Lion's Mouth Cave

About This Experience

Lion’s Mouth Cave turned out to be one of the funniest and most unexpected rock-art visits of our Utah trip, although when the day began there was very little to suggest that it would become such a good memory. The weather was miserable by desert standards. Thick dark clouds hung low over the landscape, occasional rain swept across the sandstone, and the usual brilliant Utah colors had been replaced by muted reds and browns beneath a gray sky. It was exactly the sort of morning when staying inside the Jeep seemed considerably more attractive than hiking anywhere. Still, Lion’s Mouth Cave had been on our list, and the trail was supposed to be short, so we decided that a little rain was not going to stop us. We drove through the gloomy weather toward the site, watching showers move across the distant hills and hoping that at least the rain would ease by the time we arrived. Eventually we reached the small parking area beneath the sandstone cliffs. For a few moments everything seemed perfect. The rain had weakened, the trail was short, and there appeared to be nobody else around. We gathered the cameras, put on our hiking shoes and were just about ready to start when the peaceful scene changed completely. A school bus appeared. Not a small van with a few visitors, but a proper school bus filled with children. It rolled into the parking area and stopped beside us. We looked at the bus, then at the narrow trail leading toward the alcove, and immediately understood what was about to happen. The doors opened and what looked like an entire legion of children prepared to descend upon Lion’s Mouth Cave. The first girl getting off the bus looked toward us and, with the urgency of someone announcing an approaching army, told us something along the lines of, “You’d better run!” It was excellent advice. We accepted it immediately. Cameras in hand, we started up the trail at a pace that was considerably faster than anything the short hike actually required. Behind us the school bus was rapidly emptying, and the quiet desert parking lot was filling with excited voices. Suddenly our visit had become a race. We hurried toward the shallow sandstone alcove, laughing at the absurdity of the situation and trying to reach the pictographs before the wave of children caught up with us. Fortunately the trail really was short, and within minutes the enormous sandstone shelter appeared ahead. Lion’s Mouth Cave is not really a deep cave but a broad, shallow alcove carved naturally into the rock, an ideal protected surface for preserving painted imagery. As soon as we reached it, the reason for coming despite the rain became obvious. Across the sheltered sandstone were numerous pictographs painted directly onto the rock in red, yellow and white mineral pigments. The wall seemed alive with figures. Anthropomorphic forms appeared among animal-like shapes, serpentine elements and strange abstract signs. Some were immediately visible, while others blended so naturally into the sandstone that they emerged only after we stood there for a while. We suddenly forgot the gray sky, the rain and even the approaching schoolchildren. We began photographing as quickly as possible. There was a wonderful urgency to those first minutes. Usually we spent a long time in front of a rock-art panel, slowly examining the wall, adjusting camera positions and waiting for the light. Here we were moving from figure to figure almost like photojournalists covering a breaking story. Red anthropomorphs, faded yellow forms, white details, strange animals—we tried to capture everything before the invasion arrived. The panel was remarkably dense. Some figures had elongated bodies and relatively simple heads, while others were much more abstract. Deep red pigment remained surprisingly strong in certain areas, contrasting beautifully with the lighter sandstone. Yellow was less common but especially striking, giving some figures a warmer almost golden appearance. White pigment survived in patches and details, sometimes so pale that it nearly disappeared into the rock. Seen together, the three colors created a complexity that monochrome petroglyphs simply cannot reproduce. These were not lines carved through desert varnish but actual layers of mineral pigment deliberately applied to the sandstone, probably using iron-rich ochres and other naturally available materials. The sheltered alcove had protected enough of that pigment to preserve an extraordinary visual record. The imagery is commonly associated with the Fremont tradition, broadly dating to around AD 700–1300, although the surrounding landscape also has later associations with Southern Paiute communities. Standing in front of the wall, however, dates and archaeological labels quickly became secondary to the visual experience. What fascinated us was how many different forms occupied such a relatively compact space. Human-like figures stood beside creatures that might have been animals, while long winding forms suggested snakes or other serpentine beings. Abstract marks appeared between them, perhaps intentionally connected with the surrounding figures, perhaps not. Some images may have been painted together, while others could have been added at very different times. The alcove may have functioned less like a single composition and more like a visual archive accumulated through repeated visits. Scientifically, sites like Lion’s Mouth Cave are especially valuable because the preserved pigments can provide information about ancient painting technology, preparation and use of minerals, while the placement of figures across a protected sandstone surface may offer clues about how imagery was spatially organized. For us, however, there was also something much simpler and more immediate about it: it was beautiful. The red, yellow and white figures seemed perfectly matched to the sandstone on which they had been painted. Then the first children arrived. We had expected chaos around the pictographs. Instead, something surprising happened. Most of them barely cared about the paintings. They glanced at the wall, perhaps listened briefly to whatever explanation they had been given, and then discovered something far more exciting: the rocks themselves. Lion’s Mouth Cave was apparently not a prehistoric art gallery in their eyes but an enormous natural playground. Within minutes they were climbing around the sandstone, exploring the alcove and discovering a smooth natural rock slope that functioned perfectly as a slide. Suddenly the quiet archaeological site sounded like a school playground. Children were sliding down the sandstone, climbing back up and doing it again, laughing the entire time. The pictographs that we had raced to photograph were almost completely ignored. We found the contrast hilarious. We had travelled through Utah specifically to see faint paintings centuries old, carefully studying every pigment trace as though it contained the secret of the universe. The children had arrived, looked around and concluded that the most important feature of Lion’s Mouth Cave was clearly the giant rock slide. And perhaps from their perspective they were absolutely right. The gloomy morning suddenly felt completely different. The rain came and went, clouds moved over the valley and the alcove echoed with voices and laughter. Instead of ruining the visit, the school group somehow made it more memorable. We continued examining the pictographs while the children enjoyed the sandstone around us. Every now and then we found another faint figure hidden between stronger paintings. Some of the red forms looked almost fresh in comparison with others that had faded into barely visible shadows. Yellow pigment appeared unexpectedly in small areas, and white details sometimes became visible only when viewed from the correct angle. The protected environment of the alcove had clearly played a major role in their survival. Rain could reach parts of the surrounding cliff, but the deeper wall remained sheltered, while limited direct exposure to sunlight helped slow the deterioration of the ancient colors. We spent quite a while moving along the panel, careful not to touch the surface, photographing the imagery and wondering what all these strange beings and symbols might once have meant. Perhaps some represented people, others animals or supernatural figures. Perhaps serpentine forms related to water, movement or stories connected to the surrounding landscape. The exact meanings remain unknown, and assigning precise interpretations would only replace ancient uncertainty with modern imagination. What could be appreciated with certainty was the skill involved in creating them and the remarkable fact that enough pigment remained for us to see them centuries later. Eventually the children began exploring farther up the hillside, and unexpectedly they became useful guides. We had noticed that there should be a way to climb higher above the alcove, but from below the route was not obvious. The wet weather made us reluctant to experiment on steep sandstone without knowing where we were going. Then we watched the school group. One after another, the kids disappeared along a route that clearly led upward. That answered the question for us. If an entire group of schoolchildren could find the way, we probably could too. We followed their general route and discovered a surprisingly manageable way up the hill. The climb was worth it. As we gained elevation, the landscape opened dramatically beneath us. The alcove that had seemed large from below became a small indentation in the sandstone, and beyond it the valley stretched beneath the heavy clouds. The gray weather that had looked depressing from the parking lot now created a beautiful atmosphere. Rain showers moved across distant parts of the landscape, while breaks in the clouds allowed patches of light to illuminate the desert. Red cliffs, darker vegetation and pale sandy areas created bands of color across the valley. From above, we could also appreciate how perfectly situated the alcove was within the surrounding terrain. It overlooked a broad landscape and yet remained protected beneath the sandstone. The people who painted the figures had not selected some random wall. They knew this country and presumably understood the importance of this particular shelter within it. The children continued exploring and enjoying themselves, apparently completely unconcerned by either the weather or the archaeological significance of the site. Their enthusiasm was infectious. What had begun as a disappointing rainy day had turned into a surprisingly cheerful half-day adventure. We had raced a school bus to an ancient pictograph panel, photographed red, yellow and white figures before the crowd arrived, watched dozens of children transform a prehistoric alcove into a natural playground, and then used their route-finding skills to discover a way up the hill for beautiful views over the valley. Everyone seemed happy for entirely different reasons. We had our rock art and photographs. The children had rocks to climb and a natural sandstone slide. Their teachers had successfully delivered a busload of energetic students into the outdoors. Even the rain eventually seemed less annoying. On the way back toward the Jeep, we looked once more toward Lion’s Mouth Cave. From a distance the alcove blended almost completely into the sandstone cliffs, giving little indication of the dense collection of paintings hidden inside. The morning had taught us once again how unpredictable these trips could be. We had arrived beneath dark clouds expecting a quiet, possibly wet visit to an archaeological site. Instead we had been warned by a child to run, raced ahead of a small army of schoolkids, photographed one of the most colorful pictograph panels of the trip, watched those same children largely ignore the ancient artwork in favor of sliding down rocks, and finally followed them to a viewpoint we…