IN THE PIPELINE:Middle school students discover Yosemite’s wonders

I’m standing in a glowing green meadow in the shadow of the El Capitan rock formation at Yosemite National Park on a warm spring afternoon. Nearby, my son Charlie and his eighth-grade classmates from Mesa View Middle School gawk at the nearby hulking figure. At first they’re intimidated as he paws the air and gestures toward the sky. But they break into smiles when he approaches and playfully tousles a kid’s hair. It’s not a bear, but rather a lion of a man, science teacher Jay DuVal, who for 35 years has led students on a pilgrimage to what he considers a sacred place — a hallowed teaching sanctuary.

The former Iowa farm boy has taught in Huntington Beach since 1963, starting at Mesa View in 1993. The five-day Yosemite trips started 35 years ago when he and colleagues Rod Collier and Jim Henderson first dreamed up the idea (DuVal calls Collier the “Father of the program”). Since then, programs have sprouted at other schools, but DuVal’s is thought by many as not just the first, but also the best. This, thanks to DuVal’s creativity, energy and dedication to education.

About half the class (approximately 150 kids) take the trip each spring, earning incentive points during the year to choose the hikes they want most (they can rack up points, for instance, working at a car wash and volunteering at the marathon, events DuVal also leads). Premium hikes include Yosemite Falls and the Nevada Falls Loop, but Vernal Falls and Mariposa Grove are also popular along with other activities. Nightly hikes and presentations fill out the week.

We arrive Monday at the historic Camp Curry where kids will bunk four to a cabin. DuVal drops his bags and announces dramatically, “I am home.” And with that, the week kicks off. Duval, along with veteran teacher/helpers Mike Merz, Craig Sears and Dennis Masuda, seems almost as giddy and mischievous as the kids. The stamina of the teachers belies their ages, and younger teachers (who will tackle the most strenuous hikes) pay close attention. After all, someday they will be charged with running the operation. For now though, it’s DuVal’s show as he barks orders and gives direction with military gusto.

Each night three groups rotate hikes with three teachers. Night one, we walk with DuVal, following a woodsy trail as pink shafts of light fade into the towering granite cliffs near the base of Yosemite Falls. The group of about 50 students hushes as, over the rush of the nearby water, Duval opens up about his first trip here. It was some 35 years ago. His dad had recently been killed in a farming accident back in Iowa.

“I had lost my best friend, and my life had no meaning. One night, here in a meadow I sat. And thought. And found meaning again,” he said.

His words hang heavy at dusk in the cool waterfall mist. As if paying tribute to his dad, he becomes a father figure in this setting, returning each year with the kids. He formulates the learning program, recruits teachers, parental chaperons and designs the activities. But it’s his personality that steers the ship throughout the week.

One part Patton, one part Pied Piper, he trudges through the forests orating on Indian spirits, faith, hope, struggle and sacrifice. He implores the kids to “open their hearts” so they may learn about themselves. He commands and demands discipline, respect and decency — and he gets it. He builds character by barking, teasing, complimenting and comforting — sometimes all in one moment. He seems to know every leaf, every bird, and every bit of bark. He shares his stories, folklore, theories, outrageous puns — and ire if the kids stray from the course. The year’s science lessons (among other courses) are all relived here in the natural world. DuVal constantly drills the troops with pop quizzes and memory testers, and they love it (especially when he rewards with small treats). If a kid gives a seat up on a shuttle to the elderly, they are introduced and applauded before dinner. Nightly grades are also given. “We got a B today,” he bellows, as if somewhere in the woods a tribunal is judging. “We need to get that up.”

Later that evening, a group of teens lay on a bridge meditating, staring at the sky as a river rushes below. Jupiter appears as a white diamond over the ridge against a deep purple sky. Cradled by nature, the kids ponder and dream, devoid (for the most part) of hand-held electronics, music or TV. This is beautiful learning.

I hiked Nevada Falls with my son’s group one day and was back on the ground with DuVal the next. Marching his kids through the forest, he identifies black oak, yellow pine and red-winged blackbirds. His voice cracks like thunder in the air. Then under his breath he tells me, “We teachers may be forgotten when we leave, but we live on through these kids.”

Case in point, my bunkmate, Andy Arledge, whose daughter Carlee is on the trip, was a DuVal student about 35 years ago. An admitted handful as a youngster, Arledge said DuVal hasn’t changed a lick.

“He’s affected a lot of kids’ lives for the better. I was a tough kid and he had plenty of heart-to-hearts with me. He teaches life lessons today just like back then.” Arledge is a captain and 27-year veteran of the Huntington Beach Fire Department. DuVal could not be more proud of him — and a bond remains. At a nightly chaperone meeting, it seems someone may have to tackle the grueling Yosemite Falls hike on back-to-back days. DuVal looks over to Arledge. “Anything you need, Jay. I’m here for you,” the former student reassures. Chaperone Gayle Exton, another former student here with her daughter Chelsea, actually made two of the Yosemite trips years ago. Once a DuVal student, always a DuVal student.

The day before we leave, DuVal leads one last hike with his old buddy Craig Sears, who retires this year. This will be his last official trip, so DuVal lets him direct the trek. Over lunch, DuVal tells the group how much Sears means to him, as a man and as a friend. “Of all the teachers I’ve ever worked with — he’s number one.”

There is deep affection between these two, who swap facts, old-guy insults and memories — lots of memories. And the teens love it.

We get back, have dinner, a final hike, and then, too soon, it’s over.

Friday morning, as our bus gently winds down the curving mountain road, many students snooze peacefully. Looking back from his front seat command perch, DuVal smiles as he surveys them, his eyes twinkling. Wistfully he asks, “Don’tcha just love these kids?”

He may give me a detention for writing this, because he shuns credit, choosing instead to tout his team. But to you, Mr. DuVal, for the thousands of Huntington Beach students, parents and teachers whose lives you have enriched, we give thanks. You’ve demonstrated that teaching goes beyond a book, protractor or laptop. And you’ve magnificently leveraged the power of Yosemite to help our sons and daughters prepare for what lies ahead in that brave new world beyond eighth grade.

Photographer Ansel Adams said, “A true photograph need not be explained, nor can it be contained in words.”

When Adams once greeted you and your students in a meadow, I wonder if he knew he could just as well have been describing you.