A Texas town takes halting, painful steps toward flood recovery todayheadline

By Wednesday, almost two weeks after the July 4 floods that devastated the Central Texas region that hugs the Guadalupe River, the rain had finally subsided long enough for rescue and recovery work to resume in earnest. Celbi Lucas was clearing debris alongside the many volunteers who have poured into Kerr County from all over Texas to pitch in, even as temperatures reached 90 degrees Fahrenheit and a heavy humidity settled over the riverside.

Lucas and her husband live over 100 miles away in New Braunfels, but they drove to the unincorporated riverside town of Hunt to “put a good 12-hour day in and try to put a dent in any of this,” in Celbi’s words. The work was personal: She lost a second cousin, Reese Manchaca, to the floods. Manchaca, a 21-year-old college student, was visiting Hunt for the holiday with three of her friends when floodwaters overwhelmed the cabin they’d rented. In the disaster’s solemn aftermath, Texas officers arranged a procession to escort Manchaca’s body back to her hometown in Montgomery County, 300 miles away, so she could be laid to rest.

Another volunteer, Bryan Hill, has been driving two hours each way from his ranch in nearby Kimble County to volunteer. Hill, who is a road construction worker for the city of Austin, felt compelled to help after watching news coverage; he was helping operate heavy equipment to clear debris.

“I’ve just seen everything on TV,” he said. “It bothers me. If I see somebody in need or something, I want to help.”

A tow truck aids cleanup efforts in Hunt, Texas, on July 16, 2025. Naveena Sadasivam / Grist

At least 134 people lost their lives in the flash floods that overwhelmed Hunt, Ingram, Kerrville, and other communities along the Guadalupe River earlier this month. Those who survived tell harrowing stories of clinging to electric poles, trees, and rooftops as the river raged around them. The camera crews may have left, but helicopters continue to buzz overhead, an army of volunteers is traversing the river banks, and the county is considering draining a lake in an effort to find the more than 160 people who have been reported missing.

Volunteer efforts were delayed by more rain and a flash flood watch over the weekend. For about two days, the county ordered that all volunteer search and rescue operations halt as river levels rose yet again. On Monday, Kerr County Sheriff Larry Leitha said the search for the missing could take up to six months.

The larger rebuild and recovery process will likely take much longer. Several river crossings on the roads in and out of Hunt have been ripped apart by fast-flowing waters. The trees along the river banks are bowed, having succumbed to the force of the river, and littered with blankets, clothes, and the wreckage of people’s lives. Mattresses, refrigerators, debris, and other belongings from flooded homes are piled all along Highway 39, the main road that runs along the Guadalupe and through Hunt.

a pile of mattresses and washing machines from flood-damaged houses — Piles of mattresses, refrigerators, debris, and other belongings from flooded homes in the community of Hunt, Texas, on July 16, 2025. ***Naveena Sadasivam / Grist***

A pile of garbage bags by the side of a flood-damaged street — Piles of mattresses, refrigerators, debris, and other belongings from flooded homes in the community of Hunt, Texas, on July 16, 2025. ***Naveena Sadasivam / Grist***

Hunt is an unincorporated town of roughly 1,100 people in the heart of Texas’ Hill Country in western Kerr County. The region is so named because of its rolling hills, rugged terrain, and dramatic escarpments. While the community of permanent residents is small, the population of the town increases over the summer when vacationers camp and hike along the river. RV parks and cabins dot the river banks, and the region relies on tourism and recreation for revenue. Many residents of nearby Austin and San Antonio maintain second homes in the area. In fact, officials have had a difficult time estimating the number of missing people in part because many were visiting from out of town.

Although the region has been in a severe drought for the past several years, it’s no stranger to flash floods. In 1932, about 20 years after the town’s founding, the river rose 36 feet and Hunt “was washed away in a flood,” according to a webpage maintained by the Kerr County Historical Commission. The Guadalupe has flooded several times since then — including in 1987, an event locals refer to as “the big one.”

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Search and recovery workers dig through debris looking for any survivors or remains of people swept up in the flash flooding at Camp Mystic on July 6, 2025 in Hunt, Texas.

The science behind Texas’ catastrophic floods

Nevertheless, the conditions that powered the recent floods had all the hallmarks of a changing climate. As the Gulf has warmed, it has increased the amount of moisture in the atmosphere, and with it the potential for intense rainfall. The storm that caused the floods dumped 2 to 4 inches of rain over Kerr County every hour; given the region’s limestone deposits, which don’t absorb water, the rainfall had nowhere to go but down. The region’s extended drought, which had left the soil dry and compacted, didn’t help either. Hillsides turned into runoff channels, and the Guadalupe swelled up and outward, hundreds of feet beyond its banks.

Many of Hunt’s part- and full-time residents have left the devastated town, but some have stayed — or returned — to assess the damage. On Wednesday afternoon, LeAnn Levering was spraying a wooden table with vinegar in a desperate attempt to save it from mold. The table, built by her ex-husband and cherished by her children, sat on the front porch along with all the salvageable possessions from her cabin. The house had been inundated with five feet of water as the Guadalupe swelled in the early morning of July 4. The river rose furiously, climbing several dozen feet up a hill before spreading another 300 or so feet across the land to reach the cabin. Levering, a psychotherapist who primarily lives near Austin, was fortunate not to be staying in the cabin that weekend. When she and her son arrived a couple of days later to assess the damage, she found dead fish and sewage backflow amid the wreckage.

“We’re so high up this hill — it should never have happened,” Levering said. “I understand we’re in a flash flood alley but not this high. This is just bizarre.”

a woman leans over a heavy wooden bench on a porch — LeAnn Levering wipes down furniture with vinegar to save it from mold.
Naveena Sadasivam / Grist

The floods arrived too quickly for many of those present to evacuate. Douglas Bolduc’s family, which owns three of the neighboring cabins and was staying in one of them, retreated to a loft as the floodwaters overwhelmed the home. They were eventually rescued and taken to higher ground. Another one of the family’s cabins was pulled off of its foundation and into the raging river.

“It’s a pile of rubble over there in the field,” Bolduc told Grist, pointing to a large open meadow.

While the flash flood itself was unavoidable, the region’s devastating death toll was exacerbated by the limits of cell-phone-based warning systems. Unlike neighboring communities, Kerr County was not equipped with sirens or other alarm systems to alert residents when the river rose in the middle of the night. The county sent phone alerts to those who had signed up through its CodeRED initiative, but it did not use FEMA’s Integrated Public Alert and Warning System, which sends blaring alerts to all cell phones in a region, until after the most devastating flooding.