Pilot Recalls Conducting Texas Flood Rescues at Camp Mystic
Oguiofor, a member of the U.S. Coast Guard and Texas native, was one of more than 1,700 emergency responders who headed to central Texas in response to heavy precipitation that caused fast-moving flood waters to rise up to 30-feet high, sweeping away cars and homes and taking the lives of at least 120 people. More than 150 individuals still remain missing statewide as search and rescue efforts continue. The natural disaster has caused an estimated $18 to $22 billion in damages, according to AccuWeather.
'With how these work, a lot of times we don't have all the information when we first depart from our home base,' Oguiofor said. 'We all thought, 'Okay, they're probably just Fourth of July campers, along the river, maybe 10-20 people [need assistance].'
The mission proved to be much more arduous than expected for her and her small crew of four, all of whom are first tour aviators.
The team—which typically deals with maritime assistance, she says—traveled inland to the all-girls Christian summer camp, Camp Mystic, which was nestled along the banks of the flooded Guadalupe River in an area known as 'flash flood alley.' Camp Mystic was devastated by the flooding: At least 27 campers and counselors died, including the camp's director Richard 'Dick' Eastland.
Oguiofor and her team conducted dozens of flights, picking up groups of three to four girls from Camp Mystic and transporting them to a nearby reunification center after they were triaged by Petty Officer Scott Ruskan, the Coast Guard rescue swimmer who helped some 165 people to safety while also attempting to quell the high emotions of the girls at the campsite.
'They would come up as we're trying to get them into the aircraft … Like, 'Hey, have you seen my sister? She was over there at this other camp,' or just trying to give descriptions,' Oguiofor recalls. 'It's one thing to go through that, but then also having to be a sibling, either older or younger, and now also questioning [my sibling's safety]. These are kids.'
Oguifor attempted to put her emotions aside to complete her mission, though she admits she often worked with tears in her eyes throughout the nearly 12-hour day. 'I [am] continually praying for them, continually praying for those families. My team and I were grateful for the part that we were able to play,' she says.
Oguiofor's biggest hurdle as a helicopter co-pilot was actually getting to the camp, which lies near Kerrville, Texas, from her home base of Corpus Christi. The torrential downpour remained heavy when she embarked on the flight, forcing her and her crew to move across Texas through the towns of San Antonio, Boerne Stage, and Hondo as they flew west around the storm cell and constantly reassessed how they would make it on camp grounds. 'It took us about four attempts before we're actually able to get in,' she recounts. Eventually, they landed at a soccer field on the site.
The team relied on communication shared with them by the Army National Guard, who have also assisted with rescue efforts, as they took on the tasks assigned to them. 'We're still being introduced to different cases and different missions as we go,' says Oguiofor, who had only participated in a small number of missions previously. 'Neither of us had anything like this case [before].'
Even amid the devastation, her work reminded her of people's ability to come together as a community to assist in times of need. 'I'm so impressed with everyone,' she says. 'The bravery from people out there, that also warmed my heart.'
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Texas's Camp Mystic was ‘a place of joy'. Floods turned it into a site of great loss
The loss of 27 campers and counsellors from Camp Mystic to the Texas Hill Country flood may serve, at a terrible cost, to expand its considerable reputation across Texas and beyond. Even as the floods claimed more lives along the valley – at least 120 confirmed dead and 160 people unaccounted for as of Tuesday – the loss of several 'Mystic Girls' has dominated the headlines. The camp, which offers two four-week terms and one two-week term over the summer, has been the go-to summer camp for daughters of Texans for nearly a century. It's so popular that fathers have been known to call the registrar to get their daughters on the list from the delivery room. The camp, which spans more than 700 acres, has been widely described as an all-girls Christian camp, lending an image of baptisms in the river, but the religious component may be overstated: the camp is known as one of dozens along the Guadalupe River where Texan families send their young to escape the brutal heat of the lowlands. Related: Everything we know about Texas flooding – with visuals Now at least one-half of Camp Mystic, which was due to celebrate its centenary next year, lies in ruins, torn apart by raging floodwaters. The sound of song and girls playing has been replaced by the sound of chainsaws and heavy equipment as 19 state agencies and thousands of volunteers work to search and clear mounds of flood debris along the river, including the muddied personal items of the campers. Five days after the flood, the task along the valley has become a search-and-recovery operation: no one has been rescued from the river alive since Friday. In addition to the lost girls, Camp Mystic's director, Richard 'Dick' Eastland, a fourth-generation owner of the camp, died while attempting to bring five girls to safety. 'It tugs at the heart of anyone in the world that sees the pictures of those little faces,' said Claudia Sullivan, author of a book on the Camp Mystic experience, Heartfelt: A Memoir of Camp Mystic Inspirations. 'To know that they were there, having the time of their life, that they were innocent, and then to be taken away in such a tragic event – it takes you to your knees.' Most alumni contacted by the Guardian indicated they were too upset to discuss the camp, or its reputation, as Texas Monthly put it in a 2011 article, for serving 'as a near-flawless training ground for archetypal Texas women'. It has served generations of Texas women, often from well-to-do or politically connected Texas families, including the former first lady Laura Bush, who was a counsellor, and the daughters and granddaughters of Lyndon Johnson, former secretary of state James Baker, and Texas governors Price Daniel, Dan Moody and John Connally. *** The camp may have been incorrectly characterized as a 'Christian' camp. 'That evokes the idea of church camp but that's not the case,' said Sullivan. 'It's a private camp for girls that holds Christian values. When I was there we spent a lot of time talking about being kind to one another and having compassion, and there were people from other denominations and faiths.' Camp Mystic is better understood, Sullivan added, as being in a place free from pressure. 'You're in nature, in a beautiful setting, and really removed from the world', said Sullivan. 'It's a place of joy and innocence – or was. My sense is that it will definitely be rebuilt, but it's awfully early.' The outpouring of grief and rush to support the community have been striking. A church memorial service was held on Monday in San Antonio for the 'Mystic girls' who had been lost. Many dressed in the camp's green and white, together in song and prayer. It was not possible to get to the camp on Tuesday, a tailback of 2.5 hours extended across the seven miles from Hunt, the nearest hamlet, to Camp Mystic. At the season's peak in July and August, the camp hosted 750 girls aged between seven and 17 years old – that's more than half of Hunt's population of about 1,300. At Ingram, a riverbank town that also lost dozens from RV camps and homes to the flood, emergency workers and volunteers were pitching in, in many cases in the hope of recovering people still lost, and many bodies probably hidden under large piles of river debris, shattered homes and mangled possessions. John Sheffield, owner of Ingram's Ole Ingram Grocery, said the flood had not recognized social differences and nor would the recovery effort: 'This is Americans taking care of Americans. There's been such a tremendous outpouring of support and compassion.' Down by the river, search crews were continuing to comb through debris and mud. Claud Johnson, the mayor of Ingram, was operating a digger up by Hunt. An EMS van pulled up, suggesting another body had been found. Helicopters continued to move overhead despite an incident on Monday when one was struck by a privately operated drone and was forced to make an emergency landing. There's been such a tremendous outpouring of support and compassion John Sheffield Three baristas from the Aftersome Coffee stand in San Antonio had come up to serve recovery workers. Allyson Bebleu said she had gone to church camp and it had given her some of her fondest memories. 'It's not just for the wealthiest families, people of all types go to camp,' she said. 'Everyone is putting themselves in the shoes of the Camp Mystic girls. It's tragic.' Camp Mystic was also the subject of a controversial video recently posed by Sade Perkins, a former member of Houston's Food Insecurity Board. Perkins was 'permanently removed' by John Whitmire, the Houston mayor, after she called Camp Mystic a 'whites only' conservative Christian camp without even 'a token Asian, they don't have a token Black person'. Richard Vela, whose 13-year-old daughter Maya was evacuated from a nearby camp, Camp Honey Creek, on Friday and was still too upset to discuss it, said Perkins' comments 'were not right. You don't talk about people like that. There's a lot of death going on and they still haven't found everybody.' *** Bruce Jerome, who was manning an outreach for flood survivors in Ingram, said he had known Jane Ragsdale, the director and longtime co-owner of Heart O' the Hills Camp, in Hunt, Texas, who had died in the flooding. 'She was just genuinely wonderful,' Jerome said. Further down the track to the river was Josey Garcia, a Democratic representative for San Antonio in the Texas state house. She and her team were also picking through the debris, pointing out vast piles that still need to be be sifted through. Garcia, a military veteran, said it was important to come 'and collaborate with our neighbors here to recover those that are missing and help Kerr county clean up. We've had folks coming from Laredo and outstate Kansas to lend assistance. It's showing the spirit of Texas – when it comes to lives being devastated it's our duty to step.' Garcia, too, rejected negative characterizations of Camp Mystic. 'I've been hearing a lot of the rhetoric that's been going around. This is not the time for those types of distinctions. I don't care who was at the camp. All I know is that there are parents and families that are missing their loved ones. Whether it's rich Caucasian children or any other children, we'd still be there.'
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Michigan summer camps want parents to know 'we are prepared'
After a flash flood killed dozens of children attending summer camp in Texas, Michigan camp leaders want to remind worried parents that safety is always their priority. The flood happened early morning on July 4, when heavy rainfall caused the Guadalupe River to rise at a deadly speed. The death toll for Kerr County, Texas, is 120 people and counting, according to USA TODAY. Of those deaths, 27 are children and counselors from Camp Mystic, an all-girls Christian sleepaway camp located on the banks of the river. Summer camp is a beloved tradition for many families, and a sacred coming of age ritual for children and young adults. To continue that legacy, camp leaders in Michigan say that safety must be a priority. Jill Laidlaw worked for Camp Cavell in Lexington for 37 years. Laidlaw often played out emergency scenarios in her head when she was a camp director. When she heard about the tragedy at Camp Mystic, she said she immediately thought about what the young camp counselors tried to do to keep the kids safe. "(They were) probably trying to put the kids up on the top bunks, thinking it was going to just be a small flood, and somebody would come and help them, and then realized that they were going to have to try and get those kids out," said Laidlaw. Laidlaw said that thinking about it keeps her up at night. "I'm having a hard time dealing with it," she said, " I don't think we'll ever know the stories." Laidlaw said any emergencies she experienced as a camp director were nowhere near as devastating as what happened at Camp Mystic. But there were instances that challenged the staff. One time, Laidlaw said, the camp lost power for three days while hosting 200 children living with muscular dystrophy. "We had to deal with electric (wheel)chairs, trying to charge them," Laidlaw said. "It was quite the challenge to keep them there when that would happen." She said fire trucks would come to the campsite and hook up extension cords to their generators. The trucks would charge five electric wheelchairs at a time, and keep the kids entertained while they charged. Laidlaw said Camp Cavell was accredited by the American Camp Association (ACA) and practiced safety protocols at the start of each one-week session; they were most prepared for fires and storms. ACA accreditation is optional, she said. But all camps in Michigan are required to meet Michigan Lifelong Education, Advancement and Potential (MiLEAP) safety regulations to obtain a license from the state. According to Michigan law, some of those regulations include providing written procedures for emergencies with disasters (weather, fire, lost camper), posting evacuation routes visibly in every "camper-occupied" building, in more than one room, and performing fire safety orientation within 48 hours of a new session. Latitia McCree-Thomas, senior vice president of communications and marketing for the YMCA of Metro Detroit, said the camp is well prepared to know what to do and where to go in case of emergency. YMCA of Metro Detroit is also ACA-accredited. "We actually do drills every week with the staff and the campers so they know exactly where to go during any severe weather or emergencies," McCree-Thomas said. "We have staff that are constantly monitoring the weather as well, and all employees know the evacuation plan and proper routes." McCree-Thomas said there are alternate evacuation locations to go to, in case the original spots are destroyed or blocked-off. She also said children are accompanied by adults at all times during camp, highlighting that safety is the No. 1 priority for YCMA. In a written response to the floods in Texas, the president and CEO of the American Youth Foundation — an organization that owns summer camps — Liz Marshall said that safety is also at the forefront of what all of their camps do. More: MI school district budgets precarious as feds sit on $160M, state misses deadline "This tragedy hits hard for those of us who dedicate our lives to creating safe, joyful summer experiences for young people," Marshall wrote. She also wrote that their Michigan camp, Miniwanca, collaborates with local emergency responders to create and practice safety protocols — in addition to having staff trained in CPR, first aid and crisis communication. The camp also monitors the weather closely and ensures that evacuation routes are "clearly identified" for campers and staff. For programs at Miniwanca that travel, leaders always have a trackable device like a cellphone, satellite phone or GPS locator. McCree said the YMCA of Metro Detroit has received phone calls from worried parents after the deadly flood in Texas. And asking questions is exactly what parents should do, she said. More: Michigan school district agrees to end seclusion after DOJ probe, Free Press investigation "When you sign your children up for any program, ask what their safety protocols are," she said. "Make sure you're comfortable with the processes and then also make sure your child is aware of what they are." McCree suggests parents ask whether their camp is accredited by the ACA — something that isn't required but adds extra levels of safety. Henry DeHart, interim president and CEO for the ACA, wrote in an email to the Free Press that ACA accreditation acts as an "educational framework" for the health and safety standards for summer camps — often going "beyond what state laws require." Some of those requirements require specific health and safety training for camp staff members, and thorough documented plans and frequent rehearsal for emergency situations for staff and campers. DeHart wrote that Camp Mystic in Texas is not accredited by the ACA. Laidlaw said that even with the added regulations from the ACA, there's no way to plan for every possible situation. "No matter what kind of protocols they had there, I can't imagine they had anything that could have dealt with something so quick," said Laidlaw. DeHart wrote that the ACA is providing financial support to the cause and mental health services are available to neighboring camps in Texas. "We recognize that tragedies anywhere can heighten anxieties everywhere. We encourage open, ongoing dialogue between camps and families, and we stand ready to support camp professionals as they navigate these difficult conversations with compassion and clarity," DeHart wrote. Contact Emma George-Griffin: EGeoreGriffin@ This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Michigan Camps continue to prioritize safety after Texas flash floods
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Home of the Brave
The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. A few specific sounds punctuate summer evenings in rural Iowa. A chorus of spring peepers, for example, or the shrill conk-la-ree of a red-winged blackbird on the side of a county road. But only one demands a response: the hostile, metallic beep of a NOAA weather radio. For 25 years, my mother ran Camp L-Kee-Ta, a small Girl Scout camp in the southeastern part of the state, which meant that, every summer, she was responsible for the safety of 64 girls and a staff of 20 young adults. At the first declaration of a tornado warning, Mom would walkie the counselors, instructing them to move their campers indoors. She'd ring the camp's cast-iron bell as the wind began to howl. And, because my family lived on-site, she'd toss me in the truck before driving from the cabins at Hickory Hills to the huts at Trail's End, checking for stragglers. Within minutes, we'd all convene in the basement of the Troop House, the largest camp building, a few dozen girls sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor with snacks and songbooks. I don't recall much crying in these moments as the storm raged above us. Mainly, I remember singing. Camp felt safe, in the literal sense but also the figurative one; there, girls could challenge themselves, free from the judgment of the outside world. At camp, we—for several summers, I was a camper too—learned to dive, to build a fire, to make friends. We practiced our courage and resilience, how to skin our knees and keep on hiking, how to carefully extract a tick. Even when disaster sent us underground, we were always ultimately okay. It was good for campers to be a little uncomfortable and homesick. These moments were and are the purpose of camp—preparation for the trials of real-world life. [View: Deadly flooding in Texas] And what I haven't been able to stop thinking about is the unfathomable tragedy that, last week in the Texas Hill Country, at least a dozen little girls lost their lives while they were learning how to be brave. Camp leaders across the country can't stop thinking about it, either. 'It is quite literally our worst nightmare,' Georgia Del Favero, a co-director of Camp Birchwood, a Minnesota summer camp for girls, told me. Right now, hundreds of camps, including Del Favero's, are in the middle of a summer session, or are about to welcome a new busload of children for three days or a week or a month. Moving forward requires accepting that, at camp as in life, we can make plans and follow guidelines, but even then, 'we can't always prevent tragedy.' Camp Mystic is a Christian camp, and one of several summer camps dotting the Guadalupe River in central Texas. It's a century-old, sprawling complex with two campuses and a range of activities on offer, including horseback riding, riflery, and synchronized swimming. Last week's flood came only a few days into a month-long summer session, and hundreds of campers were spread out across several cabins. When the rain began in earnest, early on the morning of July 4, most of those campers were still asleep. [Elizabeth Bruenig: An inhospitable land] Details about what happened next are murky, and news reports are difficult for those unfamiliar with the camp layout to follow. What comes through most clearly, at least to me, is the charm of Mystic's site names, instantly recognizable to anyone with camp experience: Senior Hill, where older girls stayed and were safe from the rising river; the Giggle Box and Wiggle Inn cabins in the lower part of camp, where girls were able to ride out the flood or evacuate; the Bubble Inn cabin, full of little girls who couldn't. What comes through, as well, is the heroism of Mystic's staff, who smashed cabin windows to push their campers outside, carried girls on their backs, and wrote campers' names in Sharpie on their arms in case they were swept away in the flood. Dick Eastland, a longtime co-director of the camp, navigated his truck through the dark water and died trying to save the girls at Bubble Inn. Many children currently attending summer camp still have no idea that any of this has occurred. Lots of camps follow a no-phones policy that provides kids a psychological haven from the noise of modern life. But their parents have seen the news, and camp-office phones nationwide have been ringing for days. It's hard to know what to tell parents, Ariella Rogge, who oversees the High Trails Ranch camp for girls, in Colorado, told me. You can help to calm a parent's fears by outlining the stringent safety standards most camps follow or the staff's extensive disaster-preparedness training. Still, 10 girls from Texas are set to attend Rogge's camp this week, and some of their parents are understandably unnerved, she said. 'My husband didn't go to camp, I didn't go to camp, and I am incredibly risk-averse,' one mother told her, according to Rogge. Then again, the mother said, 'this is what my daughter has been dreaming about all year.' Rogge isn't sure whether that mother will still send her daughter to camp next week. But she hopes so. She's trying to help anxious parents recognize that two things can be true. 'You can know this is going to be a really great experience for your daughter, and that she's going to have all this personal growth,' Rogge said, 'and you can be really nervous and scared.' Camp directors like Rogge and Del Favero will use this moment to review their safety procedures and communicate them to concerned parents; they'll train counselors on how to comfort anxious campers. Some camps might need to reevaluate cabin locations or work with local officials to install effective weather-warning systems, which didn't exist near Mystic. But my hope is that people won't use this tragedy as an occasion to bubble-wrap their kids, or to take away from their child the chance at a life-changing summer. [Stephanie Bai: The Texas-flood blame game is a distraction] This week, I called my mom to ask what she would say to parents if she were still directing camp. 'I'd show them how we mitigate risk,' she told me. But then, she said, she'd tell them all the stories: of the girls who'd been shy before camp and who, by week's end, bloomed with confidence; of the campers who cooked themselves dinner for the first time under a starry sky; of the little girl who fell from a horse, went to the hospital, and demanded to immediately be brought back to camp. When Mom and I spoke about the Mystic campers, we talked less about the tragedy itself, and more about all the times when we were sure that they'd been brave. How, woken by the sound of thunder, girls might have climbed down from their bunks and gathered their bunkmates with urgent voices. How they might have waited one extra minute for a new friend to grab a flashlight or a teddy. How afraid they probably were, but also how determined, as they waded together into the muddy water. Article originally published at The Atlantic
