Big storm barrels toward a Big Sur school shuttered by landslides for months

Since early January, Ellen Hall has been teaching in an empty classroom.

Hall’s students have been popping in and out of her online lessons since storms rocked Big Sur — and led to massive landslides — on Highway 1 late last year. More than two months later, half of the students at Hall’s school are still blocked from their classes, separated by immense levels of dirt, muck and rock.

The situation could get worse this weekend as a new atmospheric river barrels toward Big Sur, with forecasters calling for up to 14 inches of rain. For now, until everyone can get to the classroom, no students are allowed at the school.

“It’s a very small community as it is, and now we’re completely separated,” said Katie Day, a mother of one of Hall’s students. “It’s looking like it could be that way for the rest of the school year.”

Hall teaches at Pacific Valley School, the modern-day equivalent of a one-room schoolhouse. It’s nestled between a sea of redwoods and a stretch of Highway 1, and just beyond the road, sheer cliffs face off against the Pacific Ocean. With just 15 students and four teachers, the school prides itself on the tight-knit community it creates. But since late last year, damage from the slides has forced all of its students back to COVID-style remote learning — and kept many parents from their jobs.

“I try really hard, but I would say that no one is OK,” said Hall, the school’s kindergarten through third-grade teacher. “People are being pressed so hard. And that is definitely being seen in the kids.”

When the roads first closed, the school decided to go fully remote so teachers wouldn’t have to scramble between online and in-person instruction. They reasoned that it would deliver the best quality of teaching. But that meant even families like the Days — who live on the school’s side of the slide and could reach the classroom — can’t send their kids to school.

It’s frustrating, said Day, who first questioned the decision but ultimately accepted that it was the only way to keep the lessons going. They’re so close, but still so far.

For weeks in January, about 250 residents living in the 20-mile stretch from Lime Creek in the north to Ragged Point in the south relied on helicopter deliveries for essential items. They were blocked not just from the school but also their workplaces, health care centers and grocery stores. For many, going to the next closest school would mean driving as much as 45 minutes one way. But with their children stuck learning online, even parents who do have access to their workplaces can’t leave their kids at home alone.

A few weeks ago, a road opening eased access for many of those residents, but it did little for those separated by Paul’s Slide — 500,000 cubic yards of dirt and debris north of Limekiln State Park. At Mill Creek, south of Paul’s Slide, the road is blocked by another hefty slide. That one was supposed to be cleared in a few weeks if the weather held up. But new storms could dash those hopes, and emergency officials on Wednesday urged Big Sur residents to stockpile at least two weeks of essential supplies.

“We’re battening down the hatches and just really not living past next Wednesday,” said Day, who was running out to get children’s Tylenol and mail before the rain hit early Thursday morning. “The ground’s already saturated. There’s just no way things won’t change after this week.”

Even before this latest storm, Caltrans officials said the road closure at Paul’s Slide is indefinite, leaving many to worry that Pacific Valley School could be shuttered until June or later. Four children have transferred out since the storms began, and for those who have remained, computer screens have replaced classrooms and phone calls have replaced play dates.

“Again, people are saying, ‘My kids aren’t acting right, this online stuff has to stop,’ ” said Hall. “But what options are there? Have the kids take a helicopter to school every morning? There’s just no solution right now.”

After a year and a half back in the classroom, the post-pandemic return to online learning was not a welcome one. Hall said a few students are struggling to keep up, and she has watched as one child’s internet has become so feeble, “It’s like she’s not even there.” For the last two weeks, the internet has been down at Pacific Valley, forcing Hall to teach from a hotel 30 miles south of the school.

On top of that, many children have been cut off from some of those they love most. Sage, Kyan and Aven Harvey — who used to split their time between their mother’s and father’s homes — have seen their dad just twice since the January storms, relying on FaceTime to fill the gap.

More screens have also been the only way for the children to connect with some of their best friends. Most of 11-year-old Sage’s interactions now revolve around the two other students in his class, whom he sees online, instead of the 14 other students filtering in and out of Pacific Valley’s hallways.

“I haven’t seen some of my friends in months,” said Sage.

Sage and his best friend, Ryder, used to go lizard hunting at the beach between their homes, but now they are separated by the slides. One day, Sage said he carried his mom’s phone down to the beach and called Ryder to include him in a virtual lizard hunt. As he scooped the “blue bellies” into a bucket, Sage angled the phone to show the squirming reptiles to Ryder and his little sister. It wasn’t the same, Sage said. But at least it was something.

When the roads first crumbled, Hall — like nearly everyone in the community — was also cut off from the classroom. The road connecting her house to Highway 1 was a mess, and since she didn’t have internet at her home, she had to hike up a nearby hill and hold her phone high in the air to get cell service. Arms raised, she sent out assignments and reached her students that way until her husband was able to clear enough debris for her to get to Pacific Valley.

Many of her students were in a similar predicament.

“I broke the rules and snuck through,” said Hall. “I had to deliver the materials to each kid because without that and their books, it’s nearly impossible to learn.”

Because Hall teaches four different grade levels, parents also need to take on additional homeschooling roles, looking after their children while Hall teaches other age groups. Because of that and the road closures, some parents still can’t work — and many are scrambling to pay the bills.

“I’m in straight survival mode,” said Day, who’s been cut off from her job teaching ax-throwing, beekeeping and soap-making at Ventana, a high-end resort on the Big Sur coastline.

The mother of the three Harvey boys, Sarah Harvey, also has been unable to work since the storms. Since early January, nearly all of her housekeeping and gardening clients have been inaccessible.

In mid-January, Harvey teamed up with other parents to start a fundraiser, hoping that it could help Big Sur families stay afloat until the roads are reopened and kids are back in the classroom. In three days, they raised over $10,000. By early March, they’d reached nearly $19,000.

That money has been funneled toward the families of each Pacific Valley student — and for some, it was the only income they’d received since the storms hit late last year. In many cases, that money made the difference between people going delinquent on their bills, Harvey said. Through partnerships with two nonprofit organizations, parents have also helped raise about $90,000 for the larger Big Sur community to supplement income loss and repair destruction from the storms.

But with more rain on the way, many families are worried that it won’t be enough.

“I have been working nonstop for the last month and a half trying to figure out what I can do to make sure we don’t sink,” said Harvey. “We just have no idea what’s ahead of us, and no idea how long this will last.”