It's difficult to know what to say about what has occurred here in Central Texas over the last week.
For reasons that I cannot sort, we tend to get weather events on holidays. You'll hear about Memorial Day floods, Halloween floods, etc.. This one happened on July 4th, 2025. It is by far the most devastating flood in this area of which I am aware, and it's going to haunt this area for decades to come.
For years, the areas west of Austin have been starved for rain. The ongoing drought has been of tremendous concern both west of Austin and locally and is a regular topic during weather reports (for more on Austin weather, I recommend KXAN). This area is booming with unregulated growth by developers who will be long gone when we're out of water, so it's an issue. The climate here is essentially scrub-desert. Our native trees grow wide and knotty, and cactus and mesquite fight for space where soil is found between limestone outcrops. Much of Central Texas and the Hill Country sit atop a thin layer of soil, which - in turn- rests on top of rock, which forms the lovely rolling hills you see in West Austin and beyond (thus the name of the area). From the Balcones Escarpment, the hills extend for miles and miles before you hit the flat lands of West Texas - just prior to the mountains.
While lovely, what all this geology can mean is that we sit on a series of hills and valleys, where the ground will bake hard for a long time. The initial rain fall of a storm will just run off into creeks and streams and, eventually, rivers. The ground will eventually saturate, but there's not that much soil to take the water, and we're still sitting on hills, and water flows down. Right into creeks, which feed streams, which feed rivers.
When I moved to Austin the first time in Fall of 1984, memories were fresh from severe flooding of 1981 and more flooding in 1982. My classmates managed to put the fear of god into me about low-water crossings and staying on high ground when it rained. We lived on the top edge of a sloping valley, so we didn't worry about our house. But when we'd go to the rivers and I'd see houses dotting the way as we floated by on tubes, I'd always wonder if they just lived with flooding or if the houses were actually safe. When we drove down Spicewood Springs Road, I took note of the markers put in to tell drivers where the water was should the creek run over the low bridges.
I grew up attending Camp Chrysalis, a church camp more than 30 minutes East of Camp Mystic, and went there maybe 4 years. Jamie and I don't head out that way much - it's a haul. More than two hours from Southwest Austin where we live. But in terms that will make sense to people who live West of the Mississippi, two hours is kind of nothing. Kerrville and Fredricksburg, two good sized towns, are day trips on 290 if you duck south of I-10. Those towns are considered practically neighbors to Austin, especially as Austin is somewhat the last city on 290 when headed West to I-10 before you drive all day to get to El Paso. For a while, I was gerrymandered into voting with the people out that direction.
Much as the 2021 freeze was a freak of nature, so, too, was the confluence of meteorological events that fell upon the Hill Country this last week. We knew we'd get rain around the 4th of July, maybe a considerable amount. But what we didn't know was that moisture coming from the Pacific and the Gulf would meet and unload in torrents that were, I have seen, as high as 20 inches in a spot or two. The rain for Austin is usually 35 inches per year. Kerrville is currently averaging about 30 inches per year.
The soil simply couldn't absorb all the rain coming down, more than 10 inches in most places. And while people have built for occasional flooding, it's possible due to geography and geology that one could have still woken up with water rising around your bedframe.
This is the era of video in one's pocket, and the footage I've seen is terrifying. Streams and creeks that were sort of pathetic with drought suddenly high enough to carry houses and cars, tear apart anything in their path.
As my friend Nicole echoed while we discussed the storm, "Water Will Win". Whether you're talking burst pipes or you're talking the pounding surf eroding Galveston... water is a force we never truly understand until it's too late. For all the warnings about Turn Around, Don't Drown, one of my core memories is the absolute terror of being in a car at age 12 when an adult - not my parent - decided to go ahead and cross a bridge during a deluge and water was over the road. We were fine. We could have died.
What I cannot imagine is the wall of water that came crushing down the tributaries of the Guadalupe River in the early hours of the 4th of July. I do not want to imagine the terror of what occurred as people realized what was happening or being flung into a roaring flood, tearing between trees, dodging shorn roofs, furniture and vehicles picked up by the storm.
Our local weather hero, Jim Spencer, linked to this video that was shot during the storms.
As of this writing, more than 100 people are confirmed dead, including the 27 missing campers and counselors from Camp Mystic in Hunt. Over the next days and weeks, it will be found more have died as people will simply not return from camping trips, won't pick up their mail, won't pay bills. For some time, bodies will be sought, and not all will be found. Right now more than 100 people are simply missing.
The finger pointing has started, and some of it rightfully so. Could warnings have been issued? Of the warnings, could more have been heeded, more done? Could money have been spent on alarms and warning systems? With recent budget cuts at the Federal level, what did we cut and did it impact what happened?
In the immediate future, we'll hear names and see photos of those who passed. We'll see the campers. Missing parents. Old and young.
When I first heard something happened, I was totally unaware that there was a human cost to the flooding - and since then, the scope of the tragedy and aftermath for those who survived and were impacted has become clear. The stories are coming out of what people witnessed, and they are horrifying.
And it's still raining off and on, slowing recovery efforts.
For the first time in years, our lakes are almost full. The threat of drought is pushed back a bit for a while, but the cost means it's hard to talk about.
For a long time, we'll find parts of homes, cars, boats and sheds scattered down the creeks and river banks. Some will be left in place, haunting reminders. Just as some people will, likely never be found.
No comments:
Post a Comment
All comments are moderated. Comments are posted at the discretion of the blog manager.