PASS-A-GRILLE – Driving through Pinellas beach towns battered by Hurricane Helene feels like something out of an apocalypse movie. There’s a burned-out shell of a Tesla in a vacant parking lot. A block above, crushed garage doors and fallen fences. In front of most homes, residents piled piles of flood-ravaged furniture up the ever-growing curb.
Sand dunes as high as streetlights lined both sides of the roads Tuesday afternoon, blocking sightlines to sparkling water and an empty shoreline. One truth of the beach remained the same: finding a place to park was a challenge.
At 4 p.m. Tuesday, Pinellas County’s barrier islands and beaches reopened to the general public for the first time since the hurricane. It was a controversial decision that has upset many residents, from influencers to elected officials.
“It’s just a nightmare, not to mention a safety issue,” said Maggie LeBlanc, owner of the Coconut Inn. “We already have people who managed to get in and are collecting the rubbish… We have had several robberies. I feel like it’s unnecessary.”
With most restaurants and businesses still cleaning up, tourists have few places to go.
“Every building, every house is affected,” said Jennifer McMahon, St. Louis’ assistant city manager. Pete Beach. “Only come here if you have to.”
McMahon stopped by Monkey Brass to drop off extra food from the Red Cross. Not that the restaurant was open – nothing on Gulf Way was. But he had power and a working refrigerator.
She pulled out her phone to show photos of St. Pete Beach, where she said the sand was littered with dead sea turtles.
“The amount of waste is uncertain. You won’t want to walk without shoes,” she said, zooming in.
Rick Falkenstein, owner of Hurricane Seafood Restaurant, stood outside his business on the deserted street. The only sounds came from a helicopter buzzing in the distance.
Days earlier, Falkenstein watched on his security cameras as Gulf Way turned into a “raging river.”
“I was shocked when they said it was going to reopen,” he said. “There’s no point in getting people out here now. Where can they go?”
Falkenstein said the Keystone Motel, which his grandfather opened next door in 1945, has been urging customers to postpone reservations. They consider themselves lucky to have only received a few inches of flooding.
Before that, he said, “we never had water in the rooms, except for flip flops.”
Around the corner at the Eighth Avenue shops, Isabelle Donnelly waved over a mountain of wet T-shirts, lamps and posters.
“The yard was full the first day,” she said, hoping the city would come pick up the trash soon.
Donnelly said people should only visit if they plan to help.
“We are all covered in sewage and garbage,” she said. “We don’t need it more trash.”
Her cousin, Amy Loughery, who owns Bamboozle, etc., said most business owners were not happy with the reopening. Loughery credits the city with listening to the concerns and blocking off the shopping area.
“Your stuff is full of stinky crap, but then you push it to the curb and then it stinks on the street,” Loughery said. “It looks terrible, but it will look better in two weeks.”
Across the street, country music poured out of Shadrack’s. The TVs were still out and only half the building had air conditioning. But the bar was filled with locals from nearby houses.
“This is the only living place on the island,” said Sophie Newman, sitting at the bar in front of her laptop.
A week ago, Newman was still a server at the Seahorse restaurant. Since Helene destroyed their building, she has been spending her time helping neighbors fill out FEMA applications.
“It’s not as bad as people think it would be,” she said. “But people are overwhelmed.”
Newman drank from a $2 can of Busch Light — a Shadrack’s specialty.
“We’re on a hurricane budget, you know,” she said.
Around her, patrons half-joked, half-warned each other about the flesh-eating bacteria. Conversations stopped as the bar counted down, New Year’s style, to 5 p.m.
“I’m glad they reopened the beach. I’m a little different than most people,” owner Scott Sugden said. “I believe most people who are coming out want to be helpful.”
Sugden said when he drove on Tuesday, around the time the beaches reopened, there was only one car beside him on the bridge.
“[The sand] moved a few blocks. We will return it immediately,” he said. “It’s still Pass-a-Grille. One of the best beaches in the world.”
Farther north, a gust of wind blanketed the 22nd Avenue beach access point. Imagine red tide mixed with baking soda and the hottest day in a zoo’s monkey enclosure.
Maybe 10 people wander the dazed sand, scattered far apart. No one lay down or swam.
Irene Likokas stooped over coconut shells, trash and seaweed grains. Many of them had animals still inside. She threw what survivors she could find back into the water.
Likokas lives in South Pasadena with her husband, where the hurricane caused some damage to their vehicles. She feels lucky, especially after finishing the car.
“The devastation is incredible,” she said. “People’s houses are on their sidewalks now.”
She wants to be positive. Perhaps restoration efforts could help the local economy, with people buying new furniture and cars.
“We’re from Brooklyn,” she said. “Even with a hurricane, it’s better here.”
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