When winter storms hammered the 90-mile ribbon of coastal California known as Big Sur, the results were calamitous.

A bridge collapsed in the north and landslides buried chunks of highway further south, cutting off segments totaling 35 miles in between. People fled, abandoning homes and businesses.

Four months later, the northernmost segment remains cut off save for a rugged hiking trail. Vehicles can’t get in or out, casting an eerie stillness over a majestic landscape which draws about 3 million tourists a year.

You could call this a natural disaster. Or, if your pockets are deep enough, you could call it the holiday of a lifetime.

Wealthy tourists are helicoptering in to a luxury resort, savouring champagne, oysters, massages and placidity – as well as injecting money into a grateful local economy – in what is, for now, possibly the world’s most exclusive idyll.

“We feel both guilty and blessed,” said Cynthia DeMers, 61, as she lunched with her husband, David, 62, on the clifftop terrace of the Post Ranch Inn. “A lot of people were put out by this situation but we’re able to enjoy the serenity.”

Below them foamed the turquoise waters of the Pacific. Behind them wound the Pacific Coast Highway which was so empty and quiet you could hear birdsong. An artery normally trundled by 6,000 vehicles daily, now padded by coyotes and mountain lions.

“It’s surreal,” David DeMers said.

The couple, who work in IT and finance, booked the resort’s “escape through the skies” package to celebrate their 15th wedding anniversary. Rates for a two-day package range from $4,291 to $7,109, depending on room type. A four-day package ranges from $7,882 to $13,518.

For that you get a helicopter in and out, gourmet fare, stunning views and a sense of solitariness verging on existential. Some compare it to a time capsule – reverting to decades ago when artists and bohemians were just beginning to establish Big Sur’s mythic reputation.

“The helicopter sealed the deal,” said Anne Meyer, 60. “No lines, no waiting time. It’s like exploring, living out your own adventure.”

Her husband, Ted, 62, a pediatrician from Florida, nodded. “This is as nice as it gets, as nice as I’d ever need.”

Guests arriving by helicopter at the Post Ranch Inn. Photograph: Rory Carroll/The Guardian

Post Ranch Inn guests can use a fleet of 15 Lexus sedans to cruise the sort of deserted, spectacular highway you see in car commercials. The catch is they can drive just 22 miles south, where the road ends in the St Paul’s mudslide (beyond it lies the far bigger Mud Creek slide), or just a mile north, where it stops at the collapsed Pfeiffer Canyon bridge.

Repair crews toil at each end. A new bridge is expected to open in September, allowing in cars from the north. It could be a year or more before the road to the south reopens, uncorking the full tourist flow.

Crews also built a steep, rugged mile-long hiking trail on the northern side for residents who remain, their only way in and out. It officially opens to the public on 1 July but a few tourists are already using it.

“I feel pretty privileged to be here,” said Dustin Howland, 27, a dusty, sweaty backpacker from northern California who slogged in with a friend. They planned to camp on a beach.

Elliot Vega, 42, hiked in with his wife and two teenage children from a campsite north of the bridge. They lunched in hushed tranquility at Nepenthe, a restaurant which normally bustles with 700-plus diners daily.

“You feel like you’re on on island,” said Vega, a public works official from Santa Cruz. Asked if he would like to fly out, he smiled. “Yeah. But I don’t want to even know how much that costs.”

More will trickle in when the trail officially opens but until the bridge opens, the helicopter visitors have this strip of paradise largely to themselves.

Most hotels, lodges and restaurants shut after the February mudslide but the Post Ranch Inn, a resort with plush tree houses and a spa, stayed open by flying in guests. Becoming a de facto airline was expensive – the resort was currently just breaking even. Occupancy is about 60%, well below normal, but enough to keep 120 staff employed, said Mike Freed, a managing partner.

“In Big Sur it’s hard to get employees. If you don’t get people back to work they’ll get a job elsewhere and you’ll never get them back.” Many staff have worked there since the resort opened in 1994 and are like family, Freed said. “Keeping them, that’s the incentive. That, plus the great guest experience.”

The Big Sur coastline looking north to Bixby Canyon Bridge. Photograph: Robert Schwemmer/NOAA

To redress a widespread impression that Big Sur is shuttered and perilous, he invited the Guardian to fly “the magic carpet”.

The journey starts at Del Monte Aviation, an executive terminal which abuts Monterey’s regional airport, 120 miles south of San Francisco. You press a bell to gain entrance to a cosy, golf-themed terminal with chandeliers, champagne and a snack room with fruit, ice cream, cookies, liquorice and pet food.

You are weighed with your baggage on a scale, then escorted past private jets to a helicopter. It swoops south at about 1,500ft over a breathtaking landscape with names like Pico Blanco, Point Lobos, Emerald Bay and Pebble Beach. You can see seals in coves and, with luck, whales breaching in the ocean.

The pilot played acoustic Hawaiian guitar through the headphones. He also had Ride of the Valkyries on his playlist, but did not play it.

The helicopters – the resort rents several – land on a field beside solar panels and a waiting Lexus which whisks guests to cabins nestled amid redwoods. In addition to massages and fine dining there is an infinity pool, shaman sessions and stargazing.

“They are very blissed out,” said Erin Gafill, whose family owns the nearby Nepenthe restaurant. “Even when you’re as wealthy as Croesus – to come to Big Sur and be one of just several hundred people rather than millions, that’s special. You feel it’s really just you. You hear birds sing, the wind, the waves.”

“The first thing you do is look at their feet,” Gafill said. Customers with boots tend to be local and those with shoes helicopter folk. They can be big spenders. “A couple might come in and order $1,200 of wine.”

Anne and Ted Meyer, who helicoptered into Big Sur, lunching at Nepenthe restaurant. Photograph: Rory Carroll/The Guardian

Some also splurge on arts, crafts and clothing in the adjacent Phoenix store, the only limit being helicopter weight restrictions. “It’s so quiet we’re like a personal shopping team for whoever comes in,” said Caitlin Reclusado, behind the counter.



Survival hinged on visitors, Gafill said. “It makes all the difference. We’re just about breaking even. Our real goal is to maintain a pulse for the community. Our whole culture here depends on guests.”

Other residents agreed, even John and Frances Hoeffel, retired lab technicians who were hiking home after a day “off the island”. “We had a very negative opinion initially of the helicopter thing,” said John, 71. “They being the rich and we being the poor.”

But the Hoeffels ended up supporting the air link after realising it saved jobs. They also appreciated the Post Ranch Inn’s aid to the community, such as helping to build the trail, sharing gasoline, flying in and hosting school teachers.

Latinos who work or used to work for other businesses as cooks, cleaners and gardeners also welcomed visitors they hear but seldom see. “We all need jobs,” said Josue Ramos, 19, who sleeps in a friend’s car and hikes the trail to work. “Everything helps,” said Gustavo Hernandez, 27.

Some have called the area’s otherworldly calm post-apocalyptic. A less dramatic description would be pre-1950s. The vibe can be infectious.

Elizabeth Murray, the chef at the Post Ranch Inn’s Sierra Mar restaurant, has noticed that guests who helicopter in seldom mention dietary restrictions and allergies. “I think it’s because people are in such a fantastic, romantic mood.”