Long journey: Man hikes 2,100 miles on the Appalachian Trail

Pat McMenamin took an unusual journey this year, in more ways than one.

McMenamin, 48, who at the beginning of 2017 was a criminal defense lawyer in Cape Girardeau, took a long look at his life and realized now was the time to do something he'd been wanting to undertake for 20 years: hike the Appalachian Trail, a grueling 2,100-mile trek through the Appalachian Mountain range, from Georgia to Maine.

He plans to move to Wisconsin with his girlfriend, and closed things up in Missouri before he began his trek.

"That coming to a head sort of seemed like an opportunity," McMenamin said.

He didn't just grab a backpack and a map, though. He prepared for weeks, selecting gear and equipment he thought would be vital to the trip.

Pat McMenamin strikes a celebratory pose at the Northern Terminus of the Appalachian Trail, the peak of Mount Katahdin.Submitted photo

"Some people start with a 60-pound pack," McMenamin said. "I thought I was doing pretty good, with a base weight of 35 pounds without food and water, but by the end I had it down to 22 pounds."

McMenamin said the weight makes a big difference, and it's kind of a strategic puzzle, deciding how much water to take and how much food to get.

There are opportunities to resupply, he said, in towns spaced about five to six days apart.

There are hostels along the trail too, he said.

Some people mail boxes to themselves, to post offices along the way, he added, but that wasn't the route he took.

Pat McMenamin pauses his trek for a photo at the halfway point on the Appalachian Trail.Submitted photo

Instead, McMenamin resupplied in towns about once a week, as few as possible, but with an eye to keeping himself both hydrated and fed.

He wound up with a digestive tract parasite because he wasn't using his water filtration system properly, he said.

The weather was a shocker too, he said. Even though he approached the trek knowing he'd face severe conditions, being caught in 200-mile-per-hour wind gusts was more than he expected.

Besides all of that, even ingesting up to 7,000 calories per day still wasn't enough to keep him from losing muscle weight toward the end, he said.

"I thought I would get stronger, as I'm a physically active guy, and that was true up to a point," McMenamin said. "It's a bell curve."

McMenamin said he did get stronger up to about the 1,000-mile mark, and then he got weaker.

"Guys will typically lose all upper body muscle," he said, referring to it as "T-rex syndrome." Some people do pushups to avoid it, but, he said, "The trail just burns all the muscle and fat off of you."

The last few hundred miles had some of the most breathtaking views, he said, but after six months and 2,100 miles, "it's just a grind trying to get across the finish line."

For the last 100 miles, in northern Maine, there's a stretch of wilderness without electricity or roads, really, McMenamin said, and the tallest mountain in Maine, Mount Katahdin, is part of that haul.

Part of the reason the hike is so grueling is the terrain, McMenamin said. Sharp rocks, twisted roots and loose dirt litter the trail, and besides that, he said, there aren't really any stretches that are easy going.

"I didn't think I was underestimating it," he said, until he was out there.

But McMenamin said none of that was the real focus of the journey.

Attorney life was draining, McMenamin said, and being on the trail was a great reprieve.

The views were incredible, he said. "The camera really doesn't do it justice," he said. "It was tempting to just delete the photos while standing there." The camera on his phone wasn't capturing even 10 percent of what he was seeing, he said.

"Actually I became a little desensitized to it after awhile," he said. "You climb hundreds of mountains, then, 'Oh look, another sweeping vista,'" he said with a wry chuckle.

McMenamin said on the trail, everyone takes a "trail name," almost an alternate identity.

Many people who became his good friends while hiking, he doesn't know their names, he said.

"Some people choose their own, but most of the time, traditionally, you're given your own trail name," he said.

He was Uncle Puck, named by his nephews when they were too small to pronounce his first name, Pat, properly.

Another hiker, he said, was sweeping out his stove one night, was a little too enthusiastic with the hot coals, and caught three or four other hikers on fire.

"He became Molotov," McMenamin said.

But with his name, McMenamin said, people might think Shakespeare, they might think hockey, but it really was as simple as a nickname from his nephew, who started the hike with him and made it for about 500 miles.

About every 12 to 15 miles, McMenamin said, there would be a wooden shelter, three walls and a roof with a platform floor that would fit about five hikers and sleeping bags at once. A journal would be in each one, and each time, he'd sign his name "Uncle Puck was here, moving down the ice."

At the last hostel, he jotted in the trail journal "Uncle Puck is in the net" -- a fitting end, he said.

He isn't sure what's next for him, he said. Recovery first -- McMenamin said he's flat-footed, and he never understood why people could be excluded from the military draft for the condition until now.

"My metatarsals are deeply bruised," he said, and in the morning, it takes several minutes for his feet to loosen up enough so walking isn't excruciating.

"I didn't think I was underestimating it, but it was a lot harder and longer than I thought," McMenamin said.

He might check out El Camino del Santiago, he said, another mountain trail, but this one is in the Pyrenees in France and Spain.

It's more of a pilgrimage, he said, and that trail is easier. It's several hundred miles shorter, is paved, and, he said, "I'd be trading whine for wine."

But in all seriousness, he said, he's glad he took the trek, which he called "mind-boggling."

"The whole thing is crazy," he said. Breaking it up into increments was necessary, he said. "When you're struggling to do 12 or 15 miles, it's pretty daunting when you think 'Oh, I've got 2,050 miles to go.'"

But it renewed his faith in humanity too, McMenamin said.

Not only were the other hikers in something of a brotherhood, all working toward common goals of finding shelter and staying alive, he said, but people called "trail angels" would leave food or supplies along the route for hikers.

"It was really a great experience on a lot of different levels," McMenamin said.

mniederkorn@semissourian.com

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