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Aidan Heartfield’s remains have been found today. Hopefully this brings a little closure to that young man’s family.
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Word of mouth or citing an investigation/article?
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I respect what you're doing and the reasons behind it. I’m actively considering how to support and help make this happen. I do want to offer a word of caution. While some threads here have mentioned survivor’s guilt or PTSD in the context of this disaster, there’s another layer that’s just as real—the toll that comes from simply showing up in good faith and working tirelessly under extreme circumstances. The emotional and mental weight of that effort can be just as enduring as any physical pain. Case in point: my former law partner flew overseas with a group that went to Thailand after the 2004 tsunami. Within a year of returning, he took his own life. I’m not saying the trip caused it—but I am saying that what he witnessed and endured over there may have contributed. It added to the weight he was already carrying. So please, before you leap head first into this, take a hard look at where you are mentally and emotionally, and whether you’re ready to bear that kind of burden. My friend wasn’t. He couldn’t. And that only compounded the tragedy.
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Here is the WSJ article referencing the maintenance worker (sorry for the pay wall). In the article on Camp Mystic, alumna Amy Hudson—who spent 14 years at the camp beginning in 1980—recounts that during her time: “J.C. Mattox, the longtime maintenance man, would stand watch during a storm to monitor the river.” 'How a Flash Flood Turned Camp Mystic Into a Disaster Zone'
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My heart tell me the Eastlands were good people. People who loved the camp and the children entrusted to them. And if Mr. Eastland were here today, I believe he'd be doing the exact opposite of what we’ve seen from city, county, and state leaders. He would raise his hand and say: “I’m sorry. I should have done better.” Just look at the difference between someone like Mr. Eastland and Ingram City Councilman Raymond Howard. One died in his car on what amounted to a suicide mission to save several young women. The other stood on the bank and shouted to a child being swept downriver to “grab a tree or something.” Both bore responsibility—one as a camp owner, the other as an elected official who ignored ample warning—and both failed to meet the standard of care expected of them. Their failures didn’t start when the river rose; they began long before the first drops of rain. Why wasn’t someone at Camp Mystic awake and monitoring conditions that night? In the aftermath, there have been references to a longtime maintenance staffer who, in years past, would stay up overnight during storms to monitor the river. When did that practice stop—and more importantly, why? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe someone was there and fell asleep to the droning of a weather radio. But if that’s true, it only compounds the tragedy. The cabins along the riverbank were known to be vulnerable, even under less extreme circumstances. And when you're housing 750 children on a property with limited elevation, that should demand not just caution, but heightened, even obsessive vigilance—especially during storms. That level of care shouldn’t be optional. It should be institutionalized. I haven’t even started allocating accountability to county or state officials. But after six days, I’ve grown weary of the deflections, the self-pity, and the contempt for legitimate questions from the media and the public. This isn’t about politics. It’s about basic human decency. It's about wanting to know why so many people—so many children—died. Evasion and hostility aren’t damage control. They’re accelerants. We shouldn't still be asking for answers. We should be demanding them. Not just for the sake of accountability, but out of respect for Aidan Heartfield, Chloe Childress, Jane Ragsdale, Hanna and Rebecca Lawrence, and the many others who lost their lives. Because the truth is owed—to them, to their families, and in particular, to every parent of a child that isn't coming home.
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SIAP. It took me a bit, but I believe the time lapse video we’ve all seen by now was shot simultaneously with the video above, from the other side of the river. Time Lapse of Flood
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Nothing under the hat helped one fucking bit either.
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That’s exactly right. The governor and the rest are already shielding the Kerr County judge and commissioners. They’ve been openly defiant when pressed for answers and cry any attempt to question the timeline, the decisions, or the failures is just “politics by losers.” We’ve seen this playbook before in Uvalde. Greg Abbott — the guy who never hesitates to point fingers when it suits him, suddenly thinks accountability is off-limits when it lands on or near his doorstep. He’s more worried about controlling the headlines than missing children. We know how this ends. He’ll quash any criticism or findings of fact that don't suit his needs.
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Or out for a morning jog at 3:30 in the morning Are they framing this as a money and budgetary issue when the Feds granted them money for a system in 2015 and again in 2021 ($5.1M)?
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I keep seeing "a counselor and # campers" and thought they had found her. That sucks.
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So, the 'missing counselor' is not the young woman from Kinkaid that was UT bound? The reference is to another counselor?
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Is that Springfield?
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Thanks for sharing. Go Arlington.
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I understand, at least remotely, what these fathers are going through—how they try not to hope for the best for fear that the fall from hope will be even harder. Several years ago, I was with my son at Buffalo Trail Scout Ranch in the Davis Mountains. Near Balmorhea. One morning, we were set to hike up a trail that ran alongside a dry creek bed. It was several miles to a swimming hole. Before we left, the camp called the folks at the McDonald Observatory—since they were farther up the creek—to check conditions. Despite a little rain the day before, they reported no significant change in the creek bed. So we set out and reached the swimming hole without incident. After about an hour, the boys got out, dried off, and started dressing to continue the hike. A few scouts, including my son, wanted to return early to make their afternoon merit badge classes. A couple of adults left with them. The rest of us continued in the opposite direction. Within minutes, we were cut off. A wall of water had surged down the creek bed behind us. The swimming hole the boys had been in twenty minutes earlier was gone—buried under twenty feet of water. That began the longest six hours of my life.I had no idea what happened to my son. Every terrifying image imaginable raced through my head. I paced the banks like a caged animal, desperate and helpless. At one point, I even considered trying to float downstream—nothing seemed too irrational if it meant finding him. After a couple of hours, help arrived. Camp staff brought horses and heavy rope. We worked our way back toward camp, crossing the raging stream over and over. The horses would carry ropes across, the riders tie them off, and adults would brace themselves in the current while scouts passed from one adult to the next. We must’ve done it seven or eight times. Each time a scout crossed, all I could think was: Where is my kid? The riders hadn’t seen them. A few times, kids lost their footing and I grabbed them to keep them from being swept away. Still, my thoughts never left my son. When we finally reached camp, I saw him—safe, standing by the creek bed, having just made it out before the water rushed in behind him. There is no describing the sheer relief of hugging your child after believing you may never get to again. i’ve been sitting here for 48 hours hoping that every parent who’s facing the unthinkable just gets to feel that same overwhelming wave of gratitude. It’s heartbreaking.
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