March 26, 1951 ~ August 5, 2026
It is with broken hearts and great sadness that the family of Dennis Aaron Arnold announce his passing on Wednesday, August 5, 2026 at the age of 75 years.
Dennis Aaron Arnold was born March 26, 1951 as the youngest son of two children to parents from families of many siblings, nieces and nephews but who truly had their work cut out for them keeping up with Dennis. Growing up Dennis loved to experience and discover things first-hand, whether it be how things were made, how to play music by ear, how long it would take to swim to the far side of the lake, or how many times he could challenge the nuns before they asked his parents to enrol him in public school the coming year. As an expert craftsman, Dennis’ father taught him when he needed to pace himself find patience, because the greatest things take time. Though Dennis would say they always had enough, the Arnolds’ life was not easy, nor flush, but they always looked for, and found the silver lining. This rung true when their neighbour, who ran a wrecking yard, shared a freezer full (which was otherwise bare) of ice cream in the middle of summer from an overturned grocery truck, and let Dennis pick parts for the many vehicles he fixed up to get himself around. Despite their struggles and some of the hardest times, the Arnolds always found joy – in music, in family, and in the underlying humour of life.
In his youth, Dennis was very active, in sports, lifeguarding, and embraced music wholeheartedly forming a band (Electric Train) with whom would become lifelong friends, playing all over the Okanagan for dances and festivals. The loss of his father at the age of 18 shifted Dennis’ focus to supporting his mother and figuring out how to be a man without a dad. While doing so, he was involved in a near-fatal car crash, resulting in an extended trip to Mexico (Dennis, sporting a neck brace in the 30-degree heat) to heal them both before returning to Penticton to a much different life. After that, Dennis’ life took him through jobs driving long-haul trucks and commercial fishing out of Vancouver to settling on Vancouver Island where he entered welding school and returned to his love of music, forming a band (Mobile Sound Co., and Aura) with fellow musicians in Nanaimo, B.C. Through that band’s very junior drummer, he met the woman who would become his biggest fan and supporter, and his wife of 47 years, Crystal. When Dennis and Crystal planned to marry, they had to find a weekend the band wasn’t booked (which happened to be the only weekend between Christmas and New Years) so that Dennis would be available to be a groom. Within four short years, Dennis and Crystal welcomed their children, Jaylene and Jason to the world.
Dennis epitomized ‘doing it himself’ – from building his family’s first home from the ground up (and with the help of many of their talented friends), an inboard lake boat from drawings, logging an acreage on Vancouver Island with Clydesdales to make it a hobby farm, while welding in the ship, marine and then logging industries, to eventually starting his own mobile welding business. In 1994, Dennis and his family moved to Fort Nelson, B.C. to join Crystal’s parents and brothers in their welding and machining business, and to develop their new family home, large acreage, and his own mobile welding business over the coming 26 years. Dennis approached life with a core belief there was nothing he couldn’t do, and while there were many things he didn’t have patience for (laziness, poor drivers), he had it in spades for learning and teaching others. He taught welding at the local college for a period of time, and preferred to hire welder’s helpers that had little or no experience, many of whom also became like sons and daughters to him. In that spirit, Dennis also made it a goal in life to ensure that his kids knew how to change their own tires, oil, to fix or build something better than it could be made in production, and to treasure the things that had stood the test of time.
Dennis approached things with a confounding contrast of farm fixes to get things up and running and a level of diligence and over-building, which looked like feeding extension cords through holes in walls to get power outside while building a good-neighbour bridge to span the property’s creek that required a crane to put it in place when it was finished. Dennis’ shops and sheds were something to marvel – to the untrained eye it looked dishevelled and chaotic – but never doubt he knew where to locate every part, striker or Robertson’s screwdriver. His shop was a place he would go to tinker, to think, when the brass bell on the door would ring, to receive visitors and share a good BS during many a beer break, and where strings of curses (because something was good, bad, or otherwise) could be heard over the rock and roll playing.
Wherever Dennis lived, he built lasting friendships and a close community, where offering or trading help was a way of life and neighbours looked after neighbours. Dennis and Crystal shared a love for having a level of fun that was larger than life and were often the entertainment in a group, jostling to tell the best parts of a story, laughing out loud, and turning up the music to 11. Every year, wherever they lived, they hosted a bon fire (and later, pig roast) for family, friends and neighbours to come together to share food, enjoy live music and usually leave at the end of the night with a great story or two.
Dennis was always a part of the things that mattered in the lives of the people he loved, and was always keen to be part of solving a tricky problem. As long as he was able, he loved spending time fishing, camping, and swimming, was never without a project of some kind to work on and would never turn down the chance to go for a drive somewhere. He could spot and name a classic car from a mile away which would typically follow with a story from his youth and a hot car.
Dennis lived an amazingly full life, worked as hard as he played and was an incredibly devoted husband, and father. An animal lover through and through, Dennis also shared a special bond with his many dogs over the course of his life, who brought endless joy and companionship as an extension of his family. Dennis’ legacy lives on in the family he cherished, the countless things he built and fixed, and the deep, lasting friendships he cultivated wherever he went. Though the music has faded in the workshop, the melody of his laughter, his unwavering resilience, and his larger-than-life spirit remain etched in the hearts of all who knew and loved him. Rest in peace, Dennis—your work here is done, and it was truly well-crafted.
