Grizzly Pines, a gay campground in Texas that proudly calls itself a haven for men to be free and unclothed under the sun, is now under fire for doing the one thing the LGBTQ+ community is supposed to stand against—excluding its own. The Navasota-based private site posted a now-deleted message declaring that it would not permit transgender men to attend its events, citing “comfort” and “shared lived experience.” The post was made on Trans Day of Visibility—because nothing screams inclusivity like slamming the door shut on your brothers while the rest of the world tries to open them.
The statement claimed the campground was “not anti-trans,” but simply preserving a “unique sub cultural dynamic.” Translation? Cis men only, no matter how you identify, how you live, or what community you’ve built yourself in. It was a textbook case of tone-deafness—on a day that should have been about visibility, this venue chose exclusion instead. And the LGBTQ+ community, particularly the bear scene, isn’t having it.
Bears Walk Out, Allies Speak Up
The Houston Bears, who had sold out their upcoming Bear Camp event at Grizzly Pines, were the first to say “bye, gurl.” In a public statement, they made it clear that telling some men—specifically trans men—they’re not welcome goes against everything they stand for. “The idea of having an event where we would be forced to tell some of our members ‘not you’ is incompatible with our values,” they wrote. The group swiftly moved the event to Rainbow Ranch, a space that embraces all men, trans and cis alike.
More groups followed suit. The RGV Bears canceled their own event and pledged solidarity with trans members, promising to create spaces that reflect the entire bear family—fur, bellies, and gender diversity included.
What’s most disturbing isn’t just the exclusion, but the audacity to market the policy as some kind of community preservation. John Anderson, founder of the massive Gay Camping Friends group, ripped into Grizzly Pines’ decision: “There’s irony in saying you’re preserving a male experience while excluding trans men, who are men.” Anderson didn’t hold back, calling the campground’s rhetoric passive-aggressive and hypocritical.
When Inclusion Becomes a Facade
Grizzly Pines may claim to offer a safe space for men to embrace body positivity and freedom—but its actions reveal a not-so-pretty underbelly of selective inclusion. As one community member, Blake Bennett, put it, “The absurdity of advertising yourself as a welcoming space for men to feel positive about their bodies, and then saying certain men can’t come in because other guests don’t like their bodies.” It’s giving “inclusive for some,” which is not a look.
The LGBTQ+ community’s strength lies in its diversity, and the fight for acceptance doesn’t end once cisgender gay men get to dance shirtless without shame. The decision by Grizzly Pines spotlights a growing, uncomfortable tension within queer spaces: the urge by some to gatekeep queer identity through outdated notions of gender and comfort. And let’s be real—if someone’s “comfort” depends on excluding others, maybe the problem isn’t the guest list.
Activists across Texas have pointed out the dangerous timing. In a state where over 200 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced, many targeting trans people specifically, internal community exclusion is the last thing anyone needs. Brad Pritchett of Equality Texas summed it up: “Transphobic policies should not be tolerated and should be costly. Let’s show every business in Texas… that it is expensive to hate your neighbors.”
A Line in the Sand—or the Dirt Trail
Past attendees like Rob Beste and David Powell Eversole are washing their hands of Grizzly Pines for good. “Goodbye, Grizzly Pines. It’s been real,” Eversole posted. Others, like Jake Crumley, called out the cowardice of bowing to clientele discomfort over doing the right thing: “If the clientele is so uncomfortable and concerned about who has what parts, that’s a reflection on the clientele. Catering and pandering to that, as a business, is really shortsighted.”
What’s clear is this: when queer spaces start putting up walls against trans people, especially trans men who are just as much a part of the gay experience as any leather daddy or twink, the whole foundation begins to crack. It’s not just about one campground in Texas—it’s about what kind of community we want to be.
This isn’t the first time a gay campground has tried to enforce a “penis at birth” policy—and every time it happens, the message to the trans community is loud and clear. But the louder message now? You can’t build a queer utopia on exclusion. The LGBTQ+ community is watching, and it’s not amused.