Neighbors Find No Trespassing Signs and Cameras on the Path They’ve Walked to Bear Creek for Years — Then the Landowner Hires Armed Guards

Photo credit: AI-generated image created using ChatGPT. Illustrative only.

The path was never fancy. Just a worn, familiar line leading from the end of Pyramid Boulevard down through the trees to Bear Creek—close enough for an evening walk, a kid’s splash-around, a quick “let’s go look at the water” after dinner. Then one day the neighbors say it changed: fresh “No Trespassing” signs, surveillance cameras, and a message that the shortcut they’d used for years was over.

In Pyramid Acres, a quasi-rural subdivision in southwest Tarrant County near the Tarrant/Parker county line, the dispute has escalated past bad blood and into something that feels genuinely dangerous. The Fort Worth Star-Telegram’s reporting lays out the details in the original post, including claims that armed security guards were hired to stop people from crossing the land to reach the creek.

A neighborhood routine hit a hard stop

Residents describe Bear Creek as part of why they chose the area in the first place. Dustin Harrington, who lives in Pyramid Acres, told the Star-Telegram that he and his family used the creek for recreation, and that other families did too. They don’t own land along the creek, but Harrington’s argument is rooted in the water itself: he says the creek is a navigable waterway, and under Texas law that makes it public.

The problem is getting there. The route neighbors used starts at the end of Pyramid Boulevard, where there’s a barrier and a sign reading “County Property Ends.” Neighbors say “No Trespassing” signs went up beyond that point, and the message became unmistakable: the land between the neighborhood and the water was being treated as private, and access was being cut off.

If you’ve lived in the country long enough, you know how these things often start: one small change on a fence line, one new post, one new camera pointed down a trail. People shrug, until they can’t.

Signs turned into cameras, then into armed security

According to Harrington and other residents, the signs were posted at the behest of Nancy Rimmer. Her company, RNR Production Land and Cattle, owns dozens of properties in and around Pyramid Acres, including land between Pyramid Boulevard and Bear Creek.

Neighbors say it didn’t stop at signage. They told the Star-Telegram that surveillance cameras were added, and that armed guards were hired to ensure nobody crossed the property on the way to the creek. In one confrontation, Harrington alleged that a security guard brandished a firearm.

That’s the moment where a “property disagreement” stops being theoretical. When a family’s evening walk can end in a face-to-face with a gun on display, the practical question becomes less about who’s right and more about who’s going to get hurt first.

Maps, old plats, and one stubborn strip of “maybe”

On the surface, this sounds like the kind of thing a simple map would settle. But the Star-Telegram describes a tangle: a Tarrant County property map shows Rimmer’s land between Pyramid Boulevard and the creek bisected by what appears to be a corridor of public right-of-way.

Rimmer’s side counters with paperwork. Her spokesman provided the Star-Telegram a letter from the county dated Oct. 18, 2024, stating there was no right of way reaching Bear Creek. The spokesman’s email summed it up bluntly: “As a result, the land beyond Pyramid Boulevard, including the unpaved strip leading toward Bear Creek, remains private property, and there is no authorized public access across it.”

Longtime resident Ken Peel told the Star-Telegram he believed that strip was set aside decades ago to extend Pyramid Boulevard to home sites on the other side of Bear Creek, but that the project was scrapped. The old plats and dedicated areas in the 1970s appear to show undeveloped home sites in the woods on both sides of the creek, supporting the idea that there was once a larger buildout planned.

And then there’s Truitt Drive—dedicated to Tarrant County in 1972, running parallel to Bear Creek at the south end of the development. The plats show private home sites sitting between Truitt Drive and the creek. Harrington’s thinking is that if a public roadway was platted and dedicated, residents should be able to access the path of that unconstructed road, even if the land immediately by the creek is privately owned.

Rimmer’s spokesman didn’t dispute that point when asked about it. That silence matters, because it suggests the fight isn’t just about water access—it’s about which “paper rights” still have teeth when they were never physically built out.

When the county won’t talk, neighbors start documenting everything

No one from Tarrant County, the Star-Telegram reports, has been willing to speak publicly about the dispute. Pyramid Acres sits in Precinct 2 under Commissioner Alisa Simmons, who did not respond to a request for comment. The area used to be in Precinct 1; Commissioner Roderick Miles’ office declined to speak on the record and referred the paper to the county engineer, Joseph Jackson, who didn’t respond to multiple requests for comment.

For homeowners, that kind of official quiet is its own kind of stress. People want a clean answer: Is there a public access corridor or not? If the county won’t say it out loud, residents are left making decisions in the dark—decisions that can turn into trespass allegations or worse.

Harrington has pushed the issue anyway. He told the Star-Telegram he planned to contact the Tarrant County District Attorney’s Office, the Tarrant County Sheriff’s Office, and other agencies to investigate. He also contacted Texas Parks and Wildlife. A TPWD game warden met with Harrington, but the department’s spokesperson said the agency was aware of “conflicting information” and called it “a civil matter between the county and the landowners.”

That “civil matter” framing is familiar to anyone who’s dealt with property line drama. It often means: nobody’s coming to fix it quickly, and the people living there are stuck managing the temperature so it doesn’t boil over.

Park-site labels, dumping claims, and how trust broke down

Harrington points to a detail in county records that feels, to him, like the smoking gun: one of Rimmer’s properties bordering Bear Creek is listed as “Pyramid Acres Subdivision Bear Creek Park Site.” He believes that means land was set aside for a public park and should still function that way.

The Star-Telegram could not locate documents showing that property was ever dedicated to Tarrant County, though. That’s the kind of gap that drives neighbors nuts—because a label looks like a promise, until you need it to hold up under scrutiny.

Rimmer’s spokesman gave a different explanation for the crackdown. He said certain residents were given permission years ago to cross private land to access Bear Creek, but that it was never meant for wide-scale use. He also said illegal dumping, property damage near the creek, and safety concerns pushed the landowner to tighten access.

If you’ve ever lived near a creek, you can picture how quickly a quiet spot turns into a mess once it becomes “everybody’s place.” Dumped trash, torn-up ground, vehicles where they don’t belong. Even if most neighbors are respectful, it only takes a few bad actors to change how a landowner responds.

The scary part isn’t just the creek—it’s the next confrontation

This is the kind of standoff that makes a neighborhood feel smaller. People start taking different routes. Kids hear “don’t go down there.” Everyone watches for unfamiliar vehicles. The creek stays right where it’s always been, but access becomes a daily reminder that someone else can decide what you can and can’t do in the place you thought you understood.

Right now, Pyramid Acres neighbors appear split between what they’ve always done and what paperwork and enforcement now allow. Whether the answer ends up living in a 1970s plat dedication, a county letter, or a court filing, the immediate reality is simpler: the old path is no longer just a path. It’s a flashpoint, and the people who live around it are trying to keep their routines from turning into something irreversible.