First responders say village leadership left them understaffed and inadequately equipped
ProPublica’s photo essay draws on two recent stories by Abe Streep, a member of the outlet’s Southwest office, and adds a visuals editor’s photographs and firsthand reporting. First published in the outlet’s Dispatches newsletter, the account examines the warnings experts issued after Ruidoso’s 2024 fires, a relocation project that faltered and the response to the July 8, 2025, flood. Streep and the editor met in Ruidoso to report what happened.
Ruidoso is a place built on tourism, with paid rather than volunteer fire-department staff and its own disaster manager. The editor asked how two children and a man could be swept to their deaths in a place that appeared equipped to handle such disasters. Streep reported that experts warned the town of increased flash-flood risk after the 2024 fires. Local and state leaders initially considered a relocation plan for some homes and businesses that would get people out of harm’s way, but the project faltered. Village leaders continued promoting tourism, and Mayor Lynn Crawford criticized residents who posted flood warnings on social media.
Local and state officials insisted the emergency response was admirable. First responders told Streep that the three deaths could have been avoided and that village leadership left them understaffed and inadequately equipped to contend with the 2025 flooding. The Village of Ruidoso did not answer detailed written questions about its emergency response and has not publicly released a report on rescue efforts. Reached by phone, Fire Chief Cade Hall disputed ProPublica’s reporting but declined to provide specifics.
Crawford said protecting Ruidoso requires balancing public safety with tourism, which she described as the village’s economic lifeblood. In an interview last year with Streep and the visuals editor, she said: “Who’s to blame? I didn’t start the fire.”
On July 8, 2025, monsoon rain hit a burn scar and quickly swelled the Rio Ruidoso and its tributaries. Three people died, including two children. The visuals editor wrote that Stephanie and Sebastian Trotter still carry the scars of the day. They lost their two children, Sebastian Rowan, 7, and Charlotte, 4, in the Ruidoso flooding. Benjamin “Tim” Feagin was the third person killed. A memorial for the three now stands at the RV park where they had been camping.
Streep had shared the locations where each of the three victims was found, and the editor wanted to see the places for themself. The editor said making photographs of those places could help people connect with the reality of their deaths as well as their lives. Early one morning, the editor walked along the floodplain trying to find the sites. At the bridge where a firefighter found Sebastian Rowan, there was no marker and no indication that anyone’s body had been found there. The editor also visited the area where Charlotte was found, wandering under pine and cottonwood through knee-deep grasses and wild sunflowers. Crows cawed overhead, and the early-morning sun broke through the trees. The editor stood there for a while, admiring the beauty and awed by the sadness of the river’s trickle.
The editor’s connection to Ruidoso began three summers ago, over Father’s Day weekend, when the editor and their family went camping in the Lincoln National Forest, a few hours’ drive north of their home in El Paso, Texas. The area had long served as a regional getaway for skiing in the winter and golf and hiking in the summer. The editor’s daughter played under the trees, and the editor rode a bicycle down mountain trails that, in the editor’s view, seemed concerningly dry.
The next evening, after the family left to drive home, two fires started in forests surrounding Ruidoso, New Mexico, about 25 miles from where they had camped. The editor watched online videos of fire lapping the mountains behind the village’s strip malls and parking lots. The fires were eventually suppressed by a combination of human effort and the late-summer monsoon season. When the downpour hit the burned landscape around Ruidoso, recurring floods ripped through town, damaged homes and infrastructure and led to emergency rescues. The following summer, the scene repeated.
The editor said their role as a photographer was to document Ruidoso as the story unfolded and visualize the people and place at its center. Although the editor had held that role countless times, the story hit unexpectedly close to home. The editor could imagine their family caught unaware in a similar situation, trying to escape the El Paso summer heat but instead navigating an unfathomable disaster.
When Streep and the editor started reporting, they met community members and people from out of town who tried to help. The editor watched New Mexico National Guard service members load sandbags into families’ cars, people prepare hot meals for displaced residents and volunteers hand out donated supplies from collection centers.
During one reporting afternoon, it started raining, and fear swept through the editor. The pair’s phones lit up with National Weather Service flood warnings, which they knew they should take seriously. Streep and the editor took refuge in a local brewery perched high above the river basin. Before they knew it, water from the thin creek of the Rio Ruidoso below became a torrent. The rushing water rose quickly and swept through the river valley right under the brewery, carrying what looked like trees and debris.
Still, the editor wanted to photograph the river up close. They left the safety of the brewery and let the heavy rain cover them as they moved closer to the river. The editor made photographs that afternoon and throughout the rest of the trip while questions about safety ran through the editor’s mind: “Would the water keep rising? If it did, could I get to high ground? And, notably, would I have enough warning?” In hindsight, the editor realized the questions were largely about whether they could trust the systems in place to keep themselves and others safe. As Streep kept reporting over the next year, the questions felt more valid.
Last month, Streep and the editor traveled again to Ruidoso. The editor found the town felt lighter and less ominous. Much of the ruin had been removed or rebuilt, grass and sagebrush sprouted on a burn scar, and tourists wandered around a lively downtown on a Friday afternoon. The editor observed that people seemed to be moving on from the terror of the previous year.
The memorial stood amid a town recovering from destruction while the questions raised by the reporting remained concrete: whether the relocation plan would have moved homes and businesses out of harm’s way, and whether first responders had enough staffing and equipment to contend with the 2025 flooding. The editor’s warning question was personal: would they have enough warning, and could they trust the systems in place to keep themselves and others safe?