Wading in a good size river with a belly full of whiskey  is not an idea strongly recommended to anyone who wishes to remain fishing. Whiskey, in quantity, tends to befuddle the mind and fill it with the kind of blather that makes you think you are without peer and equal in your ability to wade further, deeper and faster waters.  It endows you with all the physical coordination and agility of a very young child just learning to walk.  The difference here is that as a young child you got several shots at it, and crashing down on your behind with your diaper acting as a damp (or worse) air bag wasn't all that bad. Drowning is something you only learn once.
No, whiskey in bulk is not something to be recommended.  In moderation it is another story.  Much of my most cherished fishing time has been spend chasing Atlantic Salmon in fall, which can be an unpredictably cold and nasty season.  A nip of whiskey every now and then helps bring respite to an often sodden and shivering body.  And to celebrate a good fish it is invaluable.  But whiskey is more than a medicinal or celebratory accompaniment on a Salmon trip.  One particularly cold fall day while fishing on the Margaree River I was waiting my turn on the pool when I fell into talking with another fisherman.  By his looks I judged him to be in his late sixties or early seventies.  His face was leathered and

lined and had the look of one who knew a thing or two about fishing.  He was wearing a rust and white 'Funk's Potato Herbicide' baseball cap which he took off and started fiddling with its insides.  I looked over and saw it was his fly box.  Stuck in it yellowing foam lining were a number of salmon flies. I watched as he selected a small Black Bear Green Butt and while he tied one on I busied myself by taking a nice swallow from my hip flask.  "Whiskey?" he asked.  I nodded,  smiling gently, not knowing whether he was a tea-totaller who might be offended by my habit. In a statement of goodwill and friendship I proffered the flask to him.  "No thanks, " he said, and I waited for the condemnation and disapproval.  "I've got my own," he added.
He gazed out and pointed to where a fish had just rolled he said; "So you know about whiskey and salmon, do you?  Thought you might.  You look like you've been around a few rivers."   
"Know what?" I asked.  And then he told me this story:
Three men were on a salmon beat when one of them caught a strong male fish, bright from the ocean.  The two young men went up on the bank to watch and offer advice and encouragement.  The old boy with the salmon on played it beautifully.  The give and take of  (contd. next page) 

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