Week that tied Arkansas to Russia prevented worse tragedy in Texas

FAYETTEVILLE, Ark. — During the summer of my second year of college, I coached at a summer camp along the Guadalupe River called Camp Rio Vista.

The reason almost none of you have heard of it is the same reason my friend Shannon Boykin probably watched in shock at what happened in the area surrounding Kerrville, Texas with memories flooding back, and a man from Siberia probably spends his days telling his children and possibly grandchildren about the overabundance of plums that can grow on a single tree in Arkansas. The week break between sessions.

You see, Rio Vista, a beautiful camp planted in a valley between the Guadalupe Mountains and the Guadalupe River with stone cabins planted firmly into the sides of mountain for shading purposes. At the time there was a short session for younger kids who were coming to camp for the first time followed by two long sessions with a week break in the middle.

This break happened to fall the week of the 4th of July, which meant the camp was mostly unoccupied when the freak flood from two tributaries came rushing into the main channel of the Guadalupe, combining to send a massive wall of water creeping through the dark of night, unleashing violently onto a surrounding landscape where it hadn't even rained.

Had it not been for the break, things would have been much worse. Rio Vista and its sister camp Sierra Vista took a lot of damage, but everyone ended up being safe thanks to a break that led to a lot of my memories decades before.

Like I said, it was the end of my second year of college. I had earned an internship at Disney's Wide World of Sports that not only was going to pay for food and housing, but also chip in a solid paycheck.

The only problem was my university turned it down because Mickey Mouse refused to prove I would be actually practicing journalism rather than ending up stuck behind a counter serving sports themed burgers and pizza slices.

Having caught the adventure bug, there was no way I was going to go back to Warren and spend a summer scraping by at some minimum wage job while living in my childhood bedroom. Instead, even though I wasn't sure it was possible because of how new the Internet was, I searched for summer camps and found the phone number for Rio Vista.

As odd as it seems now, after a couple of phone calls, I had a job as a counselor and tennis coach there and a time to be in some town I had never heard of to report. I finally found my way to Kerrville, passing by the Mr. Gatti's, a pizza place that would be our hangout to watch the NBA playoffs on our laundry days, past the Wal-Mart where I would watch the largest buck I have ever seen run from the front of the store and weave through all the cars in the parking lot, to the town's famous landmark, "The Dam Store."

The "Dam Store" was right across from the dam a lot of people saw raging this weekend. That Wal-Mart parking lot was an area used to help unite lost people with their loved ones.

#Kerrville dam before and after flood. I took the first video standing on the dam. The second video is from the road. pic.twitter.com/UdQ7WE9voK
— Danyelle’s First Triathlon (@danyelle_830) July 4, 2025

When I finally found the tiny road into the camp, I had to drive across a large stream to gently flowed over the road about a couple of inches deep that I would later find out was called the Guadalupe River. I was told a few years earlier it had actually flooded and campers had to wait for the water to go down a few extra days before they could leave.

Over the course of the first two sessions I learned all the camp songs, fell in love with the food, and figured out how to sleep in South Texas with no air conditioning. Along the way I met Yuri, a quiet young man from Siberia whose more reserved personality kept him from making friends with some of the more outgoing counselors.

I took him under my wing and in exchange for him teaching me a few words in Russian, I taught him how to fish. He showed me pictures of his home in Siberia in the summer and it was stunning how much it looked like South Arkansas.

I also met the Eastlands, the two most respected counselors in the camp. They were veterans who were experts because their parents owned an all-girls camp down the road called Camp Mystic. Yes, that Camp Mystic.

My heart breaks for the Eastland family. James apparently died while pursuing a dream of expanding the camp. Ten years later, the patriarch of the family, Richard "Dick" Eastland, whom I saw a few times while on my summer adventure, passed away trying to save girls from drowning at his camp early Friday morning.

I got to go out to Camp Mystic one time when the Eastlands had to run to drop off some sort of supplies. It was such a beautiful place.

I was stunned with how green everything was. It was easy to see why so many girls had fallen in love with the place and sent their daughters to camp there when they got older.

When it came time for everyone to leave for the break, I realized Yuri would be left behind at camp alone, so I asked if he wanted to come back to Arkansas with me. He jumped at the chance to get out and see the United States.

Along the way we stopped off at my grandfather's house whom we found washing up from working in the family garden next to a plum tree that had so much fruit the limbs were breaking and it was impossible to walk anywhere near it without ruining your shoes. My grandfather was fascinated to meet someone from Russia and talked his ear off in as country of an accent as a man possibly could.

Meanwhile, Yuri picked plums and busily stuffed his mouth while he listened intently. After about a hour an hour my grandfather excused himself and Yuri spoke for what may have been the second time since we got there.

"Your grandfather seem like very good man," Yuri said. "I don't know what he say, but very good man."

"Yeah, he is," I said. "By the way, you should probably stop eating those plums for a while."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, you'll see," I said with a smile before loading up to take Yuri home to many helpings of southern home cooking.

There was a need for more help on the Sierra Vista side of the camp, so I scooped up Shannon who had a background in medicine, a chill personality and a love of the outdoors and we began the journey back for the final term. We slept on picnic tables along the highway access roads along the way and made it back just in time to prep for the new campers.

Shannon was assigned to a cabin full of girls who were the same age as most of the girls who went missing this weekend. It's why I thought of what she might be feeling as it played out on screen.

She only saw Yuri and I when food was served. Everyone ate all they could because it was impossible to put on weight there as busy as everyone stayed with activities.

The camp songs over dinner and at the amphitheater along the river kept spirits up. As did days when people got to jump off the dock onto the blob that would shoot campers high into the air and down into the Guadalupe River.

I remember the glow on her face when she found out she was going to get to pretend to steal the keys to the kitchen and take the girls on an ice cream raid. It was hard to not be happy there.

And when it came to an end, I was sad to go. I knew I would never make enough money to send my children to those camps, but I was grateful for having experienced it.

Then, not long after the pandemic, not long after people started experimenting with being outdoors but well spaced apart, I got the idea to go camping down in Kerrville. My son and I would go fishing, I would show him where the deer wove through the parking lot and we'd order takeout from Mr. Gatti's if it was still there.

Then, I planned to call over to Rio Vista and ask permission to come walk the grounds with my son. Life happened and that trip had to be cancelled.

We had hoped to do it the following year, but my health just didn't allow it. This past Friday that camp disappeared along with a lot of people who were there for 4th of July.

Much of Rio Vista is in disrepair also. As for the Eastlands and their magical camp, I'm not sure how either recovers, which is heart-breaking in every way.

I only got to experience camp life down there for one summer as a worker and it meant the world to me. I have prayed every night for the families who lost loved ones in this tragedy.

It's hard to imagine such a slice of Heaven being such a nightmare. Hopefully those little Christian camps along the Guadalupe can become a piece of Heaven again sometime.

Hopefully.

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