Cookie Cutler

About This Experience

This was one of those adventures that proved that an extraordinary rock-art experience does not always require hours of difficult driving or a long hike into the desert. The drive was actually quite manageable, and once we left the vehicle the walk to the rocks was surprisingly short. After some of our previous searches—hours of hiking, rough Jeep roads, deep sand and endless wandering—it almost felt too easy. But what waited on the dark sandstone was anything but ordinary. The panel is known today by the modern nickname “Cookie Cutter Panel,” and as soon as we stood in front of it, the reason became obvious. Instead of the relatively shallow pecking or scratching we were accustomed to seeing, many of these petroglyphs appeared deeply recessed into the surface. Some of the figures are reported to reach approximately 3/8 of an inch, and in places nearly half an inch, into the rock. Their outlines are so clean and deep that the lighter sandstone shapes seem to have been punched out of the dark desert varnish with a giant cookie cutter. That unusual appearance is what gave the panel its name. The Utah Geological Survey formally describes these images simply as incised petroglyphs, but exactly how they became so deep is an interesting question. One possibility would be that the original artists deliberately removed an extraordinary amount of rock. A more convincing geological explanation, however, is that they were originally carved much more like ordinary petroglyphs. By breaking through the hard, dark coating of desert varnish, the artists exposed the considerably softer sandstone beneath. Over hundreds or perhaps thousands of years, wind, water, temperature changes and natural weathering could then have removed the softer exposed material more rapidly than the surrounding protected surface. In other words, the artists may have started the process, but nature may have continued carving their figures long after they were gone. That would explain why some images now have an almost three-dimensional quality. It also explains why the depth of a petroglyph cannot automatically be used as a measure of its age. A deeply weathered figure may be old, but differences in rock hardness, exposure and erosion can dramatically affect how quickly one carving changes compared with another. Looking across the panel, the variety of figures is immediately striking. There are numerous four-legged animals, many resembling bighorn sheep or other ungulates, arranged almost like a small procession across the dark rock. Among them are humanlike figures, geometric elements and a long sinuous form that looks very much like a snake. Other animals have been variously interpreted by modern observers as a possible wolf or coyote and perhaps even a bear, although those identifications remain uncertain. Ancient rock art rarely provides enough anatomical detail for us to identify every animal confidently, and what appears obvious to modern eyes may have represented something completely different to its creator. The strangest image of all may be the large animal near the center. It has been described as a double-bodied or double-torsoed bighorn sheep, with an anatomy that seems to combine more than one animal into a single figure. Whether this represents two animals deliberately joined together, a supernatural or mythological creature, an unusual artistic convention, or simply something we no longer understand is unknown. Rock-art researcher Maarten van Hoek has discussed comparable unusual joined bighorn forms in Southwestern petroglyph traditions, emphasizing how difficult it is to determine whether such figures portray actual animals, transformations or symbolic beings. Around these more spectacular images are several smaller anthropomorphs and animals, some of which appear much more like conventional petroglyphs and are not nearly as deeply recessed. That difference raises another interesting possibility: the panel may not have been created all at once. People could have returned to the rock face repeatedly, adding new figures alongside much older ones. Some observers have suggested that the shallower petroglyphs could represent later additions. It is an appealing possibility, but depth alone cannot prove it. Without direct dating or a clear sequence of overlapping figures, we cannot confidently place individual images into different chronological periods. This uncertainty is important because, despite the panel's distinctive appearance, there is currently no secure scientific date for the Cookie Cutter petroglyphs themselves. Nor is there a universally accepted cultural attribution for every figure. The broader region preserves evidence of Indigenous occupation extending back thousands of years and contains rock art associated with different cultural traditions, including ancestral communities connected with the Ancestral Puebloan world as well as peoples with continuing cultural connections to the region, including Southern Paiute and Hopi communities. But it would be misleading to take that broader history and simply attach one of those names to every carving on this particular wall. The artists did not leave us signatures, dates or explanations. What can be said with certainty is that these images belong to a much larger archaeological landscape of exceptional importance. In 2025 the surrounding archaeological district was officially listed on the U.S. National Register of Historic Places, recognition of the concentration and significance of the cultural resources preserved there. Appropriately, the official National Register documentation lists the exact address as restricted, a reminder that these fragile archaeological places deserve protection rather than publicity. The wider regional archaeological record represents thousands of years of Indigenous presence, and many sites remain undocumented or vulnerable to development, vandalism and natural deterioration. Standing in front of the Cookie Cutter Panel, though, all of that academic history suddenly becomes something much more immediate. The dark varnished surface is crowded with pale animals, people and mysterious forms. Some figures look almost freshly cut because of the contrast between the dark exterior and the lighter sandstone inside, while others seem softened by immense periods of weathering. The animals appear to move across the panel, the human forms stand among them, the snake-like line winds through the composition, and the strange double-bodied creature seems to belong to a visual language that we can recognize but no longer completely understand. Were these images connected with hunting? Did particular animals carry clan, ceremonial or spiritual meanings? Were some of the strange composite beings representations of myths or transformations? Or did generations simply add images independently to a rock surface that had already become important long before them? All of those interpretations remain possible, but none can presently be demonstrated. That uncertainty was part of what made the panel so fascinating. We had not endured an exhausting approach this time. There was no terrible road, no long desert hike and no hours of searching. Just a relatively short drive, a brief walk, and suddenly we were standing before one of the most unusual collections of petroglyphs we had ever seen. Sometimes an adventure is memorable because it was difficult to reach. This one was memorable for exactly the opposite reason: such an extraordinary window into the ancient past was waiting after such a surprisingly simple journey. And once we saw those deeply carved animals emerging from the dark stone like shapes cut from the rock itself, the strange nickname “Cookie Cutter” suddenly made perfect sense.