Naming Cave

About This Experience

Naming Cave near Gunlock became one of those rock-art adventures that refused to be easy, even though for once we actually knew where the site was. There was no mystery about the general location and no need to spend hours interpreting satellite images or searching canyon walls at random. We knew that the beautiful petroglyphs were hidden inside a cave in the sandstone hills. The uncertainty was not where to go, but whether we could actually get there. We had very little reliable information about the condition of the access road, so we decided not to take any chances and went with a very capable Jeep. That decision turned out to be a very good one. At first the road seemed almost disappointingly normal. For roughly the first mile we drove without any particular difficulty and began wondering whether the warnings we had heard had been exaggerated. Then the road changed completely. The track deteriorated into a rough, rocky route where progress became increasingly slow. Large embedded stones appeared in the road, deep irregularities forced us to choose our line carefully, and in several places the obstacles were simply too large to drive over safely. More than once we stopped the Jeep, got out and physically moved big rocks out of the way before continuing. It became one of those drives where covering only a few hundred meters felt like an accomplishment. The Jeep was perfectly capable, but there is a difference between having a capable vehicle and trying unnecessarily to prove how capable it is. We took our time, inspected difficult sections before committing to them and slowly worked our way deeper into the remote landscape. Then, just when we thought we had already encountered the worst part of the road, the terrain changed again. The final section became extremely sandy, with several stretches of deep, soft sand where maintaining momentum was essential. Stopping in the wrong place would have made things considerably more complicated, and we were very aware that digging a heavy Jeep out of deep desert sand was not how we wanted to spend the afternoon. Fortunately, this particularly sandy section was short. Still, the sand became deep enough near the access points for both Naming Cave and Birthing Cave that we decided not to force the Jeep all the way to either trailhead. In both cases we left it safely a few yards away on firmer ground and covered the final short distance on foot. It was a minor inconvenience compared with getting stuck, and after seeing the depth of the sand we were quite happy with that decision. Altogether, what looked like a relatively modest approach on the map took us almost an hour of careful driving. By the time we finally reached the area below Naming Cave, the journey already felt like the first half of the adventure. The place had a mysterious atmosphere from the beginning. Sandstone cliffs rose above us, quiet and isolated, and somewhere in those rocks was the cave containing the petroglyphs we had come to see. We knew roughly where the entrance was, but reaching it was another matter entirely. From below, the cave sat high enough on the hillside to require a steep climb just to get near it. We started upward, following the most reasonable line through loose rock and sandstone. The slope was steep but manageable, and before long we reached the upper section where the real difficulty became obvious. The cave entrance could not simply be approached directly. The apparent route required us to traverse along an exposed ledge that narrowed progressively as it approached the cave. At first the path was uncomfortable but still passable. Then we reached one particular section where it became dramatically narrower. The sandstone wall was immediately behind us, while directly in front of our feet the terrain dropped perhaps fifty feet. There was no room for a normal step. To move across the narrowest point, the only apparent option was to turn sideways, press the back against the sandstone wall and inch along the ledge with the drop directly in front. Looking at it was enough for me. A slip there would not simply mean a bruised knee or a few scratches. The consequences could have been catastrophic. My wife, however, is considerably less afraid of heights than I am. She looked at the ledge and decided that she wanted to try. I was not happy with that decision at all. She moved carefully along the wall and came surprisingly close to making it across. For a few moments it looked as though she might actually reach the wider section beyond the exposed point. But watching her there, with the sandstone against her back and that enormous drop immediately in front of her, was simply too much for me. I told her to come back. She hesitated because she had almost made it, but eventually she accepted my suggestion. It was the right decision. Some places are worth persistence; they are not worth risking your life for. We climbed back down without seeing the petroglyphs. Our first attempt at Naming Cave had failed. It was frustrating because we had come so close. We could see where we needed to go, we knew the rock art was inside, but the final exposed traverse was simply beyond what we considered acceptable. For the next several weeks the cave remained in our minds. We kept thinking about whether there might be another approach. Perhaps the dangerous ledge was not the only possibility. Maybe we could reach the entrance from below if we had some way of gaining the first few meters of height. Eventually an idea emerged: a portable ladder. About four weeks after the first attempt, we contacted the same friend who had already helped us during our Yellow Man adventure. We explained the problem, told him about the cave and asked whether he might be interested in joining us. He was immediately enthusiastic. Even better, he actually bought a portable ladder that could potentially solve the access problem. It was an incredibly kind gesture and transformed what had been our personal obsession into a small shared expedition. The plan was simple: return to Naming Cave together, carry the ladder up the hill, find a safer access point below the cave and see whether the ladder could get us past the difficult first section. Then, just before the day of the trip, our friend had an unexpected event in his life and understandably decided that he could not come with us. We were disappointed that he would miss the adventure, but he still offered us the ladder. We went to his home and picked it up, grateful for the help. The moment I lifted it, I realized that “portable” was a very relative term. The ladder was considerably heavier than I had imagined. Still, after failing once and waiting four weeks to try again, there was no chance we were giving up simply because carrying the ladder would be uncomfortable. We returned to Gunlock and endured the same rough road all over again. The rocks had certainly not become smaller during the previous month. Once more the Jeep crawled through the difficult sections, and once more we had to stop in places to deal with obstacles in the track. Then came the final deep-sand stretch. We already knew it was there, which somehow made it both easier and more intimidating. We maintained enough momentum, kept the Jeep moving and crossed most of it without any problem, but near the Naming Cave trailhead the sand became deep enough that we decided this was the sensible place to stop. We left the Jeep a few yards short of the actual trailhead on firmer ground rather than risk burying it for the sake of saving a minute of walking. After almost an hour of rough driving, that tiny extra walk seemed irrelevant. Then came the part I had underestimated: carrying the ladder up the steep slope. The first time we had climbed the hill with only cameras and water. This time I had a heavy ladder over my shoulder, and every step reminded me why ladders are generally more useful when they remain beside houses rather than being carried into the Utah desert. Eventually we reached the area below the cave and started looking for a place where the ladder might actually help. Unfortunately, the solution was not obvious. Most of the sandstone below the cave was either too steep, too irregular or positioned badly enough that the ladder would not provide a useful route. We moved from one potential spot to another, putting the ladder down, examining the rock and then carrying it somewhere else. For a while it began to look as though we had hauled this heavy object all the way up the hill for nothing. Then we found one possible place. It was not perfect and certainly did not look comfortable, but it appeared just feasible enough to justify trying. The ladder could be placed against a steep section of sandstone leading toward a higher ledge. If I could climb to the top and somehow transition from the ladder onto the rock above, the remaining route seemed as though it might connect with easier terrain leading toward the cave. The problem was that we could not see exactly what awaited us beyond that first move. I decided to try. My wife stayed below and stabilized the ladder while I climbed. Step by step I moved upward until I reached the highest useful rung. Then the weakness in our plan became obvious: the ladder did not quite reach the ledge. I was still below the point where I needed to be. The security of the ladder ended before the security of the rock began. For a moment I simply stayed there, looking upward and wondering whether the whole idea had been a mistake. There was a handhold above me, but reaching it required stretching beyond the comfortable position of the ladder and committing myself to the sandstone. I carefully reached upward, found a solid piece of rock and tested it. It held. Then came the moment of decision. I stretched farther, grabbed the rock firmly and pulled myself upward, leaving the safety of the ladder below. For a few seconds there was no comfortable retreat, only the rock in front of me and the need to complete the movement. It worked. I pulled myself onto the ledge. I was up. And then came the almost ridiculous surprise: the next section was extremely easy. After all the planning, the terrible road, the deep sand, the heavy ladder and the awkward transition at the top, the remaining route toward the cave presented no serious difficulty at all. I followed the sandstone toward the entrance and suddenly found myself standing inside Naming Cave. After two attempts, we had finally reached it. The feeling was extraordinary. The cave was quiet, sheltered and filled with exactly the rock art we had hoped to see. Petroglyphs covered sections of the sandstone interior, protected from the harshest exposure by the cave itself. After everything required to reach them, the carvings seemed even more beautiful. I took out the camera and began photographing carefully, moving around the cave to capture the figures from different angles. There was something especially satisfying about finally seeing a place that had been physically visible during our first visit but completely inaccessible to us. Now I was standing inside it. Yet after the first excitement, I realized that the experience was incomplete. My wife was still below, holding the ladder steady. She had been the one brave enough to attempt the exposed ledge during our first visit, and now she was waiting while I enjoyed the cave alone. That did not seem right. So after taking some photographs, I carefully returned to the access point and began descending. The transition back onto the ladder demanded the same attention as the climb up, but eventually I reached the ground safely. Then it was her turn. At first she was surprisingly nervous. The exposed traverse from our first visit had not bothered her nearly as much, yet climbing a ladder against steep sandstone and making that uncertain transition at the top was a completely different kind of challenge. I stayed below, held the ladder firmly and encouraged…