Yellow Man

About This Experience

The Yellow Man became one of those places that seemed determined to resist us, almost as if the desert wanted to make sure we really deserved to find it. Somehow, from the little information we had collected and from studying maps and satellite images, we had already managed to identify the general area where this magnificent pictograph should be. That gave us confidence from the beginning. The hike was supposed to be very short, and although a high-clearance vehicle was required to reach the area, the actual visit sounded simple enough. It was not. Our first attempt failed before the real search even started. We drove toward the area but simply could not find the correct road leading to the site. Every turn seemed plausible, and several rough tracks looked as though they might be the right one, but nothing matched what we expected. Eventually we had to accept that we were not going to reach the place that year. It was frustrating, but at least we had learned more about the road system and told ourselves that the following year would be different. The next year we returned much better prepared. This time we knew which road we needed and felt confident that the access problem had finally been solved. Instead, we encountered a completely different obstacle: major road construction had disrupted the route so badly that we simply could not make our way to the site. We knew where we wanted to go, but there was no practical way to get there. Once again the Yellow Man remained beyond our reach. By then the pictograph had begun to feel personal. Two attempts, two completely different failures, and we had still never reached the actual search area. The third year we decided that this time we wanted a little more certainty before setting out. We contacted a friend who knew the site and asked him for help. He kindly gave us GPS coordinates, and suddenly it seemed that the mystery had finally been solved. With coordinates in hand, we found the road, drove the rough approach with the high-clearance vehicle and finally reached what we believed was the exact area of the Yellow Man. We were excited. After two years of access problems, we were finally there—or at least we thought we were. The landscape felt wonderfully remote and wild. Sandstone walls, isolated boulders, small alcoves and broken ledges surrounded us in every direction. We were also slightly uneasy about the possibility of encountering wild animals. Every sound in the bushes or movement between rocks attracted our attention, especially when we were concentrating on the walls rather than our surroundings. Still, we had GPS coordinates now. How difficult could it possibly be? Very difficult, as it turned out. We reached the indicated area and found nothing. At first we assumed the pictograph had to be only a few meters away and that we simply had not spotted the correct alcove. So we started searching. We checked one sandstone wall after another. We looked beneath overhangs, behind boulders and inside every recess that seemed capable of protecting a painted panel. Nothing. We widened the search. Still nothing. What had begun as a quick examination turned into almost three hours of looking below and behind what felt like every single rock in the area. We climbed toward promising sandstone faces and worked our way along some surprisingly steep ledges because we were convinced that the Yellow Man must be hidden just above or around the next corner. Some of the scrambling became uncomfortable enough that we had to use our hands and carefully test every foothold. We repeatedly reached a new wall thinking, “This has to be it,” only to find another completely ordinary surface. The situation became increasingly confusing. We trusted the coordinates, so instead of questioning the location we began questioning our ability to see the pictograph. Perhaps it was much smaller than we expected. Perhaps it was hidden around the backside of a rock. Perhaps the pigment blended so perfectly with the sandstone that we had already walked past it several times. That is entirely possible with desert rock art. A photograph isolates the panel and makes the figures look obvious, but on the ground the artwork may occupy only a tiny section of one wall among hundreds of nearly identical sandstone surfaces. We continued searching, sometimes retracing the same areas from different directions, convinced that a change in angle might suddenly reveal a patch of yellow pigment. After nearly three hours of scrambling, checking alcoves, peering behind rocks and negotiating steep sandstone ledges, we finally had to admit defeat. There was no Yellow Man. We returned tired, scratched and deeply discouraged. Three attempts over three years, and once again we had failed. But something still did not make sense. We were quite sure that we had searched the coordinates thoroughly. Either the pictograph was extraordinarily well hidden or something about the information was wrong. So during the same week we contacted our friend again. This time we compared the location more carefully, and the mystery was solved: there had been some confusion with the GPS coordinates. We had spent three hours searching the wrong place. Suddenly our unsuccessful expedition made perfect sense. There had been nothing wrong with our eyes after all. The Yellow Man simply had not been there. Our friend then gave us the correct coordinates. The whole episode had an unexpectedly nice consequence as well. During that week he invited us to his home, and what had begun simply as asking someone for help locating a rock-art site turned into an opportunity to spend time together and get to know each other much better. In the end, even the wrong coordinates had led to something positive. The unsuccessful search had been tiring and at moments a little ridiculous, but it had also become part of a new friendship. Of course, once we had the corrected coordinates, there was no chance we were going to wait another year. We had to try again. So our fourth attempt took place during that same third year. We returned to the area once more, followed the familiar rough road and watched the GPS carefully. This time, as we approached the exact point, we immediately realized how easily the site could have escaped us. The broader area we had originally identified was indeed correct, but the final position was exactly where we would never have expected it to be. The Yellow Man was not sitting conveniently at eye level on an obvious wall. It was hidden high above us in a sandstone alcove, perched on a steep section of rock that was difficult to approach and even harder to photograph properly. Without the exact coordinates, there was every chance we would have searched the lower walls again and never thought to look high enough. Once we knew where to stop, the final walk was very short but extremely steep. The pictograph remained far above us, protected beneath the sandstone overhang. Reaching a position directly in front of it was simply not realistic for us. The final rock below the alcove was too steep and exposed, so there was no way to stand squarely opposite the panel and take the sort of perfectly frontal photographs we would normally prefer. We had to accept that our pictures would be taken from below, looking upward toward the alcove. At first that seemed slightly disappointing after everything we had gone through to get there, but once we began photographing, we realized that the perspective actually worked surprisingly well. The high alcove framed the figure beautifully, and the upward angle emphasized just how hidden and protected the Yellow Man really was. The photographs were not perfectly straight-on documentary shots, but they were still beautiful and captured the atmosphere of the place far better than we had expected. And then, finally, we could really look at him. The Yellow Man was extraordinary. Painted onto the sheltered sandstone was a large human-like figure dominated by beautiful yellow pigment, immediately different from the red pictographs we had encountered so often elsewhere in Utah. Against the warm natural colors of the rock, the yellow seemed almost luminous. The anthropomorph was highly stylized and had a distinctly ceremonial appearance, with proportions and decoration that made it seem like much more than a simple representation of an ordinary person. Whether it depicted a ceremonial participant, an ancestor, a supernatural being or something completely different is impossible to know, but the visual effect was magnificent. Around the Yellow Man were other details that made the panel even more interesting. A red handprint provided a vivid contrast with the yellow figure, while small white dots and pale markings introduced a third color into the composition. The combination of yellow, red and white gave the panel an unexpectedly rich, almost polychromatic appearance. The high, protected position of the alcove had almost certainly helped preserve those pigments by shielding them from direct rain and some of the harshest desert exposure. We moved around below, looking for the best possible angles. Because we could not stand directly in front of the panel, every photograph required a little experimentation. A few steps to one side changed the perspective completely. From one position the Yellow Man was clearer; from another the red handprint stood out more strongly. The white dots became visible only when the light and angle worked together. In the end, the limitations made the photography more interesting. We had to work with the landscape rather than simply stand in the obvious position and press the shutter. The red handprint was particularly moving because it was so immediately recognizable. The stylized Yellow Man belonged to a symbolic language whose meaning we could no longer understand, but a human hand needed no translation. Someone had once placed or painted the shape of a hand against this very sandstone. We could not know who that person was or why the hand was left there, but the form created a remarkably direct connection across time. The white dots were equally intriguing. They appeared deliberately arranged rather than natural, although their relationship to the main figure remained uncertain. Perhaps all the elements belonged to a single composition. Perhaps they were added during different visits separated by years or generations. The wall preserved the colors and shapes while withholding everything that would explain them. After everything required to get there, however, interpretation almost became secondary. We were simply delighted to finally be standing below the Yellow Man. The irony of the situation was impossible to ignore. The actual walk from the vehicle was extremely short. Once you possessed the correct coordinates, reaching the base of the alcove was almost easy—apart from the steep climb. Yet it had taken us three years, four attempts, a road we could not find, major construction, one set of confused GPS coordinates, almost three hours of fruitless searching, steep sandstone scrambling and finally a second conversation with our friend before we could stand beneath a panel only minutes from where the vehicle could be parked. Even then the Yellow Man remained slightly out of reach, high in his alcove, forcing us to admire and photograph him from below. Somehow that seemed perfectly appropriate. The figure had resisted us for years, and even after we finally found it, it still kept a little distance. We stayed for a long time, taking photographs and simply enjoying the place together. Every failed attempt had now become part of the story rather than a frustration. Even the exhausting third search had become something we could laugh about: all those rocks we had inspected, all those steep ledges we had climbed and all those moments when we were convinced the next wall would reveal the figure—when in reality the Yellow Man was somewhere else entirely, high above…