New Mexico rebuilds Ruidoso Downs culverts as upriver repairs stall

Cobb, Fendley & Associates identified more than 200 at-risk Ruidoso addresses

A ProPublica investigation by Abe Streep, titled “The River Can’t Be Trusted,” with photography by Cengiz Yar and co-published with Grist and Source New Mexico, documents a $16 million state investment that rebuilt the culverts beneath Ruidoso Downs and excavated an 8-acre holding pond in its infield as upriver bridge and culvert repairs fell through. The state and village had also commissioned experts to model flooding, and a Cobb, Fendley & Associates report identified more than 200 at-risk addresses, while former officials estimated that moving about 1,000 properties would cost $650 million. Lucas Waldron contributed data analysis.

On Sunday, July 6, 2025, when firefighters made at least four flooding rescues, Ruidoso News posted a video about the track repair on its Facebook page. The video was produced by the newspaper’s general manager, Eugene Heathman, and Mayor Lynn Crawford said the infrastructure was holding. The next day, an executive at El Rito Media told Heathman that his journalism, including footage of severe flood damage, was bad for business. The executive later left the company and told ProPublica he was acting on the orders of El Rito’s publisher, Richard Connor. Connor denied attempting to influence coverage. “We have dug, investigated, and sought out all angles in our flood and racetrack coverage,” he said. Heathman soon resigned, the Crawford video disappeared from the internet, and Heathman’s flood footage was removed from the Ruidoso News’ Facebook account.

After the 2024 flood damaged the track, Democratic Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham authorized a $16 million public investment in infrastructure work there. The Rio Ruidoso, channeled through culverts, crossed the track’s infield. New Mexico’s constitution generally prohibits public funds from going to private businesses, though it includes exceptions for certain public and economic-development projects. Records show that starting in September 2024, then-Transportation Secretary Ricky Serna directed a team of engineers to prioritize the track work even as subordinates raised concerns that FEMA might not reimburse the costs because the project had not yet met the agency’s standards.

Crews excavated an 8-acre basin in the infield to serve as a holding pond, contractors rebuilt the culverts beneath the track and reinforced the road leading into it. The work was designed to slow floodwater, but it also allowed racing to resume. The work was completed by Memorial Day. On May 25, 2025, Lujan Grisham celebrated the reopening on her official Instagram account: “Ruidoso Downs has reopened for its first races since those disasters in record time,” followed by, “Ruidoso Strong!”

Ruidoso Downs was best known for hosting the All American Futurity, described as the world’s richest quarter-horse race. The race awarded $3 million annually, with half going to the winner. Horses were cared for by grooms, many of whom were immigrants. The grooms worked for trainers rather than the track, but the track provided space for them to sleep in barns and storage rooms, which one executive called industry-standard conditions. General manager Rick Baugh did not answer questions about the grooms’ living conditions. Izzy Trejo, executive director of the New Mexico Racing Commission, said the commission lacked authority over the matter. “The living conditions for the grooms is the responsibility of each individual trainer,” Trejo wrote.

There was little scrutiny of those conditions at “our beloved racetrack,” as Crawford called it. In addition to the mayor, the village public information officer previously handled track publicity, and the mayor of Ruidoso Downs previously oversaw track security. The owners of the racetrack’s various businesses, Jana and Johnny Trotter, who were not related to Sebastian and Stephanie Trotter, contributed more than $35,000 to Lujan Grisham’s gubernatorial campaigns. Michael Coleman, a spokesperson for the governor, said in an email, “The infrastructure improvement projects at Ruidoso Downs and the surrounding area were undertaken because of the life-safety risk the site posed to the surrounding community.” Coleman said the project was “not solely for economic development reasons.” Former track marketing director Tim Keithley said in a February report by KRQE, a New Mexico outlet, “The clock’s ticking,” adding, “We need to race so that the community can have tourism and bring those Texans over to spend some money with us.”

One urgent mitigation project upriver lagged as the track work progressed. Officials worried that old and damaged bridges and culverts could act as dams during floods, forcing water onto roads and increasing the danger downstream. “If you have a bunch of debris that comes in and clogs bridges, at some point that’s going to release,” Ruidoso emergency manager Eric Queller said. Bridge repairs and replacements fell through again during the year before the 2025 tourist season as village and state officials disputed responsibility.

Before that tourist season, the state and village each commissioned experts to model flooding scenarios. The engineers’ reports predicted serious flooding and told officials where the water would go. “They told us exactly where it was going to come and what it was going to do,” Ruidoso Fire Chief Cade Hall said. Federal emergency officials suggested that significant parts of the village should relocate away from the river. ProPublica reported that, instead, leaders from the mayor to the governor recommitted to tourism and the racetrack after the predictive reports.

On March 31, 2025, the village released an online floodplain map that allowed viewers to zoom in on individual properties. The map relied on models prepared by Cobb, Fendley & Associates, a company hired to examine what could happen during a 100-year storm, a term reflecting the anticipated depth and intensity of rainfall. In a January 2025 email, a Cobb Fendley engineer told the village that the company thought a 100-year storm would bring six times the volume of the July 2024 flood that destroyed the Jarvis and McKay home. A separate report identified more than 200 at-risk addresses, including the Jarvis and McKay property and the Fulchers’ RV park. The Village of Ruidoso’s floodplain and floodway maps showed that most of the RV park was at risk before the July 2025 flood.

Village officials did not clearly explain the threat to existing properties. When they discussed the map, they often focused on development and building permits. “There was never a time where we specifically said, ‘Someone can die,’” Martinez said. “Never have I ever stated those words. Everything I’ve ever shared with somebody has been: ‘This is the floodplain. This is what was adopted. These are the new high-water marks. If we ever get a flood that is a 100-year flood, the waters will get this high.’” Both RV parks were in the floodplain, and Fulcher and McKay said they had absorbed the village’s optimism. “The leadership dang sure makes you feel like it’s gonna be OK,” McKay said. “All they kept saying was build back better. We’re stronger.”

The housing options for people in the floodplain were limited. After the 2024 flood, the Fulchers’ house sustained minor damage, while the property of Lindsey Fulcher’s relatives, a couple hundred yards upstream, was destroyed. FEMA deemed Chelsey Jarvis and Darrel McKay’s house uninhabitable and prohibited temporary housing on the land. The couple closed their park for the season. At an October 2024 village meeting, Jarvis asked the council to buy their property. “I wasn’t going to put people in harm’s way because I wanted their money,” she said, adding, “It’s just going to be Groundhog Day. Next year it’s going to wash away.” Jarvis proposed turning the property into a retention pond to slow floodwaters and protect businesses downstream, and officials considered such measures.

The Natural Resources Conservation Service, a subagency of the U.S. Department of Agriculture, had raised the possibility of a large-scale buyout. It had recently committed $106 million to move more than 600 homes after 2022 flooding in Kentucky. Martinez and Camp estimated that Ruidoso would need $650 million to move about 1,000 properties. The federal program required a local partner to provide a 25% match, leaving the county, village or state to raise substantial funds. Jarvis and McKay immediately said they wanted a buyout. Jason Fulcher was torn because he loved his property, but he and his wife worried that village infrastructure did not adequately protect their home. In December 2024, they submitted a form saying they wanted to be relocated. No lawmaker proposed funding a Ruidoso buyout during New Mexico’s 2025 legislative session.

By spring, with mass relocation becoming less feasible, optimism returned to public discussions. According to Jarvis and McKay, Crawford encouraged them to reopen because the village needed affordable rentals; neither Crawford nor the village answered questions about the interaction. Jarvis said she was never comfortable with reopening, while McKay said the family had little choice given how much they had invested. They decided to book half their camp sites. Jason Fulcher wanted the park fully operational from June through September, when both tourists and monsoons arrived. He said he had withdrawn all his retirement savings for the down payment and improvements on the $645,000 property and had rebuffed multiple potential buyers. The park needed full operation, he said, “because at 50% operational, we’re losing money every month.”

The Village of Ruidoso and its smaller neighbor, Ruidoso Downs, together are home to some 10,000 residents, a population that more than doubles during the summer. The South Fork and Salt fires burned 25,000 acres above the village in the Sacramento Mountains, and the fires and subsequent floods destroyed about 1,000 homes. A 16-foot flood had already torn through town on July 20, 2024. The Rio Ruidoso also flooded in 2008 and 2022.

The burn scars left soils that did not easily absorb water. The settlement’s geography placed steep hills above a river lined with log homes, tourist shops selling wooden bears and an iconic racetrack. Residents were on edge as a new monsoon season brought sporadic flooding to a town whose economic engine was horse racing. Big crowds were expected for Fourth of July events and quarter-horse racing, continuing a tourism trade built around cool weather that had drawn Texans for generations.

ProPublica cited research showing that fire intensity and flood risk are directly correlated. The research found increased danger of debris flows and post-fire flooding when more than 20% of ground burns at moderate to high severity, particularly on steep slopes. The fires above the Rio Ruidoso watershed far exceeded that threshold.

Thora Walsh Padilla, the former president of the Mescalero Apache Tribe, which is based south and west of town, said the Mescalero traditionally lived on hills above creeks and wetlands to avoid rising water and mosquitoes. The river flooded repeatedly, including in 2008 and 2022. Randall Camp, the former Lincoln County manager and public works director for Ruidoso, said, “The river can’t be trusted.”

Located in Lincoln County, Ruidoso has long been an escape for working families from Texas and soldiers stationed at Fort Bliss, 130 miles to the south. Homes in the village are built into riverbanks and overhung by trees, while cabins abut RV parks. The Trotters booked a site across from a 19th-century mill that Ruidoso recognizes as its birthplace. Jason Fulcher said visitors who looked hard enough might find bullet holes in trees from old Western battles. After the flood, Stephanie Trotter wrote on social media, “Our kids deserved this small trip.”

Many new residents did not understand the danger. Lindsey and Jason Fulcher moved to Ruidoso from the Houston area in 2022, seeking a quiet life near family. Jason was leaving a high-income, high-stress career in gas sales. The 1.5-acre property they purchased sat just below the confluences of the Rio Ruidoso and two tributaries. Lindsey’s sister and brother-in-law had their own RV park upriver.

Fire suppression contributed to the conditions that made flooding more dangerous. A decade earlier, researchers from Northern Arizona University studied tree rings on the Mescalero Apache reservation and found that fires had occurred every six to 18 years in many cases until the turn of the 20th century. Fire frequency then declined as the government suppressed more fires, allowing forests to grow dense. The shade helped attract tourists, Walsh Padilla said: “This isn’t natural. It’s not natural anymore.” The Forest Service’s policy of extinguishing fires was symbolically tied to Lincoln County. In 1950, firefighters found a singed bear cub in the mountains northeast of Ruidoso. They named him Smokey and flew him to the National Zoo in Washington, D.C., where he became the agency’s fire-prevention icon.

As the climate warmed, the policy of extinguishing fires altered the landscape. ProPublica’s analysis of National Interagency Fire Center data found that wildfires in the Rio Ruidoso watershed burned just under 11,000 acres between 1950 and 2010. Nearly 54,000 acres have burned since then, an area almost five times larger than during the previous 60 years. Scientists said the fires have grown hotter as heavy fuels such as Douglas firs and ponderosa pines lose moisture in the warming climate. Two major fires ignited in June 2024, and monsoon rains soon followed.

The track had only recently reopened, and renewed flooding was again threatening to derail the racing season. Internal records showed that on June 26, 2025, Ruidoso’s emergency management department was at a heightened threat-awareness level after flooding destroyed a bridge upstream and the forecast called for more rain. Publicly, the village maintained that it was prepared and the community was safe. The next day, the emergency manager reduced the threat level by one notch. The communications department criticized residents for sharing warnings of catastrophic flooding on social media, noting that some posts featured old videos, and urged, “Protect our community from fear-based falsehoods.”

Mayor Lynn Crawford, a 64-year-old Republican with white hair and a Texas drawl, was campaigning to convince the public that the village was safe. He managed an exclusive club at the Ruidoso Downs Race Track & Casino and once called that his “real job,” while earning less than $26,000 as mayor. In a June 30 radio address, he criticized residents sharing flood warnings. “They spout stuff off,” he said. “And I don’t know why they’re so afraid. I do not understand it.” He had previously told a Texas news anchor, “We have flooding temporarily,” and, “And just almost as fast as it came to town, and went through town, it’s gone.”

On July 4, one state over, violent flooding killed more than 130 people in central Texas. Multiple tourists arriving in Ruidoso said they did not know the town was in danger. At the racetrack, the horses ran, and Crawford hosted members at the Ruidoso Jockey Club, where private tables cost as much as six figures. The Trotters saw no warnings online. Riverview owner Jason Fulcher wanted the park fully operational during the busy summer and said operating at 50% capacity meant losing money every month, even though he and his wife worried that village infrastructure did not adequately protect their home.

That weekend, Sebastian Trotter and his family traveled to Ruidoso from El Paso, Texas. Trotter was an Army helicopter pilot stationed at Fort Bliss, and his wife, Stephanie, was a nursing student. The family thought the place looked family-friendly and saw no warnings online. They brought their two children and three dogs. On Sunday, July 6, they parked their trailer in a desirable spot at the Riverview RV Park’s water’s edge. In online photos, the river appeared gentle. “You could go put your toes in,” Sebastian said.

That day, the Rio Ruidoso — “noisy river,” in Spanish — briefly flooded, and firefighters rescued at least four people. The Trotters saw the water rise, but the campground host described it as a regular occurrence before the river receded. Their children, Sebastian Rowan, 7, and Charlotte, 4, rode bicycles beneath tall pines. The boy was a soccer player fascinated by camping in the woods. Charlotte was bright and cheery and sometimes applied glitter to her father’s mustache. Later, the family walked through the village, where elk and wild horses occasionally graze near tourists.

On Tuesday, July 8, the family was visiting a lake when they saw clouds form. They headed into town, ordered pizza and let the children choose souvenirs. The younger Sebastian selected a rainbow gemstone, while Charlotte selected a bracelet and a ring. The family then returned to the RV park and relaxed by the river.

At 1 p.m., Crawford presided over a council meeting at Village Hall. He recognized the victims of flooding in central Texas and said, “We want to keep all of central Texas in our thoughts and prayers and see how bad it was and how fortunate we’ve been.” He added, “The goal of the village is to protect the village,” and described the need to balance public safety with tourism.

Storm clouds gathered in the mountains as the meeting continued. Even short periods of moderate rain on severe burn scars can unleash post-fire floods. By 1:30 p.m., radar indicated that storms might strike both burn scars, and firefighters exchanged radar images shortly before 2 p.m. One wrote, “It could be interesting.” Only about one-third of the fire department was on duty, and Hall had for weeks declined to preposition additional flood specialists near low-lying areas. Hall disputed ProPublica’s reporting about the emergency response but did not address specific questions.

A fierce rain began near the headwaters of one upper fork of the Rio Ruidoso just before 2 p.m. Nearly three-quarters of an inch fell within 10 minutes on the burned ground. At 2:12 p.m., the National Weather Service issued a flash-flood warning and upgraded it to an emergency 35 minutes later, after debris slid down steep slopes into the river. Less than an hour later, another flood arrived carrying debris that backed up behind bridges. Water spread across roads until the river’s normal course disappeared.

Jason Fulcher, an owner of the Riverview RV Park, saw a tree-size log in the waterway. Two miles downstream, a mobile-home-park maintenance worker saw a car float past and lodge against a bridge. Farther downstream, track executives had already been alerted.

Three miles upstream, at the Riverview RV Park, Jason Fulcher, the Trotters and other campers stood by the river. They talked about the weather, which trailers they preferred and whether there were reports of ghosts in the area. The Trotters’ children played in the shade.

Crawford ended the council meeting just before 3:10 p.m., saying, “We’ve had a wall of water come over. It’s predicted this is the big one.” He then called track general manager Rick Baugh. Track executive Josh Gibson, who was with Baugh, said Crawford “told him he had 45 minutes or so before the water got there.” Baugh did not respond to repeated inquiries, and Crawford and Kerry Gladden, the village’s public information officer, did not answer a question about the call. The advance notice allowed Baugh and his colleagues to alert dozens of grooms living in the barns to evacuate.

Multiple people in the park received text alerts warning of flooding, and all of them, including one of the park’s owners, said the alerts seemed routine. “We received watch and warning alerts daily, sometimes multiple times in the same day,” Fulcher said in an email. Fulcher also told ProPublica in an interview that he had followed the village’s advice: “Just be vigilant. Watch the skies, stay out of low-lying areas, watch the river.” His property sat in a low-lying area.

Separately, the Trotters said their phones were on but they received no National Weather Service alerts and knew nothing of village alerts. “There was nothing,” Sebastian said.

Residents had “alert fatigue.” So officials wanted first responders to drive into threatened areas on dangerous flood days to ensure that people evacuated. In parts of the community, including much of Ruidoso Downs, first responders used loudspeakers to tell people to seek high ground just before the flood arrived. No one came to Riverview, even though it sat about a third of a mile from the fire department’s headquarters. After receiving the alerts, Fulcher went to the riverbank and said he asked guests, including the Trotters, to move back from the river; the Trotters disputed that account.

The Trotters were caught unprepared. Around 3 p.m., they retreated to their trailer to escape the rain, and the flood tore through a wall and took their children. The family was preparing to drive to higher ground when it heard a noise that Sebastian compared to television static through noise-canceling headphones. According to the Trotters, the trailer door was open and blocked by debris. Sebastian stuck his leg out and was temporarily caught but managed to get back inside. He was reaching for a mattress when the flood ripped off the trailer’s slide-out. Stephanie, holding both children, was sucked into the water. “Once I was in the water, I only had Charlotte in my arms,” she said. Sebastian dove in after his son.

Fulcher drove out in a truck but encountered brown, sediment-laden water carrying vehicles and a dumpster. A river gauge showed twice the volume of the July 2024 flood, and one survivor described the water as liquid cement. Fulcher abandoned the truck and sprinted toward a high point. His two children were trapped in his house, clinging to a ceiling fan as rising water pushed their mattress toward the ceiling. He tried to reach them after a building collapsed but was pushed back by the current.

Campground host Jere Stark, 71, had reached a pavilion, where he used a post to shield his body from the water, and was trying to help another camper, Benjamin Timothy Feagin, from the bed of a truck when the flood pulled them in. Nearby, seven-year-old Sebastian Rowan held onto a tree. His father repeatedly tried to reach him but struggled to move in the water; he said a boulder and a floating truck hit him. The boy could not hold on any longer and lost his grip.

By about 3:30 p.m., at least eight firefighters were at Riverview, including two swiftwater technicians in a vehicle designed to navigate floodwaters. Across the waterway, they saw a man 20 feet up a tree. The elder Sebastian Trotter was in the water below him, grabbing a tree trunk, wounded and barely able to speak. The technicians waded to the Fulchers’ house and retrieved the Fulcher children, who were huddled together on the mattress. There were still more children to rescue, but not all the first responders knew that.

The Trotters had been separated. Firefighters found the older Sebastian alone and helped rescue Stephanie Trotter and Stark a few hundred yards downstream. Stephanie said she had been holding Charlotte, but the girl was gone. When the water receded, Fulcher and McKay pried open the Trotters’ crumpled trailer and found their surviving dog.

The first body was found under a bridge around 5:20 p.m. It was Feagin, who had been in the pavilion with Stark. Firefighters split up to search the riverside for the children. One group walked downstream, passing Paradise Canyon, where Stephanie Trotter had been rescued, and searched corners of the floodplain where the water had receded.

Another group moved upriver as the light faded and trees cast long shadows. “Couldn’t see much,” said a firefighter. “Everything’s different and washed out, and all you could see was really the little spotlight on your flashlight.” He came to a softball field full of scattered furniture, passed a bridge and paused. “I looked back. Something told me, ‘Look back.’” Reese Drive, which crosses the Rio Ruidoso in New Mexico, lies near where the body of Sebastian Rowan Trotter was found. He and his sister, Charlotte, were swept away by the July 2025 flood. Charlotte’s body had been found not far away.

According to five first responders, the tragedy could have been avoided. All five spoke on the condition of anonymity for fear of reprisal. ProPublica said their accounts were supported by public records, including emails, internal reports and hydrologic assessments. Before July 8, Crawford, Hall and others made decisions that left residents and tourists vulnerable even though they knew a damaging flood was likely, the first responders and officials said.

Current and former officials who worked on flood response said some of those choices, including the village’s promotion of tourism to visitors who were largely unaware of the threat, appeared to be financially motivated. Thora Walsh Padilla, the former president of the Mescalero Apache Tribe, which is based south and west of town, said, “Money was the driver.” She added, “You’re taking a chance with people who aren’t even from this area and don’t know how to get around enough.” She then said, “You’re putting them in jeopardy.”

ProPublica described the failure to relocate vulnerable residents and replace infrastructure damaged during previous flooding as missteps caused by inaction, even as the governor drove the state’s $16 million investment in the track. Just before the flood arrived, at least one RV-park owner received emergency alerts but did not evacuate campers.

Village officials, including Crawford, did not respond to more than 70 questions from ProPublica, including about whether they had emphasized tourism at the track over public safety. In an interview last year, Crawford said: “Who’s to blame? I didn’t start the fire.” Reached by phone, Gladden referred questions to an attorney, who did not answer them. Village officials have said that their emergency department sent text-message warnings before the flood through an opt-in system that the public had to sign up for. A spokesperson for Lujan Grisham said the state’s investments in the track were necessary to protect life and safety. Baugh did not respond to multiple inquiries about ProPublica’s reporting, and one of the racing operation’s owners did not answer questions sent by email.

In private correspondence on July 8 and 9, state officials said they were worried about the racetrack. While firefighters were searching for the Trotters’ children, a senior disaster-recovery official named Jeremy Klass sent a message asking if horses needed evacuation; they did not. The next morning, an official told Klass and colleagues, “Village is concerned.” State floodplain coordinator Heath Dobrovolny replied, “This should be a priority.” Dobrovolny told ProPublica he did not recall the text exchange. ProPublica assessed that he was likely focused on preventing casualties downstream from the track. Dobrovolny also disputed that, as state floodplain coordinator, he had favored the track over the village. New Mexico Department of Homeland Security and Emergency Management deputy cabinet secretary Regina Chacon said the agency was concerned that debris buildup would “apply pressure on the dam between the infield” and a downstream community.

At a July 9 news conference, Crawford repeatedly emphasized how high the water had crested: “This is historic.” Hall later said, “We pretty much did everything we possibly could and everything worked out, I guess, as best it could for the situation that we had,” and, “I don’t know that I would have done anything differently.” State homeland security director Ali Rye said, “Will I tell you it’s successful when we lost three lives? No,” but added, “We put out every bit of messaging we possibly could. I don’t know, from the state’s perspective, what more we could have done.” A month after the flood, Lujan Grisham said in a video interview published by a horse-racing website, “No governor, no state, no president, no one at the federal level can sort of predict what happens with the weather and emergencies.” Martinez, who helped direct the response, said, “We’re lucky we didn’t have a Texas.”

Civil engineer Joseph Loverich, whose firm JE Fuller created multiple flood models for the state in 2024, countered that the disaster had been modeled: “Unfortunately, it’s stuff that was modeled.” The July 8 flood carried one-third of the volume Cobb Fendley anticipated for a 100-year flood. Cobb Fendley did not respond to detailed questions about how it reached its conclusions.

On Oct. 8, three months after the flood, Lincoln County held another meeting about a potential buyout. Martinez said, “That wasn’t even a big one. I mean, that was half of what we expected, of the max.” He characterized July 8 as a 50-year flood and said, “It could be twice as much. That’s the honest-to-God truth.” Fulcher asked, “So you guys knew?” Jarvis answered, “We had campers.” County manager Jason Burns interrupted, “Hold on. Listen to us. That’s not what he’s saying.” Within weeks, Martinez adjusted his language. In an interview on Oct. 21, he said, “Did I do enough? I ask myself that question every day, and I come to the same realization every day: I don’t know what more I could have done. I honestly don’t.”

Months later, Martinez left Ruidoso for a job in El Paso. He was replaced by Dobrovolny, the former state floodplain coordinator who had helped direct work at the track. In July, Dobrovolny emailed village employees, emphasizing a policy prohibiting them from talking to journalists. A video of the contentious October meeting originally posted by the county was removed from the internet. Burns said the video’s disappearance was “not intentional.”

The Trotters held a celebration of life for their children on Aug. 15. Sebastian was still recovering from a broken bone in his foot, nerve damage in his legs and wounds on his arms and legs. Tattoos on his forearms had been partially removed because of the injuries. A few weeks later, the All American Futurity was held in Albuquerque for a second consecutive season, while Crawford arranged a viewing party at the Ruidoso Jockey Club. When a bank of televisions showed horses bursting through the starting gate, feet stomped on the club’s carpet. The track outside remained empty and quiet, but multiple club members anticipated racing would return. Dusty Milanes of Texas, who wore pink cowboy boots, said dangers were being overblown and that normal parts of the community were on “High ground.”

The Jockey Club was surviving on restaurant sales and catering contracts, and Crawford had laid off most of his employees. In an August 2025 email, a Department of Transportation district engineer wrote, “We have to keep in mind and project to the public NMDOT had minimal involvement in this,” as state officials discussed distancing themselves from the $16 million rehabilitation effort.

By spring, green shoots had sprouted on the hills above the Rio Ruidoso. New growth can slow the worst effects of flooding, but scientists warned against complacency. “This is not a one-and-done kind of thing,” said Belize Lane, an associate professor of civil and environmental engineering at Utah State University. “There is still the opportunity for many, many more events that may not look like that, but may still be hugely destructive.” In Ruidoso, however, people began saying the worst had passed. “Everybody always goes back to sleep,” Camp said.

In July, the Ruidoso News published a story about the village government’s performance during the flooding that largely relied on Crawford’s analysis. “The legacy is one of resilience, not giving up, fortitude, rugged individualism, the ability for you to be all you can be and not give up,” Crawford said. The track was closed, and weeds soon grew 6 feet high in the holding pond. The All American Futurity was moved to Texas, but the Jockey Club continued collecting members’ dues, and Crawford said, “The track deal isn’t over yet.”

New Mexico eventually secured $249 million for a buyout program, with more than three-quarters of the funds coming from the federal government. The Fulchers mostly avoided their old RV park. They now ran a mountain-themed store selling antlers and rifles and had not received an appraisal for their property.

The Trotters and Feagin’s family brought a wrongful-death lawsuit that was settled with an insurance company for an undisclosed amount. “Accountability is at the forefront of my mind,” Sebastian Trotter said in a March television interview. He said he would not “just let us be forgotten — let our kids be forgotten.” An attorney for the Trotters notified village officials that the family intended to sue. Crawford said he anticipated the Trotters would sue but declined to discuss potential litigation.

Riverview remained empty and taped off. The roof of the Fulchers’ house sagged, and a child’s handprints remained on the ceiling. On a towering tree out front, the Fulchers placed a white cross and a plaque naming Benjamin “Tim” Feagin, Sebastian Rowan Trotter, Charlotte Emery Trotter and their two dogs, Zeus and Ellie. They installed the memorial on the flood’s anniversary. A firefighter who had helped find one of the Trotters’ children attended and said, “We carry a lot of guilt for things that we weren’t able to do. We feel like we could have done more.”

The village continued advertising tourism in West Texas. During the summer, a digital billboard near the Trotters’ house flashed a Ruidoso promotion. Sebastian Trotter saw it when he filled up on gas. Just upstream of the closed track, a mostly full mobile-home park had children playing in the street and occupied trailers above the river. Its managers said they followed local rules. “I don’t think it’ll ever flood again like that,” one said.

ProPublica’s investigation described a wider western threat: debris flows and floods following wildfires can wash away entire neighborhoods. Scientists said there was a direct correlation between fire intensity and flood risk. Research showed increased danger when more than 20% of ground burns at moderate to high severity, especially on steep slopes. The fires above the Rio Ruidoso watershed far exceeded that threshold.

During summer 2026, post-fire flooding and debris flows killed one person and prompted more than a dozen rescues in Colorado. In August, flash floods in the Grand Canyon killed three, with some floodwaters coursing over burned areas. Utah Gov. Spencer Cox declared a state of emergency after post-fire flooding in three counties. Federal scientists had created a national model for assessing the likelihood of post-fire debris flows, but communities did not have an easily accessible tool for gauging their risk of post-fire flooding.

Since 2024, state and federal governments had spent more than half a billion dollars on disasters in Ruidoso, nine times the village’s annual budget. Even as funding continued, first responders said the village remained inadequately prepared to protect residents and tourists.