Saturday, October 17, 1998
4:00am I wake to rain, which gently lulls me back to dream.

7:00am Still the light rain patters on the window.  Coffee, weather check (50% chance of scattered thunderstorms), neoprene, velcro and a slow slippery drive to New Braunfels.  Now the light rain patters on my windshield.

9:30am Half an hour late for Mark Poindexter's stroke drill clinic, lazy from the steady rhythmic rain.  I find his truck near the slalom course but no sign of his class. I drive around the Huaco Campground bemused. An ACA-sponsored Swift Water Rescue class is breaking camp, their practice site washed out. I run into Katie Meier (from Oklahoma) who says she saw Mark earlier, trolling the campground for students.  No idea where he is now. She's packing up to leave. The river is rising past her expertise.  She says maybe she's a "woosie" for not paddling, but she’s headed home. Wise decision.  Good intentions.  I get on my mobile and phone my friend Denis, headed down to open boat the San Marcos. I leave frantic messages on mobile and home phones. "Denis. Forget the San Marcos. The Guad is rocking! Come here or head for Barton Creek!"

10:00am I resign myself to waiting by Mark's truck. I figure the class must've headed into dry & warm for the intro lecture, perhaps at one of many local restaurants. I want to use the time to finish my journal notes about a recent trip catarafting the Upper Yough & Gauley with Jeff Peters. Still raining steady. Still the river’s rising. Tatjana Terauds (from San Antonio) comes by looking for Mark. Since the SWR class is kaput, her boyfriend Todd is headed down to join her. They've paddled the Guad at this level before and are looking forward to doing so again today. She has their two kayaks on her rack - a Response and an Outburst, both with the same b&w Dagger swirl design. She's pumped & looking for Mark to join them. She thinks maybe he's at the church camp pavilion. I go check. The folks at the church camp know him but don't think he's there. I retreat to my post by his car.

10:20am Not pouring really.  Just a steady rain. Car after car departs the popular campground. I watch the Guadalupe river rising in my rearview mirror. I'm starting to itch with worry. I decide maybe it's time to drive out while I’m sure I can, but I also feel pressed to look for Mark. His truck is way too close to rising water for my comfort.

10:25am Steering cautiously up the dirt road, I come upon Tom Jenkins, a Dallas SWR instructor, stepping from his van. He tells me the San Marcos is flooding. People are being evacuated. (Evacuating people off the San Marcos?  Think I missed a clue here?) He's walking down to look at Huaco Falls. I tag along. No Falls at this level. Not even the huge boulders are visible. All completely washed out. One big hole on river right and looks like that's gonna wash out soon enough. Tom says he's sticking around a bit longer. Not all the SWR students are out. Tom figures the river's at about 4000cfs. I ask myself if I'm over-reacting.  Surely the river will top out soon.

10:35am I reach the campground entrance. Tatjana is waiting there for Todd. She’s anxious to download boats & move her Subaru to higher ground. She's pumped about the run. I express my worry for Mark's truck.  It’s his home and in it is almost everything he owns. Tatjana volunteers to check the church camp again. My mobile is having problems so I opt to use the phone at the Texaco station up the road to call Mark’s good slalom racing buddy, Carolyn Albritton, for clues.

10:40am I pull up behind Katie’s 4x4 and a line of cars, all stopped dead in their Indian-file tracks.  Suddenly, you can't get there from here. River road dips down into a newborn lake. On the other side are more confused drivers, perhaps trying to get to river homes. Katie and I circle back and park at the church. Finally I get through to Carolyn on the mobile. She says Mark’s back gate won't lock and there are always keys inside. Katie is swayed to see if we can drive it out. We’re stuck here anyway. I'm afraid my Nissan will stall out in the fallen rain pooling in the dips of River Road. (Think we missed another clue here?) I snuggle into Katie’s passenger seat beside her elegant dogs. Beautiful creatures. Shiny and well cared for. Nervous. They have a sixth sense we don't share. I call Denis. "Turn back. Turn back!" I shout. "Don't come down here. Don't go to the San Marcos. They're evacuating people there. Go check out Barton Creek!" I sweep Katie up in my momentum. Friendship propels us back down River Road.

10:45am We pass Tom Jenkins and wave for him to stop. He only thinks he’s driving out to safety. We tell him we’re stranded by the new lake on River Road and that we're going back again for the truck. Tom thinks it's already too late, the water's lapping Mark’s tires. We tell him about the keys and that Tatjana is still down there looking for Mark. Although it’s too late to drive it out the camp road, we think if we can just pull his truck up the hill to the fence line maybe it'll be o.k. Surely the river won’t rise much higher!  We press on. I think Tom expressed concern about the spring water flooding the road but we were undaunted. He looks after us and makes a quick decision. We've told him he can't drive out, one of his students is down there, and his friend’s truck may be salvageable after all. He knows better than we how much the river’s risen, but he's not the kind of guy who leaves damsels soon-to-be-in-distress unprotected. He makes an emergency decision, turns around and follows us. I lead them both into disaster.

10:50am We pull up on River Road just above Mark's truck. Tatjana found him in a cabin at the church camp (go figure!) and returned with Julie and Dana (his slalom students) to try to save his truck. They're knee deep in water pushing. Mark's truck is already water-logged and won't start. They've tied it off to a convenient tree. Also tied off a stray Toyota 4 Runner with a red Dancer on its racks.  Boaters always look after each other. It belongs to a stranger – now a friend -- Casey Hackathorn, a new boater and environmental engineer who signed up for the Swift Water Rescue class.  Casey and Austin SWR instructor Bill Whittaker took off earlier looking for a locksmith as Casey didn't bring a spare key and has done you-know-what. Cardinal river sin.  They're up there now impotently viewing that new lake on River Road and wishing they'd smashed the window out with a rock instead of waiting for a locksmith who never made it through. I jump out of Katie’s passenger seat without hesitation, wriggle through the barbed wire fence and join their effort. Katie is hot on my heels.  The river has risen to 20,000cfs (Mark's estimate as are all that follow). That’s five times the current of a quarter hour earlier. The camp bathrooms create an eddy, so while the current rages by, here it's deceptively calm. We fall for its ruse and splash heroically about.  Tom gets out a rope and throws it to Mark who ties it to his truck while Katie retreats back over the barbed wire fence. The other end is tied to her 4-wheel drive. She pulls. We push. It's not working. The water has already risen above our waists. Casey's truck is starting to float and strain at its mooring. Dana worries if the knots she tied are strong enough to hold it.

10:55am Blessed sight.  Five big guys lumbering up River Road. I cry, "We're saved." Four sirens beckon trustingly, call out to them to be our heroes.  They look at us confusedly for a stretched-long minute, turn their backs and shamble off without a word to Tom who stands bemused amongst them. We are pissed! We grumble unkind words at such lack of chivalry, leaving four petite women waist deep in water. Perhaps they'd heard the Mariner's tale. Disheartened, we continue pushing. The rising water aids our cause, floating the truck towards higher ground. Something’s wrong with this picture.

11:00am The rope snaps and flies back towards Tom and Katie. Mark has repeatedly warned us away from it and I am grateful. I'd just untied our anchor rope to shift it to a higher tree.  I’m caught off guard.  The truck is losing ground. Julie saves the day, helping me quickly tie it off again. Mark is shouting for people to get out of the water and move their vehicles to higher ground. We accept failure.  Not Tatjana!  She cries out instead to save Mark’s boats. She scrambles onto the truck despite his protests and starts untying them. We wait, chest deep in water now despite our steady uphill progress.  Nothing quite computes.  The truck blocks my view of the main flow so I don’t quite get the full danger of our plight. Julie takes a stance at the half-submerged barbed wire fence while Dana rushes back to help move vehicles. We feed boats up to Tom.  Gingerly negotiating the barbed wire fence, I use the last freed kayak to hold the top wire above water for Julie’s semi-subaquatic exit. The first whiff of palpable danger reaches me.  Our protective eddy is swallowed as the river sweeps around the bathrooms.  The current instantly becomes a nightmare challenge to negotiate.  Thank God Tom has recoiled the rope and makes a perfect perfect throw to Mark who swings his last brave damsel out (though she protests) and makes a danger swim/ferry to the fence post himself. Nip and tuck.  No one takes a breath until he’s safe.  Tatjana is shaking with fear for him. The river has risen so quickly that the barbed wires are completely under. Both swimmers have to navigate this rather nasty current over the top rusty strand while holding the fence post not to wash away.  We all quick check ourselves for rusty cuts and are amazed to see none.

11:05am Tom delivers the grim news. The gurgling spring that normally flows down sweet and playful into Huaco Falls is now a gush of water washing out our one escape route. Perhaps he knew as his van splashed across it that none of our vehicles were going back that day. Maybe he knew it before he turned around and followed these two hard-headed women.  Hard to say what goes on beneath Tom’s understated and good-natured disposition. Tatjana gets everyone started outfitting in warmer paddling gear, pfds and helmets. I have nothing with me. Gear comes from all directions until I'm neoprened and fully garbed. We park the vehicles as high as possible and lash down the rescued boats on Dana's car. Mark frets over three glass race boats stashed at Slumber Falls. We watch Casey's Toyota Truck and red Dancer disappear under the angry brown torrent and eye the bathroom roof as a possible refuge (though we'd have to paddle to it). Mark's truck is floating and yanking at its mooring. His sister's warning not to get her video camera wet flashes across his mind. I wonder if the Pelican box saved it, and if so for whom? Dana pulls her 1995 Chevy Silverado with extended cab up to the highest ground she can find. She's got a Piroettesque on top, two paddles, 10-disc CD player and other essential boating gear inside. Julie follows in her Subuaru Legacy, her Outburst on top, paddle & gear inside. Tom's precious '87 Dodge 150 van is somewhere in there -- custom finish, coddled baby, expected to last another decade -- it holds his videocamera, TV, VCR, camping & paddling gear (including 6 or 7 paddles) and a custom Gortex sleeping bag made just for him. All the tools of his trade. And of course there's Tatjana's car with matching boats, plus Katie's anxious dogs peering from the window of her 4x4. We have 3 mobile phones and we're all calling 911 and Tatjana's Todd. Julie gets through but quickly surrenders the phone to Katie’s sudden urgency.  "This is an emergency, repeat, an emergency.  We are trapped on River Road." We take a deep breath and start to think about self rescue.

11:10am I look around. A white mustang's car alarm is going off. Great! We're stranded with those big hulks who wouldn't help us! They have a Bronco and another car as well. We women snub them. They're not boaters. We can't include them in any plans to paddle out. And that's right where our plans are headed. We make the same callous decision about them that they made in relation to us earlier. Each group stays tightly knit and separate.

11:12am Tom & Mark anxiously confer, trying to second guess the paddling skills of those they've not boated with before. Katie is frantic with worry for her dogs. I put my arms around her and assure her that deep inside I know it's not my day to die. We're gonna be o.k. She looks at me like I’m talking day-time-western crazy-injun talk and cuts to the chase.  She won't leave without her dogs. I tell her I'll talk to Tom about taking them out in the canoes. I'm not as comfortable in a kayak and would prefer to paddle out in his Bell Wildfire anyway. Tom agrees to this plan despite his unvoiced concerns about how these large dogs will react to their first time out on whitewater.

11:15am We start taking boats down. Mark is most comfortable in an rpm and takes Julie's (rescued from its precarious resting spot under a tree in the campground). He wants to scout the spring we'll have to ferry. Swift current compounded by a forest of treetops below. The Guad is roaring by at about 50,000cfs now. Our island is shrinking fast. Vehicles are pulled more tightly together and those with rope tie off to trees (tho I suspect that Casey’s truck may have swept off tree and all). Katie too is afraid the dogs won’t take well to tippy boats and strangers. I suggest I come sit with the dogs so they can get used to me. Maybe it will help. We spend a few moments in her cab out of the rain. Mark ferries out of sight, following the road’s bend against the current. We feel stalled in the sudden lull. I want to go ahead and try it before things gets any worse. Mark comes back to report it's pretty swift. I'd guess a class 3 ferry with ugly consequence. We aren't sure if everyone can handle it. We don't doubt anyone, we just don't know their skill levels. We know we’ll have to leave the hulks behind which is a heavy thing.  Tom & Katie have their boats down when suddenly someone spots Mark escorting back a rescue raft, motoring with strong paddle support towards us.  We're relieved we won't have to make that decision about the hulks.

11:20am The rescuers disembark and begin to assess. We understand their procedure. We don't volunteer information. We wait for them to ask. We confirm that all members of our group are accounted for. We are very formal about this act. We confirm that no one is injured. No one is trapped in a vehicle. They want to know where the 20 people trapped in their vehicles are. We say no one is trapped. They want to know where the school bus is. We assure them there is no school bus. They repeatedly strongly advise us not to paddle out. I am holding Tom's Ovation while he's getting out paddles. The leader walks up to me and says in ominous tone, "Young lady, tell me you're not going to paddle that out." I start to hedge. I tell him it's not my boat. Then I instinctively give in and assure him I'm not going to paddle out. I really want to paddle out for the sheer goddamn glory of it. But I sense that if I press the issue they won't let the guys paddle boats out either. Better to get two boats out than none. I'm also not sure they'll take the dogs but I trust Tom will. I hand the boat off to him and go to reassure Katie. She's busy taking down her boat.

11:25am The rescue crew reconfirm all our data and their leader walks past us to take his first close look at the Guadalupe and the nearby general store. They want to make sure there's no one trapped behind us. The non-boaters assure them we're the last out. The leader calls us to meet at the raft for his pronouncement. He tells us that he does not consider this a rescue situation. For some reason this amuses the boaters and angers the non-boaters. One hulk says, "You mean you've come all the way out here to rescue us and now you're not going to?!?" Not one of the boaters argues the point. Of course, we're in a better position having boats. But we’re still confident they'll change their minds if they spend a few more minutes here. The river will convince them with no help from us.  They move off down the road to make sure there really isn't a bus with 20 entrapped people. We wait. The car alarm keeps going off. I wish the irritating thing would float away.

11:30am The river rages all around us at 70,000cfs.  Our tiny island shrinks steadily.  Suddenly the leader decides this IS in fact a rescue situation. Our confidence in him is confirmed. We are comforted that it took him so long to figure it out. He somehow spares us having to brutally question our decisions. This man is very organized. He wants to know who the strong swimmers are. He wants to once again strongly advise Mark & Tom not go paddle out. We understand he has to do this. We know he's going to let them. The non-boaters insist the women go first. We are chagrined, having judged them so quickly and so harshly. Katie asserts she won't leave without her dogs. To our surprise (and Tom’s great relief) the rescue team is willing to take them out. But no extra gear.  They aren’t here to save possessions. Two women are hustled into the raft, no one wanting to go first and leave the others. Mark paddles alongside providing safety.

11:40am I go out on the second trip. I haven't lined up with the strong swimmers because I've only tested myself in short bursts as on the Ocoee. This swim looks like a long way and I'm not in a mood to be cocky. I stand safe on the opposite shore regretting they hadn't let me paddle out. I've seen the current and I'm confident I could have done it. Suddenly here come Tom & Mark. Midway across the swiftest current Tom loses his ferry angle and peels out towards the forest down below. I take a deep breath and start whooping and hollering encouragement. "Come on Tom! You can do it! WhoooooooHooooo!" I exude total confidence in him. Just another class exercise. I will not allow the life or death of it to get the upper hand. The look on Mark's white face defies description. He could only later feebly express it as, "Oh shitt I'm gonna have to go in there after him! I don't want to be in those trees!" Tom pulls off two quick cross forwards and a pry, pulling out just in time. I'm still cheering mightily. Tom paddles proudly into shore. The raft brings another load of people. I tear my eyes from all the out buildings, duckies and tubes flashing down the river, look around and spot Casey & Bill. I join them. I'm pretty sure I saw Casey's locked Toyota with red-boat garnish wash by but I don't want to say so. I spot Tatjana safely encircled in her worried boyfriend's arms. He doesn't give a damn about the boats or car just then. Nearby a kindly man, the church campground owner, verbally shakes his head, totally bemused to see River Road under water for the first time in his memory. The rescue support crew concur. "A 50% chance of scattered thunderstorms," one groans, "We were completely unprepared for this!" The last group out rounds the bend, two hulks sandwich Katie, the dogs she could not abandon held firmly amidships. We run into the water, grab their collars and help her get them out. Someone asks her how high the water's gotten. She reports that the noisy mustang is starting to float.  The water is halfway up Tom's tires.

11:50am A stranger in yellow rain slicker invites us back to the Church Camp. The hulks impose instead upon a rescue vehicle for a ride to the New Braunfels shelter. Relieved to be rid of them, we boaters wisely follow our good Samaritan. We arrive to laughing teens playing touch football in the rain.  Their parents are keeping dry inside, playing dominoes with a watchful eye on the horseplay outside. It seems an untouched and innocent world to us survivors. A steaming cobbler is just coming out of the oven amidst cries of admiration. The only common thread between our worlds seems to be the wet. The kids’ flirtatious game looks a lot like slip n’ slide.  We're rewarded for our trek with a mobile phone that works (none of ours seem able to get out), honey baked ham, hot coffee and warmth -- both temperature and spirit. I watch people thaw and smile again. I admire the gentle relief of Todd's firm arm ensconced about his darling Tatjana. He's never for a moment questioned her decision to risk her car or his boat. I wait my anxious turn and dial up my friend Denis. Finally we talk!  He's gotten my earlier messages, returned home and hooked up with Glen Hart to go hit Barton Creek. His plan, originally mine, now scares me. I call for someone to come advise him. Todd takes the phone and starts describing the run. He stresses that Denis should be sure of his skills and the skills of the other boater. I don't have any doubt about Denis' skills but I've just seen a river rise from 20,000 to 50,000cfs in about 15 minutes and then to over 70,000. I don't want him on Barton Creek. I have a bad bad feeling. I beg Todd to tell him it's a class V run because I know Denis, as the father of two small girls, has resigned himself to only running class IV. Mark agrees and Todd reluctantly complies.  Denis decides he'll just go have a look. I ring off to try Carolyn again but can't get through.  (Her house is flooding.) I toy disinterestedly with food and coffee. I want to check on my car. Julie has nervous energy to walk off as well and joins me. It's a trend. Folks are ready to go. We're uncomfortable imposing further and ill content with inactivity.

12:30pm Tatjana, Todd & Katie take off together while Bill loads up Julie's rpm and Tom's Ovation. The rest of us stick together. We collect my car and try another route out but we’re turned back by deep water on every road we take. We to end up at the New Braunfels shelter. Tom Jenkins immediately pitches in helping make coffee. Bill Whitaker and I, the only ones who still have our cars & gear, pass out dry clothes and socks. Mark can't stop shaking though he insists he's warm. Bill keeps trying to get him to put on a shirt until I point out how doing so would deprive we women of the pleasure of his pecs. I'm disappointed when he finally gives in and puts one on. Probably got self conscious, do you think? I start jotting down notes, names, property left behind, flow estimates from Mark. We eat again. I steal bites of pecan & pumpkin pie from Tom and Bill, and haul in the remaining contents of my cooler and my junk food. I have beer but no one seems to want it. Me either. Nothing cold sounds good.

2:30pm We decide we can leave the shelter. Bill has heard the road is opening up. We head to the Texaco after which we'd lusted for so long. Other boaters are pulled up, lounging on tailgates. We reconnoiter. Buy more munchies. People hit the phones. Dana finally gets through to her husband. She's been leaving mobile phone messages for him all day. She learns that her sister-in-law's 2-story house has floated down the river and now it's lapping at her own doorstep as her husband watches in helpless dismay. She’s frightened for his safety but can't convince him to leave. She hangs up the phone. She's crying. I'm on the next phone calling an absent Dallas SWR instructor, trying to fill her in over the static. Julie has been standing by Dana trying to comfort her throughout the call. Now Dana pulls abruptly away, walking fast, her back tense and shaking. Suddenly she curses and knocks aside a trash barrel. I disengage from my unfinished call. I go after her. Always the gentleman, Tom Jenkins is righting the barrel and putting back the trash. Mark reaches Dana first. I think we were illogically concerned she'd walk into the traffic. He holds her in his arms and lets her cry it out. I wait at a small distance till he walks her back and releases her to my arm. There is no comfort that can be given. There is only loss stacked on loss stacked on a river of anxiety inside.

4:30pm We continue our struggle to escape New Braunfels. We drive halfway over bridges only to be stopped by water and amazing floating gardens of debris. Finally we wind our slow way out. Fate hooks us up with Ben Kvanli and Michelle. Together we negotiate the barricades that screen off Dana's neighborhood from trespass and troop down to her house. The water has receded from the yard. Her husband stands on the front porch, shell shocked with grief, staring at an empty lot across the street. They do not embrace and he doesn’t follow her inside.  I follow his gaze to a rescue craft trolling the deep water of that empty lot. I dare not ask what/who they’re looking for or if that's where his sister used to live. We boaters keep a respectful distance, feeling inexplicably guilty.  A fire truck lingers.  The rescue craft probes the encircling water, prepares to dock. I fish out Dana's pfd and boating gear from the community stash of sodden clothes. I let everyone keep the socks I've distributed but reclaim my precious Patagonia tights and polypro shirts.

6:30pm Bill Whitaker is willing to take Mark and his remaining crew back to the Church camp. They want to be near their missing boats and cars. After struggling so hard to get out I'm unwilling to return. I head for Austin and Denis. It takes me until almost 10pm to negotiate all the wrecks and the flooded San Marcos. I drag poor Denis back out into the rain for Margaritas. I have no clear remembrance of our conversation that night except Denis is pumped to boat Barton Creek.

Aftermath:  Sunday, October 18, 1999
While Denis and I risk life, limb and borrowed Rival on the narrow creek @ 1900cfs, Mark & company survey their flood damage. Bill & Julie take documentary pictures (see web address below), and the National Guard move into New Braunfels, now proclaimed a national disaster. Julie can’t find her car at all but in the ensuing days, as the river starts to drop, the rear wheels break the surface just above slumber falls on the river left side of the dam. Carolyn swims down to probe for the boat but it’s forever missing.  She retrieves what gear she can.  Takes Tom Jenkins three days to revive his truck and drive safely home to Dallas. His is the only vehicle left behind which actually survives.  Mark’s truck ironically washes up where we might have pulled it to imagined safety – only it’s resting on its side, smashed and filled with mud.  Casey’s truck is totalled further downstream.  Weeks and much failed searching later, his boat is serendipitously towed by as he plays a borrowed Frankenstein at Slumber Falls.  He’s able to reclaim it from the boaters who retrieved it.  One of Mark’s two missing race boats is discovered 30 feet up, balanced on a cyprus branch intact.  Carolyn climbs up to safely retrieve it, a preview of her heroic monkey-girl antics throughout the subsequent clean-ups.  Mark’s Redline is found thoroughly wrapped around another tree.  Poor Dana’s car is upside down dead in River Road. She’s grateful Mark paddled her rpm to safety.  She has bigger worries.  The only thing salvaged from her sister’s house is family heirloom china, dug from downriver mud intact in a storage box.  Katie’s 4x4 is right where she left it and her boat still protrudes from the back gate where she quickly tossed it when rescue was confirmed.  The river rushed inside and held everything in place, but it’s still totalled. Another boat as consolation prize.  Her parents generously help replace lost gear.  Tatjana and Todd try to revive the Subaru but its engine is ruined.  Fortunately Tatjana has a spare Subaru she's using and is cool...way cool.  Luckily both boats are fine and all their gear reclaimed. But their adventures aren’t over.  Tatjana’s boat is stolen at a river clean-up, recovered, and looting charges pressed against a drunken thieving frat boy.  Todd proposes marriage. Kismet.

Now, there may be some folks in dry chairs ensconced at bright computer screens or reading from a hard-bound book who might be tempted to arm-chair quarterback and 20-20 hindsight our actions, criticizing those of us who went back into danger in loyalty and friendship towards a fellow boater. They may be right, especially since it resulted in the loss of more property. Technically they are right.  Certainly I admire the SWR instructors for getting themselves and their students out in the nick of time. We were maybe half an hour behind them. But, as Neil Harrison and Marybeth Kvanli both said in later comfort, "unless there in person, no one has the right to criticize anyone for emergency actions taken." For myself, I have no doubt we made the right decision. Sometimes the smart thing to do isn’t the right thing to do.  I don't want to boat with anyone who could have seen Mark, Tatjana, Julie & Dana struggling against all odds to save that truck and not joined in. There was a beauty of spirit shining on that muddy river the likes of which I'd not seen before. I was very impressed with the level heads & the rapid decision-making abilities of everyone involved. Even those who were freaked were performing each needful task without hesitation. We put on vests, warm paddling clothes & helmets and left them on until we were completely out. The amazing thing was all the smiles you saw around the tables at the Church Camp & the Shelter. Our boaters bonded into a tight team, faced adversity and danger with stamina; loss and discomfort with wry amusement. We all lost possessions but received so much back in heightened self-confidence and the knowledge that we could overcome. It may not seem like a fair exchange at first, but with what fear can we now face our daily business lives after surviving the Guad at 90,000+cfs (the highest on its record)? What is there we can doubt within our character? We've been tested and every single one of us shone like brilliant gold. I know. I saw. It was an honor to be a member of that group.
SYOTR
Tre Roberts

Aftermath notes from other posts:
Bill Whitaker's Initial Flood Report (posted that evening @ 11:30pm):
1. River Road at Slumber under water from first crossing to half way up the hill to the church camp entrance. River topped out about 8 feet up the hill from the power pole on the right side of the road down the hill from the old entrance to the church camp. Bridge completely under water.
2. Road at the Gruene Bridge - under water to beyond the road ABOVE the Gruene River Company buildings and upper parking lot. Rocking R completely under water. Short cut road to River Road that goes under the railroad trestle and down Edwards to River Road under water and closed.
3. River Road closed at the low water crossing just down from the Texaco station - water 50 yards wide and 8 to 10 feet deep there and very swift.
4. Loop 337 Bridge at the Guadalupe Outpost under three feet of water. All other bridges across the Guad closed (reopened about 7 P.M.)
5. River crested at 39 feet - don't know where they measure that.
6. Canyon Lake up from 908 this morning to 917 projected to 927 over night. Spillway is at 942.
7. New Braunfuls had 14+ inches of rain.

Neil Harrison: There are pictures posted at the Bayou City Whitewater Club Site at: http://www.bcwc.net … taken by Julie Funderburk, one of the paddlers in Mark Poindexter's class that Teresa wrote about, myself…and from John Olden, another paddler from the BCWC who was with me on Sunday morning … there wasn't much left standing at Gruene except a few trees. The devastation is breathtaking. We're very lucky that NO paddlers were among the 15 or so fatalities attributed to this disaster so far.