On July 4, 2025, what should have been a joyful summer at Camp Mystic along the Guadalupe River in Texas’ Hill Country turned into a nightmare that would haunt dozens of families and a whole community. In a matter of hours, torrential rainfall—over a foot in less than six hours—sent the river surging more than 20 feet per hour, overwhelming the camp and sweeping away cabins, vehicles, and, tragically, lives. Twenty-seven campers and counselors lost their lives at Camp Mystic that morning, part of a catastrophic flood that ultimately claimed at least 138 victims across the region, with 117 deaths in Kerr County alone, according to ABC News and other outlets.
On August 20, 2025, the grief-stricken parents of Camp Mystic’s youngest victims gathered at the Texas Capitol in Austin. They sat before the Texas Senate Disaster Preparedness and Flooding Select Committee, their voices trembling but resolute as they demanded answers and pleaded for reforms to prevent future tragedies. Many wore buttons bearing the phrase “Heaven’s 27,” a somber tribute to the children lost.
Among those testifying was Cici Williams Steward, whose 8-year-old daughter, Cile, is still missing—one of two flood victims unaccounted for even weeks after the disaster. “Three generations of women in my family went to Camp Mystic. This year, it was finally Cile's turn,” Steward told the committee, her voice heavy with emotion. “For Cile, camp meant adventure, memories, friendships, and lessons to carry for a lifetime. For me, it meant watching my child grow and learn, but always under the assurance that she would be safe.” She paused, then added, “Joy and growth cannot exist without safety. Cile's chance to experience camp only existed because I was ensured that her safety and the safety of all the young girls was paramount. I ask you, what could have been more important than that? But that assurance was betrayed. Obvious common-sense safety measures were absent, protocols that should have been in place were ignored. As a result, my daughter was stolen from us.”
The pain was echoed by Michael McCown, whose 7-year-old daughter, Linnie, died in the flood. He described her as a joy to everyone around her, someone who “hugged her teachers, was a friend to everybody, and spread an infectious giggle everywhere she went,” as reported by the Associated Press. McCown’s testimony was wrenching: “It will hurt my family forever that, for reasons I still do not know, these protections were not in place nor thought out thoroughly for my daughter and the rest of the girls here. Please pass this bill, protect our kids and do not let their deaths be in vain.”
For Carrie Hanna, whose 8-year-old daughter, Hadley, was among the victims, the sense of betrayal was personal. “I told her camp was the safest place she could be, and she would make new friends and learn new things,” Hanna said. “I lied to her. She not only wasn't safe, she died.” Hanna blamed the lack of emergency planning, backup systems, and trained staff for the tragedy, stating, “Instead, they were told to stay in place, a rule that proved to be fatal.”
Parents’ stories painted a picture of chaos and confusion during the early morning hours of July 4. The Guadalupe River, normally a picturesque backdrop for summer fun, rose with terrifying speed. Some cabins were swept away while others, just yards apart, remained unharmed. As Michael McCown put it, “How could these girls vanish into the night without anyone having eyes on them while cabins literally just 20 yards away had no casualties? So what went wrong?”
Several factors contributed to the scale of the disaster. According to testimony and reporting by ABC News and the Associated Press, Kerr County’s emergency management director admitted to being asleep as the water levels rose to historic heights. Other officials pointed to the inadequacy of the upstream flash-flood warning system. In a particularly telling moment, Kerr County Judge Rob Kelly revealed that the county had commissioned an independent hydrology study, confirming the July event as a 1,000-year flood. “By the time flooding became visible downstream, upstream communities, including multiple youth camps, were already underwater,” Kelly testified. When pressed on why an evacuation order was not issued, he said simply, “It was too late.”
Complicating matters further, some Camp Mystic buildings were located in what the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) had once designated a 100-year floodplain. However, in 2013, FEMA amended the flood map to remove 15 of the camp’s buildings from the hazard area, a decision that now raises troubling questions about risk assessment and oversight.
In the aftermath, families and advocates formed the Campaign for Camp Safety, a coalition pressing for legislative change. Their rallying cry: no other family should endure the pain they have lived with every day since July 4. The group is pushing for Senate Bill 1, soon to be renamed the “Heaven’s 27 Camp Safety Act,” championed by Texas State Senator Charles Perry. The proposed legislation would require camps to file emergency plans with county authorities, prohibit cabins in floodplains, mandate rooftop safety ladders and radios, and ensure at least two separate internet connections for emergency communications. “Had Senate Bill 1 been in existence during the flood, I have no doubt that some lives, if not all lives, would have been saved on the camp front,” Perry stated at the hearing.
The bill also calls for regular training for camp staff, robust flash flood evacuation plans, and improved warning systems. Parents and advocates are adamant that these are basic, common-sense reforms. “Our children’s lives were cut short because the safeguards in place were not enough,” the Campaign for Camp Safety said in a statement. “We are asking lawmakers to make sure no other family ever has to endure the pain we have lived with every day since July 4th.”
The emotional testimonies brought lawmakers and observers to tears. Clark Baker, holding up a photo of his 8-year-old daughter, Mary Grace, told the committee, “This picture you're seeing was my last living memory of my daughter.” Brandt Dillon, whose daughter Lucy was killed, pleaded, “We must make sure that when parents entrust their children to camps that they can have confidence that facilities are safe, operators are prepared and emergency plans are sufficient and executable. And, I'll add, enforced as well.”
Senator Lois Kolkhorst, visibly moved, assured the grieving families, “I want you to know, you're being heard. You're impacting lives.”
As the Texas legislature considers the Heaven’s 27 Camp Safety Act, the voices of the families lost in the flood echo through the halls of the Capitol. Their hope is that out of unimaginable loss will come lasting change—so that no parent ever has to wonder if summer camp is a safe place for their child.
