This Trail Report Redux is dedicated to my good friend Mike who was there the day I first spoke to the Mad Professor.

Being lost can have its rewards. Being lost can test your mettle. Being lost can rekindle an appreciation for home and loved ones. It can be nice to get lost in a book or a television show. A good television show to get lost in is Lost. Nor is being lost in life necessarily a bad thing. 

I am pretty good at getting lost. Growing up I was the youngest in a family that traveled and camped often. I could not always keep up, so I would get lost – usually in campgrounds or airports.

I once got lost while mountain biking in the backcountry. I dropped my bike and scrambled above the tree line where I could hear the bugle of a boy scout camp. No longer lost, I then had to relocate my mountain bike – which I had lost.

As an adult I got lost on Halloween. It was a very spooky night, what with all the goblins and ghosts about. My wife and I, along with our two young children, had arrived at a friend’s house for a Halloween party. The house was newly built. I had never been there before. My wife drove. I wasn’t paying attention to where we were going. After arriving, the adults had a few adult beverages, then we all crossed the cul de sac to another house, where we had a few more beverages. Then we went through that house’s backyard out a back gate onto a street to begin trick or treating with the kids. I bumped into someone I knew, and after a quick conversation I looked for my group, but they were gone. Once more I was left behind – lost.

I wandered around until I was even more lost. I must have been on a circular street because I kept seeing the same vampire and his grandpa. Also, I walked by one of my students playing basketball two times within ten minutes. “What are you doing, Mr. Boicourt?”, he asked. “I am looking for my kids. They’re lost.” was my reply.

Understand dear reader, that very few people owned cell phones in the 1990s. Nor did I have an address or phone number. I eventually realized that I would have to ask for help. I picked a friendly looking house and knocked. A middle aged man answered and I explained that I was lost. I convinced this stranger to drive me around until I saw something familiar. He agreed. As we were leaving, the vampire and his grandpa emerged from the den!

My new friend informed grandpa and the vampire (his son) I was lost and that he was going to drive me around for a while. Grandpa had us take his car. It was an older, black Lincoln. It looked a bit like a hearse. Perfect!

Our plan worked and I soon had us driving up the cul de sac to the new house where my adventure had begun. I asked my new friend to pull over, but he insisted (with a sly smile) on driving right up to the door. Our host was a real “smart aleck”, so when I tried to sneak back into the party unnoticed he met me at the door and loudly asked “Hey Dave! Were you lost?”

For Christmas that year my wife put a road map of the area in my stocking.

The key to Remaining Unlost

Provided I have a good map, I am confident of not becoming lost. Troop 84 Scoutmaster Stan Boicourt made darn sure that all of his scouts could orient a topographic map and pinpoint their location. We were all aces at this exercise.

On one fine day during my college years, I was not lost. Considering my history of getting lost, it makes sense that when a troubled geology professor at UCSB took some of his undergraduates out into the field and asked “Who can tell me our location?” I jumped at the opportunity to gain some favor in the eyes of “The Mad Professor”. It took no small amount of courage to push my way through the gaggle of fellow sycophants to the center of the crowd gathered around The Mad Professor and his map.

Let me emphasize here just how intimidating The Mad Professor was. Most importantly, he was mad. He was a mad man and also a mad professor – not just unwell, but angry too. He held nothing but disdain for us, his undergraduate peons. He spoke with a heavy Polish-Scottish brogue, making him very difficult to understand. He compensated for this by yelling. In the classroom he would leap onto the metal table at the front of the geology lab at UCSB and yell at us – spittle flying. Sometimes he would fail in his attempt to leap onto the metal table. Instead, he would crack his bare shin (just above his sock-clad Birkenstock) and fall spectacularly. This would have been funny had it not been so terrifying. To make matters worse, he bore a striking resemblance to Hannibal Lecter. 

As I steeled myself for my first interaction with His Madness, I knew for certain that on this occasion I was not lost. I could read a map! I knew exactly where we were. It was now my time to step up, step forward and prove to The Mad Professor, my classmates and the world that I was not lost.

Allow me to comment here about the setting. We were outdoors – “in the field”. For geology students, “in the field” often means in the desert. In the desert, rock formations are more easily studied as they are exposed and not covered in vegetation.

It was a hot, dry day. I was severely dehydrated, which might explain my poorly considered decision to answer The Mad Professor’s query: “Who can tell me our location?”

I moved in close to The Mad Professor and his topographic map. Our faces were not more than three feet apart. I could smell the pastrami on his breath. I pointed at our location on the map with a shaky finger. I formed a response in my head. 

My plan was to say: “Are we here?”

Unfortunately, due to the excessive heat and my dehydration all that came out of my mouth was: “We here?” It was frog like. A human croak. “We here?”

The Mad Professor smiled. He looked at me for a long time. No one spoke. Time stood still.

“WE HERE?” asked The Mad Professor. 

I think he was mocking me.

“WE HERE?” he asked again, this time more loudly.

The class began to squirm uncomfortably. Still, no one spoke. All eyes were on me.

The Mad Professor loudly continued, turning red in the face.

“ME JANE!”

“YOU TARZAN!”

“YES, WE HERE! YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!”

I then slowly retreated to the back of the group and “lost myself in the crowd”. My good friend Mike gave me an understanding look and a consoling pat on the back, as did others.

Yes! Me here! Me not lost! Me happy!

Despite how The Mad Professor reacted to my contribution I was quite proud of getting it right.

Although it was certainly not intended as a “team building exercise”, the incident did serve to bring us students closer together as a class. On that day a subtle change occurred. The Mad Professor had crossed that invisible line where without an apology and a plea for forgiveness, the instructor never gets their class back. We figured out how to succeed on our own, and I walked away with a funny story to tell – one that always gets a laugh.

I would go on to complete my geology field work at UCSB (Earth 118) and graduate with a degree in geology. I would also, however improbably, end up in the position of teacher – with the important responsibility to either hinder or encourage my fellow humans. I would eventually learn how to help lost souls find their way.

In the words of Marty Rubin, “Getting lost is part of getting there.”

Happy Halloween everyone, stay safe and don’t forget to leave behind a trail of bread crumbs!

Here is a partial list of books about being lost:

Walk in the Woods, Bill Bryson

Into the Wild, Jon Krakauer

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Stephen King

The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho

Alive, Piers Paul Read

The Last Season, Eric Blehm

The Road, Cormac McCarthy

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain

Call of the Wild, Jack London

Life of Pi, Yann Martell

Lord of the Flies, William Golding

The Hobbit, JRR Tolkein  

Hatchet, Gary Paulsen

My Side of the Mountain, Jean Craighead George

Walden, Henry David Thoreau