How a 26-Year-Old Coast Guard Swimmer’s First Mission Became a Life-Saving Miracle in Texas Floods
Late on July 4, 2025, everything changed in Central Texas. A summer storm stalled over the Hill Country. Torrential rain fell—over 20 inches in some spots—causing the Guadalupe River to rise more than 26 feet in under an hour. That surge transformed a peaceful Christian girls’ summer camp called Camp Mystic into a disastrous trap. Cabins were swallowed by rushing water, bridges vanished, and a quiet night of songs and bunk beds turned terrifying. Dozens of children and staff were swept into mud-choked water. As of early July, at least 104 people died across Central Texas, including 27 at Camp Mystic, and more than 41 remained missing.
Amid this darkness, a surprising light appeared. A 26-year-old, Coast Guard rescue swimmer named Scott Ruskan, fresh from his six-month training after a career in accounting, reached the site in his first mission. His eyes tell what words can’t. He had trained for hard missions, but never one like this—floodwaters at night, haunting shrieks from wet cabins, panicked campers trapped by rising water. He didn’t just jump in—he raced against time to save them, one group at a time.
Ruskan arrived with a helicopter crew from Corpus Christi after battling wind, rain, and zero visibility. When they found nearly 200 terrified campers and counselors, they landed, and Ruskan stayed behind on the ground while the helicopter shuttled survivors out. Alone at camp, he set up makeshift triage zones across soccer and archery fields, calming the frightened by holding hands and offering soft words. “They were scared, cold, missing loved ones,” he told The Washington Post. He led groups of ten to fifteen campers to helicopters—165 people in total—a number officials from Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem to the Coast Guard lauded.
For many watching, the image of Ruskan stepping off the helicopter into flooded gloom clutching a child became an overnight symbol. He carried those he found—children with no shoes, soaked and shaking—through the chaos and into safety. And though federal officials called him a hero, Ruskan insisted he was “just doing his job.”
From Ordinary to Extraordinary
Ruskan’s story isn’t just about numbers—it’s about the moment he chose compassion over fear. This was his first official rescue mission. He trained, yes, but nothing can prepare you for that moment: you face hundreds of innocent faces staring back, cold and frightened, while nature’s wrath rages all around. His training kicked in—procedures, triage, helicopter relief. But what saved lives was his presence: his calm voice, comforting words, and tireless courage. He stayed behind so the helicopter could carry more campers—sacrificing his ride to bring the next group of children to safety.
In interviews, he praised the campers themselves. He told CNN: “They were the real heroes,” pointing out how counselors smashed windows, tossed campers through cabin frames, and kept them together through the chaos. He shared that emotion, admitting the night was terrifying: children’s blankets were soaked, tears mingled with mud, but hope glimmered in their eyes. And those moments shaped him, he says—they humbled him, made him a better rescuer, a better human being.
While Ruskan anchored the rescue efforts, helicopters flew relentlessly. The Coast Guard, National Guard, and civilian volunteer crews pulled 361 victims by air and another 159 by land. The mission didn’t stop at Camp Mystic. As the flood spread, resources were stretched thin. Yet, among all that chaos, Ruskan’s calm focus became a beacon—his on-ground leadership critical in that first wave of rescues.
Remembrance and Reflection
As floodwaters recede, the cost becomes clear: shattered cabins, lost wildlife, ruined book bags and boots washed away in mud. But alongside heartbreak, life-saving stories endure—stories that rebuild spirit. Governor Greg Abbott visited the site and announced full state and federal disaster aid. With at least 82 lives lost across multiple counties by early July, Camp Mystic bore the largest single-site toll. Families mourn children, counselors like Dick Eastland who died trying to help, and entire communities that felt unmoored.
The reception for Ruskan has been overwhelming. Homeland Security Secretary Noem called him an “American hero,” and local media celebrated him as a face of courage. But Ruskan remains humble. He reminds us his actions were possible only because of his team—and the campers and counselors whose bravery shone through amid disaster.
On social media, posts of gratitude and praise abound. In a video montage, flooded Texas landscapes and rescue helicopters merge with images of rescued children wrapped in foil blankets. Viewers comment: “He didn’t just save lives—he saved hope.” On Reddit, one thread described the rescue as “the hardest yet most beautiful story I’ve seen,” calling the swimmers and volunteers “angels with boats and choppers.” Others shared photos of vigil candles flickering by ruined cabins, families holding each other, and strangers hugging—gestures that say, “You’re not alone.”
What Comes Next
The flood left scars not only on land, but on policy. Experts have raised fresh concerns: Kerr County lacked proper flood-warning sirens and weather station coverage, leaving residents largely unaware when the river surged. FEMA and National Weather Service are under scrutiny, and elected officials are promising reviews and upgrades.
Most important now is rebuilding—with care. Camp Mystic director Dick Eastland, who perished heroically while trying to save campers, is remembered not just as director but as someone who lived by example. Counselors who smashed windows to free campers, rescue swimmers like Ruskan, National Guard crews, local volunteer squads—they all showed that courage manifests not only in training, but in action.
As families sift through rubble, clear roads, and re-open shutters, the story of that Coast Guard swimmer remains front and center. His 165 lives saved might be a number—but each life has a name, a family, a future. And on a night when water rose and fear spread, one man held still. He offered reassurance, safety, and hope.
In months ahead, Kerr County will build new systems—sirens, better weather alerts, and disaster education that honors what was lost. Camp Mystic will stand again. But lessons learned? They stay. And so will names: Camp Mystic, Guadalupe River, Texas Hill Country, and Scott Ruskan—Swimmer, Savior, Symbol of what happens when training, courage, and compassion collide.
