Large Fierce Mammal

“We never failed to hide the whisky.”

But though this was a wild country, where it was unlikely that we should meet any living soul, there was always the possibility of a stray prospector or a hunter, and a dry garment in a wet time is a temptation which should not be put in any man’s way. Neither that nor the liquor supply. When we left our camp—as we did, often—our guns, our tackle, even our purses and watches, were likely to be scattered about in plain view; but we never failed to hide the whisky. Whisky is fair loot, and the woodsman who would scorn to steal even a dry shirt would carry off whisky and revel in his shame. ~ The Tent Dwellers, Chapter 13

Whenever I plan an expedition of any duration, I require that every participant in the endeavour be in possession of certain essentials of his or her own. The savvy bush dweller needs no guidance from me, but there is always the tenderfoot who needs the education. More than once, prior to adopting this rigid policy, I have sat by a fire in the dark of night only to be disturbed in my musings by a request to borrow my flashlight (of which I invariably carry more than one) to facilitate a relief call to the designated shrubbery. Dedicated bush educator that I am, it behooves me to unwaveringly deny such ill-conceived requests on the grounds that, should the one making it come to some misfortune demanding my charging valiantly to his aid (and it seems always to be a male who gets into real trouble, experience having shown that when women call out to me for aid and comfort in the wilderness, they are never at risk to life or limb but are, in truth, seeking to lure me in for other reasons), and my remaining light sources fail me, then I would be in the dark and limited in my efforts. This I will not have.

Now on to today’s lesson, closely related to the aforesaid. Coming all the way from 1908, following is an excerpt from The Tent Dwellers, previously celebrated in my item of last Sunday. It preaches the health, safety, and curative properties of that most noble spirit – Whisky – in all its wondrous incarnations. Attend ye now this goodly advice!

And I wish to add here in all seriousness that whatever may be your scruples against the use of liquors, don’t go into the woods without whisky—rye or Scotch, according to preference. Alcohol, of course, is good for poison ivy, but whisky is better. Maybe it is because of the drugs that wicked men are said to put into it. Besides, whisky has other uses. The guides told us of one perfectly rigid person who, when he had discovered that whisky was being included in his camp supplies, had become properly incensed, and commanded that it be left at home. The guides had pleaded that he need not drink any of it, that they would attend to that part of what seemed to them a necessary camp duty, but he was petrified in his morals, and the whisky remained behind.

Well, they struck a chilly snap, and it rained. It was none of your little summer landscape rains, either. It was a deadly cold, driving, drenching saturation. Men who had built their houses on the sand, and had no whisky, were in a bad fix. The waves rose and the tents blew down, and the rigid, fossilized person had to be carried across an overflowed place on the back of a guide, lifting up his voice meanwhile in an effort to convince the Almighty that it was a mistake to let it rain at this particular time, and calling for whisky at every step.

It is well to carry one’s morals into the woods, but if I had to leave either behind, I should take the whisky.