I’ve been knocked out by a brutal cold for the past week, unable to do much in terms of climbing or writing—only able to focus on boring, old regular work. But my head is starting to clear now, and while I don’t have enough energy to get back out there yet, I figured I’d take advantage of my grounded vessel to reflect on some of my most recent climbs. Chocorua seemed like a good place to start.
Chocorua has been on my mind for a very long time, going back to when my grandfather, Frank, and I used to sit together at the edge of Lake Winnipesaukee’s shores. Staring across the water, he’d point his cigar in the direction of this massive peak to the northeast and ask, “Matthew, is that Chocorua?” He always wondered about it because he “went out that way” in his younger days, and it was tied to a memory he never elaborated on. Since he didn’t offer up the information freely, I didn’t press, not wanting to rob him of the magic held by a memory left unspoken.
Instead, I desperately searched for clues to solve the riddle of the mysterious mountain in the distance. I consulted maps and apps, but nothing yielded a definitive answer. So, I decided to climb some of the mountains on the northeast side of the lake, hoping they would give me a better vantage point from where I could triangulate the identity of Frank’s mountain. I went up Black Snout and then Mount Shaw, but they didn’t tell me much. Only that I was too close to the lake and needed to work my way outward. With the help of an app I recently discovered, I identified Mount Roberts as a possible candidate for our mystery mountain and put it on the to-do list for my next visit to the region.
But I never got to tell Frank what I found out about Roberts, as he passed away before I got the chance to climb it. Life had been too chaotic those days and I hadn’t found enough time to get there. That ate at me. A lot. It was probably one of the catalysts that prompted me to really get climbing again and tackle the 4000-footers—I had so many questions about what was out there, I didn’t want to miss another opportunity to answer them.
Years have gone by now and there have been a lot of mountains since then. Life has interrupted me in more ways than I can say in one blog post, but no matter where I went or what I was dealing with, I never forgot about Chocorua. Things are finally coming together, and I’m able to bake climbing into my schedule now with more ease than I ever could before. October marked the beginning of a new rhythm to my life, one where I could firmly balance the pulls on my time with what I need in order to pursue my writing and my health, and I began to ascend. After just a few climbs up some other mountains, though, I quickly decided enough was enough—it was time to finally go see Chocorua.
When I made it to the trailhead, I was the first one there, which any true hiker will tell you is a special kind of thrill. I noted a picnic bench, and it made me wonder about my grandparents. I have an old photo of them at a campground in the region, from their dating days. I don’t know if they ever climbed a portion of Chocorua or just picnicked in the area, but I always wondered from that photo if perhaps that was why Chocorua lingered in Frank’s mind. It looked like he was having a great day.
At the time of my visit to Chocorua, it was still fall in the White Mountains, so there wasn’t any snow or ice to increase the challenge. Nonetheless, the way wasn’t easy. After clambering up the granite steps past Champney Falls, I made my way towards the rocky cone of Chocorua’s summit. There I was met by a stiffening breeze as I climbed above the treeline on all fours, feeling grateful that I wasn’t taking this route in the middle of winter. Even with spikes, it felt like it would be easy to slip and slide right off the mountain.
At the summit, I looked around to get my bearings and locate Lake Winnipesaukee. I couldn’t quite make it out. But the bare rock exposed at the top of Chocorua made me think that maybe, just maybe, this was in fact the mountain Frank wanted it to be. I felt one step closer to answering his question, but more so, I felt closer to his memory again. It’s been nine years since he went away, and yet during the climb I found myself unlocking old conversations I had with him as if they happened yesterday. The long trudge up Chocorua gave those conversations time to breathe again, reigniting feelings of warmth and joy that came from a person who meant so much to me.
I still couldn’t say for sure if Chocorua was Frank’s mountain, but I’m optimistic this is the year I can finally put the question to rest; I recently learned of a new app that will tell me exactly what mountains I’m looking at through my phone. So, all I have to do now is go back to the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee where the Chocorua question began, hold up this damnable technology that wasn’t available when I needed it, and scanning the horizon, get Frank the answer I could never give him when he was alive. The answer will be for both of us.
