My only hard alcohol

In the 80's and 90's my two best friends and I hiked periodically in the mountains of North Carolina and Virginia. We carried an adequate brand of whiskey with us to sip around the campsite in the evening. Since weight is a premium in hiking, anything we could do to improve performance of our supplies was worth the effort. At some point this extended to our beverage. One of my friends discovered Rare Breed at a party and it found its way into our packs on the next trip. We never looked back, and we never changed Bourbons. Over the years, we've made our share of converts. Once, beside a roaring fire at a trail shelter near Mt. Rogers in Virginia, three gentlemen we met that evening assured us they didn't consider sipping whiskey as "real hiking." But temptation got the better of them, and the six of us polished off two bottles before bedtime. Even as we trudged out of the wilderness the next day in a whipping gale thick with fog and as raw any Appalachian winter, we were warmed to the core by the memory of that dark honey flavor and the smug inner comfort that comes with the last laugh.