and the Bigfoot Taproom, where he liked to “network” over a beer after a long day of working at his home office.

While on the quiet side in general, Kyle still made friends effortlessly with his easy-going nature, great laugh and a broad, sometimes silly, smile — one that shone brightest when he was with his daughter.

Preceded in death by his mother Mary, his grandparents, father-in-law Bob, Aunts Sharon and Linda and cousin Ryan, Kyle is survived by his wife Kimberly, daughter Averie, father Bob, stepfather Mike and wife Bev, his sister Keely, mother-in-law Nann and sisters-in-law Katherine (Tom) and Karen, as well as numerous aunts, uncles and cousins, his nieces Katie and Genevieve (Ryan) and nephews Robert, Tom (Nicole) and James (Emily) and their children.

Kyle fought hard after receiving news of his diagnosis, bouncing back time and time again to return to the field work he so loved, often confounding his doctors by his ability to still climb mountains, crawl under whitethorn thickets and trudge through slash to survey for rare plants and delineate wetlands.

Still, he was private about his health struggles, never wanting to worry even his closest friends and family members. In the end, the damage caused by the virus proved too much.

Kyle loved his family, his adopted North Coast home and the many friends he made before and during his more than 30 years here. In his honor, please raise a glass of whatever makes you happy. He would want you to remember him that way.

In the words of our wedding song, Kyle, in my life, I love you more.

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The obituary above was submitted on behalf of Kyle Wear’s loved ones. The Lost Coast Outpost runs obituaries of Humboldt County residents at no charge. See guidelines here.