I've told anecdotes, but never really explained me: who am I, what's my context, what's my damage? So here's my whole goddamn life story. I've broken it into four parts, about 1,500 words each, for ease of reading and referencing. Part 2: ages 14-22. (Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4)
I moved to public school in 8th grade and just plain didn't make friends there. Not until high school, and even then not many. Over the summer between 7th and 8th grade, my dad sent me to Aviation Challenge, like the Air Force-oriented Space Camp. I got a chance to be at the controls of a plane for a minute and I was instantly hooked. I knew what I wanted to do with my life: I wanted to fly planes.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
My Whole Goddamn Life Story (or: What the Fuck is Your Damage, Sis?), Part 1
I've told anecdotes, but never really explained me: who am I, what's my context, what's my damage? So here's my whole goddamn life story. I've broken it into four parts, about 1,500 words each, for ease of reading and referencing. Part 1: ages 0-13. (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)
I was born in San Francisco in December 1982. My early life was spent in Marin, doing Marin things. My little brother was born in 1986. I went to Hebrew school for kindergarten and first grade, which was alright I guess. One good thing my mom did was introduce me to the Carl Sagan Cosmos series. I watched the whole thing intently, then rented it on video to watch it again. I was hooked. When people asked me in kindergarten what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said an astrophysicist.
I was born in San Francisco in December 1982. My early life was spent in Marin, doing Marin things. My little brother was born in 1986. I went to Hebrew school for kindergarten and first grade, which was alright I guess. One good thing my mom did was introduce me to the Carl Sagan Cosmos series. I watched the whole thing intently, then rented it on video to watch it again. I was hooked. When people asked me in kindergarten what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said an astrophysicist.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
The Metaphysics of Sex
Not really about metaphysics. I just wanted a pretentious title that would get your attention. Did it work? Good.
tl;dr: Defining sex is actually a really thorny topic, and there is no single definition of it you can use that will exclude transsexuals from their sex without excluding some cisgender individuals.
What makes a man a man? What makes a woman a woman? As a species we seem geared toward this kind of essentialist categorization. Brushing it aside won't work then. Instead, it has to be addressed head on.
This isn't purely theoretical for me. As a transsexual woman, questions of the validity of my gender (at this point) and my sex (in the future) directly impact my life. It's something cisgender people can take for granted. They never have to justify themselves. But I do and that makes this acutely relevant.
So what makes someone a particular sex? It's often simplistically thought of as chromosomal: XX is female and XY is male. But this is mistaken. What's relevant isn't chromosomes but genes, primarily the SRY (Sex-determining Region Y-chromosome) gene. This can be turned off sometimes, resulting in cisgender women with XY karyotype. It can be erroneously transcribed to an X chromosome. And this isn't even getting into deviations from the simple XX and XY, such as X and XXY. So we can't use chromosomes as the basis or we'd insist that fertile women are really men.
What about genotype, then? Well, this gets fuzzy. The actual expression of the gene (phenotype) can change over time. Additionally, not all cells may have the same gene expression or even the same chromosomes. Some people are chimerical, meaning some cells have one set of genes and other cells have a different set of genes. A chimera may be both SRY+ and SRY-; they can also be a blend of, e.g., XX and XY. Furthermore, SRY and other genes aren't strictly binary - they can be expressed more or less strongly. This is one of many reasons Gerald Callahan says "we're all intersex" - no one absolutely, 100% expresses one sex's characteristics, even on the molecular level. There is always some variation from the ideal expression and forms of male and female. Defining sex in these terms requires some arbitrary cutoffs. Finally, there can be XY women, even fertile XY women, with normal male coding of all known sex-linked genes. So let's toss out genes because they're a muddled mess full of exceptions that's subject to change.
Well, what about hormones, then? (Incidentally, this is what determines the type of orgasms you have.) It turns out there are all manner of hormonal disorders that can cause high testosterone and/or low estrogen in women, or high estrogen and/or low testosterone in men. There are also adrenal disorders that affect sex expression. These are people you would likely identify as women or men, respectively, due to other factors. Like, where do the hormones come from?
Okay, so we have gonads to tell us. Or not. There are people born with no gonads or with both varieties. You can have men with an ovary on one side and a testicle on the other. You can have women who have no ovaries whatsoever. The sexual development of these people is going to be different, but do we just declare them to have no sex despite primary sex characteristics, i.e., genitals? And there are medical interventions, such as hormonal pills or injections, or in some cases surgery, that match their primary sex characteristics. (But is making this match primary sex characteristics any more 'corrective' than the same interventions to match neurological sex? See below.)
Genitals - that's the one everyone focuses on. It's what's used to assign sex at birth, without any regard for the other criteria. Well, to exclude transsexuals from consideration as their actual (target) sex requires a questionable assumption: that all that matters is the primary sex characteristics at birth, not currently. If you go with this assumption, you're in a very strange place ontologically, where nothing is dynamic, nothing changes - the categories are fixed and rigid and you're going full-on Plato. You're one step from arguing that everyone is still a newborn, since no change is allowed from whatever category it's been pigeonholed into. This isn't even getting into people whose genitals don't fit the binary dichotomy of male and female - they're both, in between or something else. (And boy howdy have those people been fucked over by simplistic, slipshod reasoning on this topic.)
There are other factors that can be used to identify sex. Secondary sex characteristics, like breasts or facial hair, or facial structure, are the markers we use in day to day life to identify the sex of the people we see. We also use social cues like hair and clothing, but those are ephemeral. But even these secondary characteristics run into problems, such as women with facial hair or men with gynecomastia. (Your bloghostess takes an antipsychotic that can cause men to grow milk-producing breasts as a side effect.)
Finally, there is neurological sex. Certain brain structures have different neuron densities in men and women. In some clusters of white matter, this difference is drastic. So you could, if you wanted to, define sex based on the brain, not the gonads or genitals. And what is more fundamentally "you" than your neurology? This is what determines your thoughts and feelings. It is who you are to you. As you might expect, then, in autopsy studies, transgender people have been found to neurologically be their identified sex, not their sex assigned at birth.
Basically, defining sex is a muddled mess of at least a half dozen factors. It's complicated. (Some would even argue it can't be reduced to a binary, that there are at least 5 sexes and possibly more.) And without some weird assumptions, no criteria listed above can exclude transsexuals without excluding plenty of cisgender people from their sex. Invalidating our sex requires you to invalidate the sex of people who you'd never think to do that to.
To review: Chromosomes can go either way (e.g., XY can be male or female). Genes can go either way. Hormones can go every which way. Gonads need not match genitals, or even exist. Secondary sex characteristics need not always agree. Genitals are the standard and can be surgically changed from one to another. And neurology need not agree with birth genitals.
None of this touches on gender, which is how people perceive themselves and how we actually interact with them in the world - how we address them, how we treat them, how we perceive them. It's the psycho-social counterpart to sex. And whatever the "psycho" is, one should strive to make the "social" match up. There's a reason the AP and most other style books dictate that a person is to be identified by their self-identified name and gender (e.g., her and she for someone who identifies as female, like Chelsea Manning). But defining and delineating gender is even messier than doing so with sex - for starters, you have to grapple with non-binary genders, while here I only briefly touched on non-binary sexes (intersexed people).
tl;dr: Defining sex is actually a really thorny topic, and there is no single definition of it you can use that will exclude transsexuals from their sex without excluding some cisgender individuals.
What makes a man a man? What makes a woman a woman? As a species we seem geared toward this kind of essentialist categorization. Brushing it aside won't work then. Instead, it has to be addressed head on.
This isn't purely theoretical for me. As a transsexual woman, questions of the validity of my gender (at this point) and my sex (in the future) directly impact my life. It's something cisgender people can take for granted. They never have to justify themselves. But I do and that makes this acutely relevant.
So what makes someone a particular sex? It's often simplistically thought of as chromosomal: XX is female and XY is male. But this is mistaken. What's relevant isn't chromosomes but genes, primarily the SRY (Sex-determining Region Y-chromosome) gene. This can be turned off sometimes, resulting in cisgender women with XY karyotype. It can be erroneously transcribed to an X chromosome. And this isn't even getting into deviations from the simple XX and XY, such as X and XXY. So we can't use chromosomes as the basis or we'd insist that fertile women are really men.
What about genotype, then? Well, this gets fuzzy. The actual expression of the gene (phenotype) can change over time. Additionally, not all cells may have the same gene expression or even the same chromosomes. Some people are chimerical, meaning some cells have one set of genes and other cells have a different set of genes. A chimera may be both SRY+ and SRY-; they can also be a blend of, e.g., XX and XY. Furthermore, SRY and other genes aren't strictly binary - they can be expressed more or less strongly. This is one of many reasons Gerald Callahan says "we're all intersex" - no one absolutely, 100% expresses one sex's characteristics, even on the molecular level. There is always some variation from the ideal expression and forms of male and female. Defining sex in these terms requires some arbitrary cutoffs. Finally, there can be XY women, even fertile XY women, with normal male coding of all known sex-linked genes. So let's toss out genes because they're a muddled mess full of exceptions that's subject to change.
Well, what about hormones, then? (Incidentally, this is what determines the type of orgasms you have.) It turns out there are all manner of hormonal disorders that can cause high testosterone and/or low estrogen in women, or high estrogen and/or low testosterone in men. There are also adrenal disorders that affect sex expression. These are people you would likely identify as women or men, respectively, due to other factors. Like, where do the hormones come from?
Okay, so we have gonads to tell us. Or not. There are people born with no gonads or with both varieties. You can have men with an ovary on one side and a testicle on the other. You can have women who have no ovaries whatsoever. The sexual development of these people is going to be different, but do we just declare them to have no sex despite primary sex characteristics, i.e., genitals? And there are medical interventions, such as hormonal pills or injections, or in some cases surgery, that match their primary sex characteristics. (But is making this match primary sex characteristics any more 'corrective' than the same interventions to match neurological sex? See below.)
Genitals - that's the one everyone focuses on. It's what's used to assign sex at birth, without any regard for the other criteria. Well, to exclude transsexuals from consideration as their actual (target) sex requires a questionable assumption: that all that matters is the primary sex characteristics at birth, not currently. If you go with this assumption, you're in a very strange place ontologically, where nothing is dynamic, nothing changes - the categories are fixed and rigid and you're going full-on Plato. You're one step from arguing that everyone is still a newborn, since no change is allowed from whatever category it's been pigeonholed into. This isn't even getting into people whose genitals don't fit the binary dichotomy of male and female - they're both, in between or something else. (And boy howdy have those people been fucked over by simplistic, slipshod reasoning on this topic.)
There are other factors that can be used to identify sex. Secondary sex characteristics, like breasts or facial hair, or facial structure, are the markers we use in day to day life to identify the sex of the people we see. We also use social cues like hair and clothing, but those are ephemeral. But even these secondary characteristics run into problems, such as women with facial hair or men with gynecomastia. (Your bloghostess takes an antipsychotic that can cause men to grow milk-producing breasts as a side effect.)
Finally, there is neurological sex. Certain brain structures have different neuron densities in men and women. In some clusters of white matter, this difference is drastic. So you could, if you wanted to, define sex based on the brain, not the gonads or genitals. And what is more fundamentally "you" than your neurology? This is what determines your thoughts and feelings. It is who you are to you. As you might expect, then, in autopsy studies, transgender people have been found to neurologically be their identified sex, not their sex assigned at birth.
Basically, defining sex is a muddled mess of at least a half dozen factors. It's complicated. (Some would even argue it can't be reduced to a binary, that there are at least 5 sexes and possibly more.) And without some weird assumptions, no criteria listed above can exclude transsexuals without excluding plenty of cisgender people from their sex. Invalidating our sex requires you to invalidate the sex of people who you'd never think to do that to.
To review: Chromosomes can go either way (e.g., XY can be male or female). Genes can go either way. Hormones can go every which way. Gonads need not match genitals, or even exist. Secondary sex characteristics need not always agree. Genitals are the standard and can be surgically changed from one to another. And neurology need not agree with birth genitals.
None of this touches on gender, which is how people perceive themselves and how we actually interact with them in the world - how we address them, how we treat them, how we perceive them. It's the psycho-social counterpart to sex. And whatever the "psycho" is, one should strive to make the "social" match up. There's a reason the AP and most other style books dictate that a person is to be identified by their self-identified name and gender (e.g., her and she for someone who identifies as female, like Chelsea Manning). But defining and delineating gender is even messier than doing so with sex - for starters, you have to grapple with non-binary genders, while here I only briefly touched on non-binary sexes (intersexed people).
Monday, January 5, 2015
Now I am Going to Get Into That Weird Ambivalence
I'm referring, of course, to "the weird interplay between physical stimulation, gender dysphoria, intrusive thoughts, and intoxication" referenced in Public Indecency. Because it was weird.
One thing that's critical to know about this is that my genitals have always felt somewhat alien to me. Either dissociated or like they had to be something they weren't. So I never fapped imagining something happening with my dick; I fapped imagining it was a vagina and the stroking was the feeling of being penetrated.
I'd tried sex with prostitutes twice, and I failed miserably both times. The feeling of penetrating felt wrong, just wrong. And it didn't do anything for me. I knew these women were beautiful. I wanted to kiss them and play with their nipples and go down on them, but penetrating... I just couldn't do it.
So this is what I was going into the blowjob with in terms of relationship with my dick.
On top of that, I had terrible intrusive sexual thoughts at the time. Violent, horrific stuff. My faplife revolved around these. It was downright compulsive. And it created a dynamic where that's all I was used to getting off to. But I couldn't think that about a real person other than myself - the very notion of that repulsed and disgusted me.
So on top of the dysphoria, I had this hangup about arousal being coupled to revulsion.
However, physical stimulation goes a long way, especially with male arousal. (It's a bit trickier now that my arousal and orgasms are estrogen-based.) The kissing and the nipples put my mind at ease, but it was the physical stimulation that got the actual it's-40-degrees-out boner going. It didn't matter how I felt about my dick or what I was thinking, that physical touch got it going on its own.
So a little dick licking woke it up regardless of anything else.
Finally, there was the booze. Normally, booze inhibits performance by making erections more difficult. This was far outweighed by making it too hard to think any of the intrusive thoughts. And it was outweighed even further by numbing my dysphoria. I was crosseyed and painless, so I managed to become dissociated from the dissociation of my dysphoria, if that makes any sense. It's like I was too out of it to feel the wrongness anymore.
So I was numb to most of those bad feels.
Ultimately, it was a pleasant experience in the moment, although an anxiety-wracked one. But that pleasure was mostly the kissing and nipple play in the end. The raw physical pleasure was like a base reptilian reflex - I reacted to it with pleasure, but it was on the level of tapping my knee with one of those doctor's mallets.
But afterward, I felt... off. I couldn't get the feeling of the sucking off and it was... not completely wrong, but certainly not right. The shaft was all wrong but the head was pretty good I guess (big surprise there - the head is what becomes the clit in SRS), But still, the overall feeling - things felt extra alien.
In the end, I wanted - wished for - more, since the kissing and nipple sucking was so good. But I really didn't want to have to use by dick for anything real and an orgasm with someone else was a terrifying prospect, and probably would have required just as much booze at that point in my life.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Harassment
This is what online harassment looks like. Based on the choice of photo to spuriously report for "graphic violence," I suspect I'm being harassed for being trans.
Facebook actively encourages this kind of harassment. Someone can report the same image over, and over, and over, ad infinitum, in the hopes that eventually, just once, the censors will ban it. There is no accountability for bogus reports. You can make a dozen bogus reports and there is no consequence - they don't even give a time-out from reporting, apparently. You are not permitted to comment on the report, such as to point out that the image has already passed muster (something they could easily check automatically), or to report the reporter for obvious harassment, as above.
I have tried, and failed, to find some way of contacting Facebook directly - they appear to make that deliberately impossible.
So there is nothing I can do. At this point I can only assume that I will be harassed until my harasser gets bored, which may be quite a while. And as I said above, Facebook encourages this sort of behavior with their reckless reporting policies.
I think this relates in a non-trivial way to the harassment transgender people and drag performers face over the name policy. Like I said, the fact that my ancient picture of hormone pills, and not the more recent mountain of pills, was reported for graphic violence tells me they have something against teh trans. And they have nothing better to do than to be a pain in my ass for it.
I guess achievement unlocked, guys. bleep-bloop Face Trans Hate 75G
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Tits and GTFO
In at least five cases, these very nipples have been deemed safe for work by Facebook's censors. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to the decisions. My nipples at 2 months of HRT, when they were clearly masculine (and, in fact, I was legally male) were removed for nudity. Male nipples. Conversely, my nipples at 8 months of HRT, barely 2 months ago, were allowed to stay. Apparently the A cup boobs of someone legally female are okay, but only in some arbitrary cases. Other times the same nipples have gotten me outright banned.
Is it the lighting? Just a different boob inspector examining with comparison photos? What is it, Facebook?
It's incoherent nonsense meant to enforce a societal double standard. Men's nips? Even moobs? Even pinching it and making a sexy face? A-OK. Completely tasteful display or rendition of feminine beauty? A documentary about experiencing female puberty late in life? Breastfeeding? Naughty, naughty.
So let me ask you: does this picture turn you on so much you just *have* to fap? Will it scar children for life if they see it? Is there a single offensive thing about this picture (other than the fact that I appear in it)? Is there anything not PG in this entire post?
Or is it just a picture of me, honestly showing myself as I am?
Facebook doesn't care what it is. They have their muddled policies. But it makes absolutely zero sense for the same nipples to both be offensive and inoffensive. This double standard has to end.
#FreeTheNipple
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Storytime Sunday: Bear Country
This took place in a mystical time before Rachel had a metric buttload of medical and psychiatric problems. Back when I was in shape. When I was 5'6", 120 lbs. of pure lean muscle mass, ascended ropes for fun, ran a 5 minute mile at 7,000 feet, could carry an 80 lb. backpack 20 miles a day... I was ripped. I was also mostly sober, only smoking pot on weekends and breaks and never drinking (this was before my brief coke phase, though admittedly after I tried acid the first time). (And god, if I could have transitioned with that body...)
Anyway, it was August before my junior year of high school, i.e. the August before my life as I knew it ended. I was all into backpacking and so was my mom's boyfriend (the guy who thought he was an amoeba), so us four (me, bro, mom, mom's bf) went on a little camping trip. We went to Mammoth in California. We had a lake picked out to go to, above the treeline and near some glaciers to hike to.
It was only something like 10-15 miles to hike in, but it was also gaining over 2,000 feet in altitude, so it was a respectable hike. We got most of our gear brought in by pack mule, but I was still carrying more than 60% of my weight on my back. This included a lawn chair strapped to the pack, because priorities! Other critical provisions included Nalgenes full of vodka and blue peppermint schnapps.
It was late in the day when we finally arrived and found our delivered gear. We scoped out a campsite and moved the gear to it in 3 or 4 trips.
Something about this spot: I mentioned it was above the treeline. I don't know if you've ever been to that altitude, but real trees suddenly vanish above a certain point. All that was there was scraggly things that could just as well be shrubs. One problem with this is that you have no way to keep your food away from bears. No worries, we had bearproof containers for likehalf 10% of the food. Good enough.
The first few days went well enough. We ate all the MREs we brought - heavy, but tasty by camping standards. We caught some trout in the lake, which still had ice floating in it in August. They made for a nice break from the freeze-dried food. One thing we learned quickly: do not eat the chili macaroni. That shit was foul. One day me and mom's bf hiked up on one of the glaciers, so you can add "never have I ever walked on a glacier" to options you can use against me.
It was getting close to the end of the trip. Just two more nights and we'd be hiking out. We made Bisquick with schnapps in it for breakfast - green, minty pancakes. Yum!
We met a group of women hiking past our campsite. The Women's Sierra Club, or as I now call them, "Dykes on Hikes." They opted to camp a bit uphill so we wouldn't all be up in each other's shit. We did the nightly routine of piling all the food and stuff up and throwing the lawn chairs on top because, I dunno, a bear would look at it and think it was a solid wall or something.
In the middle of the night I woke up to a clanging and mom's bf shouting for me to wake up. I lept out of my sleeping bag into the freezing air and unzipped the tent. "Huh? What?" Clang.
"There's a bear."
I shrank back into the tent. "Uhm... a bear?" Clang.
"We need to chase it off."
"Chase it off? How?"
He shrugged. "Lights. Noise." Clang.
"But what if it attacks?"
"It won't attack. Come on." He strode off toward the clanging, shining his flashlight. I grabbed mine and headed after. I thought I saw something move and almost shat myself.
Then I remembered hearing somewhere that bears are scared of dogs. So I started barking. "WOOF WOOF WOOF ARF ARF WOOF!" I followed the clanging, barking the whole way. The clanging stopped, but I kept going. I seemed to reach the end of the trail of debris and finally stopped. It was too dark to try any cleanup, so we went back to bed to deal with it in the morning.
We took an inventory of what was missing. Basically all the food except the little bit in the bearproof container. Ripped bags. And one lawn chair. Who the hell took the lawn chair? Of course - the Women's Sierra Club. They must have taken it, then the bear came and ate all the food.
The trail of debris had to be a quarter mile long. Food pack after food pack ripped to shreds. Except the chili macaroni. One of those packs was partly nibbled through and the rest left completely untouched. Jesus, even the bear didn't want that shit.
And then we found the lawn chair, at the end of the trail of debris. It was slightly bent and a little dinged and scuffed, just fallen over on a rock. That's when we realized what happened: the bear stuck its head through the lawn chair to get at the food and got it stuck. The clanging was the bear trying to knock it off.
Anyway, apparently my mom chatted with a couple of the women uphill about the bear situation and they should be careful about it. They thought we had an actual dog to deal with that. Don't call me a dog - that's cold, girl.
Packing up and leaving was completely uneventful, and with the lighter packs and downhill grade it was a much faster, easier hike back. We were good about leave no trace protocols. We left only footprints and took only memories of lawn chair stealing bears.
Anyway, it was August before my junior year of high school, i.e. the August before my life as I knew it ended. I was all into backpacking and so was my mom's boyfriend (the guy who thought he was an amoeba), so us four (me, bro, mom, mom's bf) went on a little camping trip. We went to Mammoth in California. We had a lake picked out to go to, above the treeline and near some glaciers to hike to.
It was only something like 10-15 miles to hike in, but it was also gaining over 2,000 feet in altitude, so it was a respectable hike. We got most of our gear brought in by pack mule, but I was still carrying more than 60% of my weight on my back. This included a lawn chair strapped to the pack, because priorities! Other critical provisions included Nalgenes full of vodka and blue peppermint schnapps.
It was late in the day when we finally arrived and found our delivered gear. We scoped out a campsite and moved the gear to it in 3 or 4 trips.
Something about this spot: I mentioned it was above the treeline. I don't know if you've ever been to that altitude, but real trees suddenly vanish above a certain point. All that was there was scraggly things that could just as well be shrubs. One problem with this is that you have no way to keep your food away from bears. No worries, we had bearproof containers for like
The first few days went well enough. We ate all the MREs we brought - heavy, but tasty by camping standards. We caught some trout in the lake, which still had ice floating in it in August. They made for a nice break from the freeze-dried food. One thing we learned quickly: do not eat the chili macaroni. That shit was foul. One day me and mom's bf hiked up on one of the glaciers, so you can add "never have I ever walked on a glacier" to options you can use against me.
It was getting close to the end of the trip. Just two more nights and we'd be hiking out. We made Bisquick with schnapps in it for breakfast - green, minty pancakes. Yum!
We met a group of women hiking past our campsite. The Women's Sierra Club, or as I now call them, "Dykes on Hikes." They opted to camp a bit uphill so we wouldn't all be up in each other's shit. We did the nightly routine of piling all the food and stuff up and throwing the lawn chairs on top because, I dunno, a bear would look at it and think it was a solid wall or something.
In the middle of the night I woke up to a clanging and mom's bf shouting for me to wake up. I lept out of my sleeping bag into the freezing air and unzipped the tent. "Huh? What?" Clang.
"There's a bear."
I shrank back into the tent. "Uhm... a bear?" Clang.
"We need to chase it off."
"Chase it off? How?"
He shrugged. "Lights. Noise." Clang.
"But what if it attacks?"
"It won't attack. Come on." He strode off toward the clanging, shining his flashlight. I grabbed mine and headed after. I thought I saw something move and almost shat myself.
Then I remembered hearing somewhere that bears are scared of dogs. So I started barking. "WOOF WOOF WOOF ARF ARF WOOF!" I followed the clanging, barking the whole way. The clanging stopped, but I kept going. I seemed to reach the end of the trail of debris and finally stopped. It was too dark to try any cleanup, so we went back to bed to deal with it in the morning.
We took an inventory of what was missing. Basically all the food except the little bit in the bearproof container. Ripped bags. And one lawn chair. Who the hell took the lawn chair? Of course - the Women's Sierra Club. They must have taken it, then the bear came and ate all the food.
The trail of debris had to be a quarter mile long. Food pack after food pack ripped to shreds. Except the chili macaroni. One of those packs was partly nibbled through and the rest left completely untouched. Jesus, even the bear didn't want that shit.
And then we found the lawn chair, at the end of the trail of debris. It was slightly bent and a little dinged and scuffed, just fallen over on a rock. That's when we realized what happened: the bear stuck its head through the lawn chair to get at the food and got it stuck. The clanging was the bear trying to knock it off.
Anyway, apparently my mom chatted with a couple of the women uphill about the bear situation and they should be careful about it. They thought we had an actual dog to deal with that. Don't call me a dog - that's cold, girl.
Packing up and leaving was completely uneventful, and with the lighter packs and downhill grade it was a much faster, easier hike back. We were good about leave no trace protocols. We left only footprints and took only memories of lawn chair stealing bears.
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