From my front deck, dirt, shale, and granite descend to the ocean at an average gradient of 40 percent. Big Sur is the steepest place in North America where the land meets the sea. My home sits at an elevation of 1,400 feet, and the shoreline is still so close that in the morning I can hear the seals barking from guano rock. Alluvial sediment covers blocks of shale and granite — basic dirt, and, right now, basic mud.
Fifty-mile-per-hour winds are smashing rain into my windows as I write this. Outside, the oak, pine, and eucalyptus trees are swaying wildly. In the canyon, the redwoods crowding the slopes above the seasonal creek remain stately, but the creek itself isn’t stately at all — boulders are smashing and grinding downward, carried by the rushing water and filling the canyon walls with a steady roar. At the mouth, the ocean is huge and gray.
By day’s end, we will have received 12 inches of rain in 18 hours. To the south of me, three slides have made Highway 1 impassable; it won’t reopen for two years at least. To the north, the highway is also closed by a slide, though I am only temporarily marooned. Other friends in Big Sur aren’t so lucky and will have to be supplied by helicopter for some time.