“We Wrote Their Names on Our Skin”: Camp Mystic Counselors Recall Harrowing Final Hours Before Flood
As the Guadalupe River roared past its banks in the early hours of the morning, chaos swept through the serenity of Camp Mystic, a beloved Christian summer retreat tucked deep in the Texas Hill Country.
But before the storm fully revealed its wrath, eerie signs were already unfolding: cell signals vanished, emergency alerts lagged, and quiet urgency spread among the staff.
Now, in the devastating wake of the flooding that has claimed at least 104 lives statewide—including 27 children and counselors from Camp Mystic—survivors are beginning to speak out.
And what they’ve shared has stunned a nation already reeling from grief.
A Quiet Panic, and a Terrible Choice
Teen counselors Silvana Garza and Maria Paula were among those on the front lines that night—responsible for the care of young campers as water levels rose with terrifying speed.
In a tearful interview with NMas, the two young women described a haunting decision they made in the darkness:
“We started writing names on our arms,” Maria said. “Ours. The girls’. Anyone we could.”
The idea, unspoken but understood, was horrifying: if the flood took them, someone—anyone—should be able to identify their bodies.
Still, the counselors didn’t let the fear show.
“We kept smiling,” Silvana added. “We didn’t want the girls to panic. We told them to pack a bag, grab their stuffed animals. And we waited.”
That waiting turned into horror as the Guadalupe River surged to 26 feet, fed by a month’s worth of rain that fell in just hours.
No Warning, No Time
Residents and survivors alike have voiced growing anger over how little notice they received before the storm hit.
Many in the area reported no emergency alerts, no sirens, and no communication from officials in time to safely evacuate. By the time the flood engulfed the camp, escape routes were cut off, and rising waters trapped dozens in cabins and vehicles.
In the chaos, stories of split-second bravery emerged. Some counselors led children through rising waters. Others linked arms to guide campers to higher ground. But for many, it wasn’t enough.
A Community Shattered
In a somber update, Camp Mystic confirmed the heartbreaking toll:
“We are grieving the loss of 27 campers and counselors. Our hearts are broken. We lift these families up in prayer.”
The camp, known for its deep Christian roots and close-knit culture, has now become the epicenter of a statewide tragedy. As officials continue to search for the missing, grief has rippled far beyond the riverbanks.
Remembrance in the Rubble
What happened that night was more than a natural disaster—it was a breakdown of preparation, warning, and protection. And yet, amid the devastation, the selflessness of teenage counselors like Silvana and Maria is being remembered as an act of pure love.
Their instinct—to preserve names when lives seemed uncertain—was as symbolic as it was practical. A refusal to let those children vanish without trace. A final, fierce act of guardianship when everything else was unraveling.
A Question That Won’t Go Away
Could this have been prevented?
As families bury their dead and communities gather for vigils, many are demanding answers. Why didn’t emergency systems trigger faster? Why was there no widespread alert? And why, after so many past tragedies, does Texas still struggle to protect its most vulnerable during extreme weather?
Governor’s offices and emergency agencies have pledged reviews and investigations. But for those closest to the loss, no explanation can undo what’s already been lost.
A Final Word
As Texas mourns, the story of Camp Mystic has become more than a headline—it’s a mirror reflecting both unimaginable pain and extraordinary courage. In those final hours, young women not much older than the campers themselves made impossible choices to protect the lives—and the identities—of those in their care.
They didn’t know what was coming.
They just knew they had to try.
And in that quiet, desperate act of writing down names—on arms, on hearts—they made sure those girls wouldn’t be forgotten.
Not by the river.
Not by time.
Not by us.