The rare blanket of ice that coated North Texas on January 25, 2026, turned a quiet suburban neighborhood into a deadly playground. In Frisco, a city north of Dallas known for its manicured lawns and youth sports leagues, 16-year-old Elizabeth Angle— a rising sophomore standout on the Wakeland High School girls’ soccer team and the FC Dallas 2009G club squad—hopped onto a sled with a teammate. A 16-year-old boy towed them behind his Jeep Wrangler in a high-speed loop around the block, a spontaneous thrill ride made possible by the freakish winter weather that had just swept through as part of Winter Storm Fern. What should have been harmless fun ended in catastrophe. The sled veered, crashed, and Elizabeth slammed her head onto the unforgiving ice. She was pronounced dead at the scene. Her friend was airlifted to a hospital in critical condition, fighting for life on a ventilator.
The accident, confirmed by Frisco Police Department and heartbroken family statements, became one of the most heartbreaking footnotes in a national disaster that has claimed at least 35 lives across the United States. For a region where snow is an exotic rarity—often arriving as a light dusting once every few years—the thick, glassy ice left by Storm Fern transformed streets, hills, and driveways into lethal hazards. Elizabeth’s death is a stark reminder that winter’s beauty can hide brutal danger, especially when excitement overrides caution.
Elizabeth Angle was no ordinary teenager. Friends, coaches, and teammates described her as a “bright light,” a “fun spirit,” and a “brave soul.” On the pitch, she was a defensive powerhouse—quick, fearless, and always in position to shut down attacks. She wore the Wakeland Wolverines jersey with pride and represented FC Dallas in elite youth competitions, dreaming of college scholarships and perhaps even a professional path. Off the field, she was the girl who lit up group chats with memes, organized team hangouts, and never hesitated to check on a teammate having a rough day. “She had this infectious energy,” one anonymous teammate posted online. “You could be exhausted after practice, and she’d crack a joke or give you a hug, and suddenly everything felt better.”
Her mother, in a raw and loving tribute shared with local media, captured the essence of the girl the world lost: “Elizabeth was a bright light, a fun spirit, a brave soul. She loved fiercely, played hard, and lived every moment fully.” The family has asked for privacy amid the overwhelming grief, but the outpouring of support has been immediate and immense.
Wakeland High School’s girls’ soccer program issued one of the most poignant statements in the hours after the news broke: “Though the field feels different, though the back line feels empty, we believe this: God called her home not in defeat, but in victory.” The team canceled practice indefinitely, and a memorial vigil was planned on the soccer field where Elizabeth had spent countless hours perfecting her craft. Teammates gathered there Monday evening, placing flowers, cleats, and handwritten notes around the goalpost she defended. Candles flickered against the still-freezing air as players, coaches, and parents shared stories of her laughter echoing across the turf.
The accident occurred Sunday afternoon, mere hours after the worst of Storm Fern had passed over North Texas. Meteorologists had warned of treacherous conditions: freezing rain followed by plummeting temperatures turned roads and yards into mirror-smooth ice sheets. In many areas, snow totals were light—only a few inches—but the ice underneath was thick and unforgiving. Unlike fluffy snow in northern states, Texas ice is hard, slick, and unforgiving to impacts. “This is not snow that we have here in Texas; this is ice,” warned Dr. Taylor Louden, medical director of emergency services at Cook Children’s Medical Center in Fort Worth. “When kids hit their head on ice, it can cause catastrophic injuries.”
Frisco police have not released full details of the crash, citing the ongoing investigation and respect for the families. They did confirm the Jeep was traveling at a moderate speed for the activity, and no alcohol or drugs are suspected. The boy driving the vehicle was not injured but is reportedly devastated. Authorities quickly issued public warnings: stay off the ice, avoid towing sleds behind vehicles, and treat any frozen surface with extreme caution. “Sledding on ice is exponentially more dangerous than on snow,” one officer told local reporters. “The lack of give means any fall can be devastating.”
Elizabeth’s death is part of a grim tally from Winter Storm Fern, a monster weather system that barreled across two dozen states from the Rockies to New England. The storm, fueled by a powerful Arctic blast colliding with Gulf moisture, set records for cold and precipitation in places unaccustomed to winter extremes. In Texas alone, the storm triggered blackouts, flight cancellations, and a surge in weather-related emergencies. At least 35 people nationwide have died, many from hypothermia, carbon monoxide poisoning from generators, car accidents on icy roads, and—tragically—recreational mishaps like Elizabeth’s.
Other heartbreaking stories emerged alongside hers. In one northern state, three brothers under 10 fell through thin ice while playing; despite desperate attempts to save each other, all perished. In Louisiana, officials reported three storm-related deaths. Tennessee tallied three more. A retired New York City police officer died while shoveling snow near a church. A teacher in another state was found frozen just 300 yards from home after getting lost in whiteout conditions. The death toll continues to rise as investigators link more incidents to the cold snap.
For North Texas, the storm was especially surreal. Dallas-Fort Worth saw temperatures plummet into the teens, with wind chills near zero. Residents who had never owned snow boots or ice scrapers suddenly faced roads that resembled skating rinks. Power outages left thousands in the dark and cold. Schools closed for days, turning the region into an impromptu winter wonderland—until the dangers became clear.
In Frisco, a city of over 200,000 where soccer fields outnumber parks in some neighborhoods, Elizabeth’s loss reverberates deeply. Wakeland High School, part of the Frisco Independent School District, has long been a powerhouse in girls’ athletics. The soccer team has produced college recruits and state contenders. Elizabeth was on track to be one of them. “She was the kind of player who elevated everyone around her,” her coach reportedly said in a private team meeting. “Defensively solid, offensively creative, and always positive.”
The community response has been overwhelming. GoFundMe pages for the Angle family and the injured teammate have raised tens of thousands of dollars in hours. Local businesses offered free meals to first responders and donated to memorials. Social media flooded with photos of Elizabeth in her jersey, mid-kick, smiling ear-to-ear after a win. Hashtags like #ElizabethAngle and #WakelandStrong trended locally.
Experts say incidents like this highlight a broader issue: unfamiliarity with winter weather breeds complacency. In southern states, people rush outside when snow falls, eager for novelty, without realizing ice’s unique perils. Head injuries on hard surfaces are far more severe than on snow, which cushions falls. Dr. Louden emphasized: “Even low-speed accidents can be fatal when the impact is on ice. Helmets are essential, but the best prevention is avoiding the activity altogether when conditions are icy.”
Elizabeth’s story is also a painful chapter in youth sports. Texas has seen too many young athletes lost prematurely—some to heat stroke in summer practices, others to sudden medical events. Now, a winter storm adds another layer of tragedy. Her teammates will walk onto the field this spring with an empty space in the back line, a missing voice in the huddle, a void that no trophy can fill.
Yet amid the grief, there is resolve. The Wakeland program plans to dedicate the season to her memory—perhaps with a patch on jerseys bearing her number, or a moment of silence before every game. Her family hopes her story saves lives: “Play hard, love big, but stay safe,” her mother’s words echo.
As Texas slowly thaws, the ice will melt, streets will dry, and life will resume. But for the Angle family, for her teammates, for Frisco, the cold will linger much longer. A bright light was extinguished too soon on a sheet of ice that should have been just another fleeting Texas winter surprise. Instead, it became a permanent scar on a community that loved her fiercely.
