The Perfect Storm: When Climate Change, Budget Cuts, and Flood Zones Collide
How 27,000 years of lost experience and a rapidly changing climate left a community exposed to a preventable tragedy.
On July 4, 2025, catastrophic flooding swept through Central Texas, tragically killing dozens of people – including at least 27 campers and counselors at Camp Mystic – and destroying large parts of the camp while children slept. The National Weather Service (NWS) saw it coming. Forecasters issued warnings; meteorologists monitored radar and models closely. In this case, science did its job – barely. But this flash flood didn’t just expose the danger of a warming atmosphere. It exposed what happens when we gut the agencies meant to protect us from it.
The FY 2026 federal budget, championed by the Trump administration, proposes slashing the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) by nearly 30% and gutting its weather and climate research division by 74%. These cuts are already reshaping the agency: more than a thousand veteran NOAA employees have taken buyouts or been laid off this year, and thousands more cuts are looming. At a single farewell event in May, roughly 1,000 staff walked out the door – taking with them 27,000 years of combined experience. At the NWS alone, hundreds of meteorologists and technical specialists have been dismissed or pushed into early retirement. In total, NOAA has lost an estimated 27,000 years of forecasting expertise in under a year – a brain drain of knowledge that can’t be replaced by algorithms or fresh graduates overnight.
The Guadalupe River in Hunt, Texas, after the July 2025 flash flood. Portions of the river rose an astonishing 26 feet in less than an hour during the deluge.
The Bigger Picture: Red States on the Front Lines
This isn’t just a Texas story – it's a national snapshot of a troubling trend playing out in conservative “red” states across America. Texas leads the nation in billion-dollar weather disasters. The state has been hit by 171 separate billion-dollar weather and climate catastrophes from 1980 through 2024 – far more than any other state. That’s roughly 15% of all major U.S. disasters. On average, Texas saw about four such events per year over the past four decades. But in recent years the pace has skyrocketed – the state has averaged around 12 to 14 major disasters annually in the last five years, nearly triple the rate of the 1980s. These disasters include droughts, tropical cyclones, severe storms, and floods – exactly the kinds of events that threaten lives and livelihoods across Texas.
And the intensity is increasing. A warmer atmosphere holds more moisture and releases it in fiercer bursts. Extreme heat and Gulf moisture are combining to produce record-breaking downpours in regions with shrinking weather infrastructure and underfunded emergency systems. Climate data show that Texas is on track for a 6–10% increase in extreme rainfall intensity and a 30–50% increase in the frequency of extreme rain events by the 2030s compared to the mid-20th century. We’re already seeing the effects: the Fourth of July flood was fueled by an extraordinarily intense, highly localized downpour of the kind becoming much more common due to global warming. Portions of the Guadalupe River jumped 26 feet in under an hour, a flash flood scenario characteristic of Texas Hill Country’s “Flash Flood Alley” – but supercharged by record moisture and stalled storm cells. Every year now seems to bring a new “unprecedented” weather calamity. And with each budget cut, we strip away a layer of our ability to forecast and respond effectively – especially in the counties that need it most.
A Timeline of Warning – and Breakdown
Despite shrinking resources, the NWS did everything it could leading up to the disaster – until the system around it failed. Here’s how the warnings unfolded in Central Texas:
Thursday, July 3 – Morning: NWS meteorologists in the Austin/San Antonio office flagged an ominous setup. Their forecast discussion noted “an unseasonably moist air mass” in place with strong atmospheric energy aloft – conditions ripe for a deluge. 1:18 PM: The NWS issued a Flood Watch for eight counties, warning of 1–3 inches of rain (with isolated totals up to 7 inches) and urging residents to be prepared for possible inundation. Forecasters already knew the situation was volatile; they explicitly cautioned of “very heavy rainfall rates” to come. Yet this clear early signal came from an office that was 22% understaffed at the time. Its Warning Coordination Meteorologist (WCM) – the veteran liaison responsible for translating meteorologists’ concerns to local officials and the public – had retired months earlier and never been replaced. That WCM had over 30 years experience in the Hill Country; his departure left a communication gap on the eve of crisis.
Friday, July 4 – 1:14 AM: As thunderstorms parked over the Guadalupe River headwaters, dumping far more rain than models had projected, NWS upgraded to a Flash Flood Warning for Central Kerr and Northwestern Bandera counties. Doppler radar was estimating extreme rainfall rates of 2–3 inches per hour, and forecasters warned that creeks, roads, and homes were in imminent danger. 2:38 AM: With conditions rapidly deteriorating, the NWS issued a rare Flash Flood Emergency – its highest alert level – for the area, imploring: “This is a PARTICULARLY DANGEROUS SITUATION. SEEK HIGHER GROUND NOW!” By then, however, floodwaters had already ravaged Camp Mystic and surrounding communities.
What went wrong? It appears the warnings did not reach the public in time. Local emergency systems broke down. According to state officials, no broad alerts went out to campers or sleeping residents at 1 AM when NWS first sounded the alarm. Kerr County – ground zero for the flooding – has no county-wide siren or emergency text alert system to warn of floods. Instead, notifications were left to the discretion of local officials. By the time authorities posted belated alerts on social media around dawn, the flood had done its worst. One official admitted he drove out at 3 AM to check conditions, saw no rain at that moment (because the heaviest rain fell upstream), and thus did not wake residents – a fatal misunderstanding of “blue sky flooding,” where floodwaters surge from distant rainfall. In the end, the communication chain failed: NWS forecasters issued the right warnings, but the warnings never fully reached the people in harm’s way.
Why It Matters
In flood forecasting, every minute counts. A few hours’ lead time can spell the difference between orderly evacuations and devastating loss of life. The 27,000 years of expertise drained from NOAA in 2025 aren’t just abstract numbers – they include the seasoned judgment and local knowledge that help decide whether a flood warning gets amplified or stays obscure, whether an evacuation is ordered at midnight or not at all. The now-vacant Warning Coordination Meteorologist position in Central Texas was not just another bureaucratic role; it was the human bridge between science and action. When that bridge is out, even the best forecast can fall into the abyss of uncertainty.
Meanwhile, Texas and other red states – already facing the brunt of climate-driven extremes – are being left flying blind. Cutting NOAA means we’re turning a profit-centered lens on disaster preparedness at the expense of public safety. The science did work during the Kerr County flood – NWS meteorologists provided timely, accurate forecasts and alerts. But it worked only barely, given the handicaps of understaffing and aging technology. Next time, it could be too little, too late.
Every warning that doesn’t reach the public is a failure of the system – and those failures become more likely as that system is dismantled. Already, the cracks are showing nationwide. In California, two NWS offices announced this spring they can no longer staff overnight shifts due to the cuts, even as they oversee millions of people in fire-and-flood-prone regions. NOAA’s weather balloon launches – critical for feeding data into forecast models – have been halted at multiple sites for lack of personnel. The Trump administration has even eliminated NOAA’s public database for tracking billion-dollar disasters, undermining our ability to recognize climate trends. All of this at a time when human-caused climate change is making floods, wildfires, and hurricanes larger, more frequent, and less predictable.
The takeaway: The NWS forecast office in Austin/San Antonio did everything right given the resources it had. But warnings alone can’t save lives if we’ve gutted the mechanisms to disseminate and act on them. The July 4th flood is a sobering case study in how climate change collides with weakened institutions. The result: warnings delayed or unheeded, and communities left in peril. It’s a future that’s already here in Texas – and if we continue down this path, it’s a preview of coming attractions nationwide.
Politics and Preparedness: Two Visions, Two Futures
The disaster in Texas also highlights a stark philosophical divide in Washington about how to handle climate extremes. Former President Biden’s approach to events like this flood was rooted in bolstering science and resilience. His administration invested in modernizing weather infrastructure and restoring climate initiatives that had been scrapped. For instance, Biden re-established requirements that federal infrastructure be built to withstand future floods and rising seas – an Obama-era Flood Risk Management Standard that Trump had revoked in 2017 as “too burdensome.” Under Biden, agencies like FEMA and NOAA began ramping up pre-disaster mitigation grants and climate research funding. In 2022, Biden’s bipartisan infrastructure law and Inflation Reduction Act together directed tens of billions toward climate resilience – including funds for flood control projects and grid hardening – signaling that preparing for extreme weather was a national priority.
President Trump’s stance, by contrast, has been to downsize or outright dismantle many of these efforts. In addition to the deep NOAA cuts discussed earlier, the Trump administration has shuttered the U.S. Global Change Research Program’s website, purged government websites of climate data, and ordered agencies to scrub mentions of climate change. Trump officials defend the NOAA cuts as eliminating “waste” and duplicative science; the president argues that local governments and the private sector should shoulder more of the burden for disaster preparedness. In practical terms, this philosophy has meant fewer resources for flood mitigation. The administration’s FY 2026 proposal would slash funding for advanced weather modeling and even threaten NOAA’s network of regional climate centers and research labs. It has also meant a preference for short-term fixes over long-term adaptation. For example, rather than emphasize buying out frequently-flooded properties or updating building codes, the Trump approach leans on post-disaster relief and rebuilding as usual – often in the same vulnerable areas.
Nowhere is this contrast more evident than in the debate over flood buyouts and managed retreat. Buying and demolishing properties in floodplains – and moving people to safer ground – is widely seen by experts as a smart, if difficult, long-term strategy to reduce risk. Yet it’s a strategy that requires robust federal support. FEMA’s buyout program, the primary source of funding to compensate homeowners and convert land back to open space, has long been chronically underfunded and slow. Over the past 30 years, FEMA has managed to facilitate just over 43,000 property buyouts across the entire country. That sounds like a lot – until you realize one recent study projected 13 million Americans may need to relocate due to rising seas and inland flooding by 2100. At FEMA’s current pace, it would take centuries to move even a fraction of those at risk. The process is also rife with uncertainty and delays: the average FEMA buyout project takes over five years to complete, leaving willing sellers in limbo even as new floods occur. During the Trump administration’s first term, little was done to reform or speed up this system. In fact, Trump repeatedly proposed cutting federal flood mitigation funds.
On the other hand, the Biden administration had started pushing FEMA and Congress to expand buyouts and other climate adaptations. Biden’s FEMA launched the BRIC (Building Resilient Infrastructure and Communities) program, which significantly increased grants for pre-disaster mitigation – including voluntary buyouts. Federal funding for flood resilience reached record highs in 2022–2023. In Houston and other Texas cities, new projects to buy out floodplain homes and restore wetlands got federal boosts. Even the State of Texas, which historically shunned talk of “retreat,” created a Flood Infrastructure Fund in 2019 and, by 2023, allocated $1.2 billion for floodplain buyouts and river management projects as part of its first statewide flood plan. That plan identified over 4,000 flood mitigation projects needed across Texas – at an estimated cost of $50 billion. About 38% of that price tag was expected to come from federal dollars. It’s these very dollars that are now in jeopardy.
The current administration’s budgetary hostility toward climate resilience raises an uncomfortable question: When the next big flood hits, will we be any better prepared? After the Kerr County tragedy, there are calls for change. Residents and local officials are demanding better alert systems – whether that means old-fashioned sirens in flood-prone valleys or automated cell phone warnings at all hours. Meteorologists are pressing Congress to restore NOAA funding, warning that the early warning services Americans take for granted are being eroded at the worst possible time. And some community leaders are even broaching the once-taboo idea that certain areas should not be rebuilt at all. “We’re going to see it increasingly in the future. So be prepared,” says Dr. Andrew Dessler of Texas A&M, noting that Kerr County officials had never seen a flood of this magnitude before – but they may need to reckon with relocating infrastructure or camps out of the highest-risk zones.
Ultimately, this is a story about priorities. Do we invest in the people and tools that can give us a fighting chance when nature unleashes its fury? Or do we penny-pinch those programs, only to pay exponentially more in lives and dollars when disasters strike? The science and technology to predict these events – to warn a community that a 30-foot wall of water is coming in the dead of night – exists. But it requires support from the highest levels. It requires believing in expertise, and funding it, even when the skies are clear. As one former NOAA administrator put it during the recent farewell for departing staff: “We can either build smarter now, or put taxpayers on the hook to pay exponentially more when it floods. And it will.”
The Texas flood of July 2025 was, in many ways, a preventable tragedy. Yes, it was a freakishly extreme weather event – the kind that is occurring with alarming frequency on our warming planet. But the real failure was that the safeguards which should have protected Texans – expert forecasters at full strength, robust communication systems to deliver their warnings, and proactive plans to move people out of harm’s way – were erased or absent. It’s often said that climate change is an “accelerator” of extreme weather, but what we see here is that climate change is also an accelerator of consequences when government competence is stripped away. In the end, a flood doesn’t care about politics. The waters will rise regardless. The only question is whether we will have the wisdom to get out of their way – or whether we’ll continue to pretend that cutting the budget today won’t drown us tomorrow.
I'm proud to be part of the Iowa Writers Collaborative—a community of storytellers committed to truth, impact, and making sense of a world in flux. In times like these, words matter more than ever.
Thanks for all you do, Chris. I just cross-posted this to my readers.
We have so many words now that are not politically correct, according to the new MAGA dictionary. Words like climate change for example. It's all a hoax, don't you know? Any initiative or climate resilient enterprise that demands responsibility or regard for people represents a reduction in the bottom lines of enterprise. That of course is not acceptable. So let's deny the science and furlough the scientists. I would caution engaging in a blame game right now. Remember that MAGA denies and then turns a tragedy like the Texas Hill Country flood against those who would advocate on behalf of climate scientists. Keep your powder dry for a little while. And say prayers.