Gated, Secluded ‘Paradise’ on the Beach

A Gargantuan freeway overpass rises behind their homes, an occasional winter storm drops the ocean on their doorsteps and an infamous train wreck nearly poured toxic chemicals into their back yards, but residents of Seacliff Beach Colony aren’t complaining.

“This is a slice of paradise,” said Doris Haisler, a resident of the tiny community since 1952.

Hidden in a lonely corner of northern Ventura County, Seacliff is a private strip of 49 homes along Rincon Beach Park Drive, only a few feet from breakers slamming a rock seawall. The 100 or so residents--most full-time, some weekenders, a few renters--regard their neighborhood as a refuge from society’s problems.

Guarded by a card-activated steel entrance gate, Seacliff reportedly has never had a robbery, and county sheriff’s deputies don’t even remember a domestic dispute. The one time graffiti was scrawled on a wall, it was painted over immediately. Noisy parties, loud music and unleashed dogs are barred under rules of the homeowners association.

Residents’ idea of a wild time: viewing the sunset from lawn chairs or while strolling along the “Burma Road,” a dirt path beside the seawall.

“If you want something more jumping, go to Newport Beach,” said Louisa Kinnebrew, who has lived in Seacliff nearly 40 years.

Most squawking is done by birds--the black-crested night heron, to be exact. Last year, hundreds of the pesky critters nested in William Taake’s cypress tree, annoying neighbors with their all-night clacking. Last winter, the Ventura doctor evicted the birds by giving the tree a radical trim, resulting in “the biggest bonsai in California,” one neighbor said.

Many Seacliff residents are older couples and retirees whose children have grown up and left. The handful of children who live there now attend schools in the Ventura Unified School District, taking a bus that picks them up at the gate.

Like most California beach communities, Seacliff started as a casual arrangement of funky clapboard homes. But with rising real estate values, several of Seacliff’s original homes either have been remodeled or torn down to make way for grander residences, some of which would be welcome in Malibu.

But even though homes in Solimar Beach Colony, seven miles down Pacific Coast Highway, sell for $1,000,000 or more, a three-bedroom Seacliff house built in 1989 is listed at $539,000. An old bungalow is on the market for under $300,000, an unheard-of price in Southern California for a place with ocean frontage and a view to die for.

The downside to living in Seacliff, of course, is the view from the back of the house: Pacific Coast Highway, Southern Pacific railroad tracks and the seven-lane Ventura Freeway overpass. But these man-made eyesores aren’t the main reasons for the bargain prices. Although residents own their homes, they pay from $650 to $800 a month--in addition to their mortgage--to lease the land from the Seacliff Land Co.

The lease arrangement makes the property less attractive on the real estate market and deters buyers, said Kinnebrew, a real estate broker.

The land company traditionally extends the leases. In 1955, when Kinnebrew built her home, leases expired in 1965, she said. Today, leases run through 2020 on some homes, 2030 on others, with the owners having the right of first refusal if the land company decides to sell the property, Kinnebrew said.

But most residents aren’t worrying that far into the future. “It’ll be my kids’ problem,” Bonnie Montgomery said. “They’ll inherit the place.”

Seacliff Land Co. is owned by descendants of the Hobson family, the property’s original owners. Until the 1950s, Seacliff was the name of a railroad siding. But in the early ‘50s, the Hobsons began leasing beach property to people who constructed their own homes.

“There was one little house before ours and six or seven being built when we moved in,” Doris Haisler said. “It was wonderful. Everybody came and visited at sunset and we’d plug in an electric roaster and have dinner. They’re all gone now but me. Last year, I took my original house to the ground and built a new one.”

The train tracks and the highway predate the colony, but the freeway wasn’t built until the early 1970s. Construction of the overpass--two concrete spans 25 feet above the ground and 484 feet long--had a major impact on the community and the area.

Aside from tearing down four Seacliff homes and Stanley’s Steakhouse, the only restaurant for miles, the California Department of Transportation filled in 500 feet of ocean, altering the coastline. With the new configuration preventing sand from replenishing the beach in front of Seacliff, homes were at risk of being washed away.

To avoid a lawsuit, residents say, the state built the seawall in 1973. Twice in the years since, rock had to be added to the revetment. It was paid for with a fund established by the homeowners, who contribute $100 a family every year.

Although the freeway provides easy access in either direction, it makes a racket and intrudes on the view of Rincon Peak. But Seacliff residents ignore those distractions by hanging out on the serene ocean side of their homes, where crashing waves effectively smother the freeway noise as well as the sound of clattering trains.

“I love the blissful time I have at the ocean,” said Beverly McCaslin, a Seacliff homeowner for four years. “I don’t even know the train is there.”

McCaslin never even heard the crash.

On July 28, 1991, McCaslin didn’t realize a northbound Southern Pacific train had derailed behind her home until she noticed a helicopter circling overhead. Of the 12 cars that left the track under the overpass, a boxcar shattered, scattering eight 55-gallon steel drums, which spilled hydrazine, a toxic chemical used to make jet fuel.

Residents were forced to leave their homes until the spill was cleaned and the freeway reopened five days later.

Today, the crash site still has reminders of the accident, including traces of hydrazine in the rail bed. Southern Pacific paid an undisclosed amount to 24 Seacliff residents for expenses incurred during the evacuation.

Something positive did emerge from the incident. “It brought us closer together as a community,” Bonnie Montgomery said. “People in distress group together and you get to know your neighbor.”

While McCaslin didn’t hear the wreck, Carol Moynahan did. Moynahan and her husband, Jim, live in a mobile home at Hobson Beach Park, which abuts the colony. Carol Moynahan heard the screech of steel on steel.

“The wheels were off the track and starting fires all along the right-of-way,” Carol said. “I was already calling 911 when the cars went off.”

A retired couple, the Moynahans run the Hobson Park Store, selling grilled burgers, marshmallows and other grocery items to campers. With the city of Ventura about nine miles away and the nearest convenience store 3 1/2 miles up the freeway at La Conchita, the Moynahans have become a de facto 7-Eleven for Seacliff residents.

“They come over for the cooking,” Jim insisted. “We’ve gotten to know them quite well over the years. We’re neighbors and watch out for each other.”

A high chain-link and cinder-block fence separates the colony from the county park, which has 31 campsites and usually fills up on weekends. Although the seawall is private property and prevents campers from getting near the homes, they can walk the beach along colony frontage.

“We have no problem with the (campers),” McCaslin said. “They’re nice and friendly and we talk when they walk by the house.”

McCaslin, a Ventura grade-school principal, and her husband own a house with other couples and live there for one week of every six. Similar time-share arrangements exist with other homes. Four or five homes are rented, bringing in as much as $1,500 a month in the summer, Kinnebrew said.

Recently, Kathy Folger of Castaic rented a house for a week with her family, including her 21-month-old son. Despite her outsider status, she felt a sense of neighborhood.

“People on both sides of us live here year-round and we talk to them all the time,” Folger said. “This is a very friendly place.”

Winter storms, however, sometimes interrupt the harmony. “We’ve never had waves in our living room,” Kinnebrew said, “but there are those who have.”

The seawall stops all but the fiercest surges, residents say. “We don’t ever have to put boards on the windows,” Kinnebrew said. “We’ve never had any damage, but one home once had its door knocked open.”

The worst storm Doris Haisler remembers occurred in the mid-’70s. While Seacliff was spared, extensive damage occurred farther down the coast, she said. When then-Los Angeles County Supervisor Kenneth Hahn toured the devastation, “he called (then-Gov.) Ronald Reagan from my home and got us declared a disaster area,” Haisler said.

Years ago, before the last home was built, Seacliff residents were fewer in number and closer in spirit. Weekly potluck dinners were popular, as was an annual neighborhood barbecue.

“Things aren’t like they were,” Haisler said. “We do have get-togethers, though not in the same vein as before. But we still have a very, very lovely group of residents.”

And those irritating night herons. Chased from Taake’s tree, they discovered the eucalyptus behind Kinnebrew’s house.

“We haven’t heard them lately,” she said. “But they’re migratory birds. They’ll be back.”