The best times I had were when we would do a Docus. It was a weekend away from wives and stuff. It was great because Terry would always do the math. He figured to the penny what it would cost and everyone would anty up and have a blast. I had just met this woman named Robin who robbed me of my cash. But offered to lend it to me to go away for the Docus thingy. Odd, I suppose, but more about her later.
Well we got there for two days of fishing and three nights of drinking. Rick...The Captain, had strict rules about things. We could drink our brains out but when we were on the water we had to be straight. Rick took charge of the first boat, a sixteen footer with 12 or so horsepower. Warren had my boat but managed to hammer half a dozen boats getting out of harbour. Rick said, "Warren, you're fired. Dougie you're driving." Well okay. We set off for the far reaches across the lake to get a fish. Warren caught one, a pike, about twelve pounds we let it go and headed back.
A little more about Warren.
One Christmas Eve there was a knock on his door. One of the kids opened it and some guy with a sawed-off semi automatic 22 walked in. He had just shot two cabbies, one dead, the other almost. He was being chased and hit Warren's house, completely by chance. Warren was a gun collector. He had everything downstairs, but kept a cool head. He kept the guy occupied while his wife got the kids to the basement. There was a cop at the window and he got them out.
At some point, the guy, holding a rifle to Warren's head got him out of the house and into his brand new Chevy Malibu. The snow and ice was thick on the window and the guy decided if he shot a round through the window the stuff would fall off. He was wrong. The safety glass collapsed and the plans changed to bring him back inside. On the passenger side Warren saw a cop creeping up the side of the car. When the mongrel got out of his side the cop got up and pumped a 38 caliber round into his forehead. At his retirement celebration, the guy turned out to be a chief or some such thing, he gave Warren the gun he shot the guy with. True.
On the way back from our fishing expedition we hit some bad weather. The swells were at least four feet of black, cold water, with a sixteen foot boat with little motor. It was touch and go. One wrong move and we would have been swamped, but we made it back and I will never forget the fear I had about my ability to get Warren home. Warren couldn't swim.