Survivors Recount Texas Flash Flood Horror Experience \ Newslooks \ Washington DC \ Mary Sidiqi \ Evening Edition \ A sudden flash flood along Texas’ Guadalupe River caught Jane Towler and her family by surprise, turning a quiet night into a desperate fight for survival. The river surged 26 feet in just 45 minutes, claiming over 100 lives. Videos, photos, and firsthand accounts reveal the terror and resilience experienced during the deadly storm.
Quick Looks
- River surged 26 feet in 45 minutes, devastating the area
- Jane Towler, her son, and a family friend escaped through the attic
- Simon-Alexander calmed her toddler while water rose rapidly
- They climbed onto the roof as the house shook from impacts
- Survivors endured the night with minimal supplies and no electricity
- Flood took lives of summer campers and entire families
- The next day, they aided medical relief at a nearby church
Deep Look
At 4 a.m. in the dark heart of Texas Hill Country, Jane Towler stood barefoot in her pajamas inside a riverside cabin, as lightning clawed across the sky and rain crashed down like a drumline. The Guadalupe River outside, normally a gentle and scenic backdrop to her family’s generations-old cabin, had turned into a roaring monster. Water began crawling across the floorboards, an ominous sign of what was to come. In her 70 years, Jane had weathered dozens of floods — but this one, she instantly knew, was unlike any before.
Her phone rang. On the other end, panic.
“Jane, we’re f—ed! The water’s in my house! Get out!” her friend, Brian Keeper, shouted through the static.
That moment would ignite a chain of events that thrust Jane, her son Alden Towler, family friend Shabd Simon-Alexander, and Simon-Alexander’s one-year-old daughter into one of the deadliest flash floods Texas has ever seen — a catastrophe that would swell the Guadalupe River by 26 feet in 45 minutes, destroy homes and vehicles, and take the lives of over 100 people, including children at summer camps nearby.
Despite decades of floods and rising waters, Jane had never experienced something this fast, this fierce, or this devastating. The very land her grandfather had purchased in the 1930s — which once offered respite and natural beauty — was now being swallowed by an unforgiving storm.
She didn’t hesitate. Jane sprinted through the rain to the adjacent house where Alden, Shabd, and the toddler were sleeping, unaware of the chaos building outside. When Jane burst in, the house was still dry, but only momentarily. By the time Alden rubbed sleep from his eyes, the water had reached their ankles. Reality hit fast and hard.
Simon-Alexander, already holding her daughter tightly to her chest, started filming videos as the group realized they might not survive the night. “Who do we tell? We have to tell someone,” she said through panicked breaths. Her voice trembled but her hands stayed steady. She wanted her daughter to know what they had faced, just in case.
Jane, steady but focused, surveyed the rising water and calmly prepared the others. “Okay, I want us to be prepared to go up in the attic,” she said.
Alden, trying to protect their belongings, began stacking furniture and moving bags. But Shabd, seeing how fast the river was consuming their home, voiced what they all knew: this was bigger than trying to save material things. “When your mom got here, there was no water on the ground,” she said, disbelief stretching her words.
With the water now up to his knees, Alden abandoned his efforts. Dressed only in underwear, he grabbed what essentials he could — a flashlight, a bottle of water, and a can of peanuts. “What if we go up the hill?” he offered hopefully, still thinking they might walk out of the danger zone.
Jane quickly dismissed the idea. “We can’t get out! The whole area is flooded!” she warned. “Do you want to go see? I don’t want you to get flash flooded away, Alden!”
They were trapped.
Then, the refrigerator tipped over with a loud crash, splashing into the swirling brown water. With that, any illusion of safety evaporated.
“What do we do to be safe? Go on the roof?” Jane asked, now weighing desperate options.
“I guess we go on the roof,” Alden answered, eyes darting to the ceiling.
As they huddled together, Jane opened the attic hatch. One by one, they climbed up. Jane dialed 911 from the top of the kitchen counter as the furniture floated beneath her.
“You have to help us,” Shabd pleaded into the speakerphone. “We are going to die.”
The dispatcher was kind but painfully honest: help wouldn’t come anytime soon. The advice was simple and grim — move away from the water, stay alive however you can.
From the attic, they could hear the eerie, surreal sounds of disaster: water gurgling, glasses and dishes clinking, muffled crashes as furniture floated and collided. The river was claiming their home inch by inch.
Then, the lights flickered out. Total darkness.
“Oh my god!” said Shabd.
“The electricity went out?” Jane asked, then took a breath. “That’s good.” Better a blackout than the risk of electrocution.
The group sat in darkness, holding onto each other. Shabd, her daughter wrapped tightly in a sling, began to sing to soothe her — “La Caña,” a Mexican lullaby she had sung during pregnancy. Her voice was soft, melodic, and almost defiant, pushing back against the terror all around them.
Suddenly, there was a violent noise — a deep, cracking roar that echoed like an avalanche.
The entire house shook.
A neighboring cabin, torn from its foundation, had been pushed by the river into Jane’s original cabin. The two structures collided, then slammed into the home they were now perched atop. A tree between the homes absorbed some of the blow, but the force was enough to rattle the walls and nearly knock them from the roof.
Alden thought the house might collapse. In his mind, he began replaying moments with loved ones. He thought about his ex-girlfriend of eight years, her father, his family — as though flipping through final prayers.
Simon-Alexander continued to sing.
The group rationed water, peanuts, and flashlight battery, switching the light on only occasionally to check if the water had receded. Hours passed slowly, with rain still falling and the river still roaring.
At last, there was hope: the water dropped four inches. Then a foot.
As dawn finally crept over the horizon around 6:30 a.m., they emerged into a changed world. Entire buildings had been swept away. Vehicles sat in trees or floated down the river. The air smelled of sewage, mud, and wood. Lightning still cracked, but now the sun brought a glimpse of survival.
From the roof, they spotted cars driving on higher ground and screamed for help. Strangers stopped. They were rescued — not by emergency teams, but by everyday people who pulled them from the wreckage and drove them to a local church, now converted into a relief center.
But what greeted them at the church wasn’t peace — it was the raw aftermath of mass trauma.
“That’s really where the real horror begins,” Alden later said.
As a certified wilderness first responder, Alden immediately began assisting overwhelmed doctors. His mother, Jane, a retired labor and delivery nurse, jumped in as well. The triage area was packed with the injured — survivors pulled from trees, roofs, and riverbanks. Many had deep wounds, hypothermia, or were missing family members.
A 5-year-old boy arrived with a gash on his shin so deep that the bone was visible. “We spent the night in a tree!” he told Alden proudly. But his face fell when asked about his family — his 3-year-old sister was missing. So were his father, two grandparents, and aunt.
Hours later, the aunt was found. She had miraculously survived, but her fingertips were gone. A house had slammed into the tree she was clinging to, and the impact had ripped them off.
Everywhere, grief was met with grace. Strangers wrapped each other in towels, offered dry clothes, water, and food. One man asked Alden if he had lost his wallet. When Alden admitted he had, the man simply handed him $300 without asking another question.
Five days later, Alden could barely speak without choking up.
“It’s the unstoppable drive to help people,” he said. “That’s what stands out. Not the flood. The people. Strangers didn’t think twice. They just helped.”
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