ANCIENT ARTISTS AT WORK
September 2015
Andy read about Nine-Mile Canyon, a 70-mile Backcountry Byway. The pamphlet said a tourist could easily spend a whole day exploring there and looking at the ancient petroglyphs and pictographs. They have both. But for the last three days, he has also commented about the road. "It's narrow and winding," he has told me repeatedly, "and canyon roads aren't good when it rains. This car is so low, and I don't want to get stuck. But this road should be fine, and right now it doesn't look like rain."
He'd been arguing with himself after the downpour yesterday. But we turned into the road for Nine-Mile Canyon outside of Price at 8:30 a.m. A sign read, "No service for 75 miles." But the road was paved now, and a bright sun warmed the land and dried out yesterday's puddles.
"We're on the dry side of the mountain," said Andy, so the potential for a whole day of dry exploration in the canyon looked very promising.Low clouds hung in the canyon. Soldier Creek Road skirted the hillside, and young cows grazed nearby in the gullies. They raised their heads as we passed.
Minnie Maude Creek flowed next to us. Rabbits hopped across the road at our first stop, the old homestead, and western jays flew overhead. It's hard to imagine how a whole ranch could function out of one small cabin.
At 26.6 miles, we found the First Site, a rock ledge with faint carvings. There were more as we carefully stepped along a muddy path that followed the ledge. Andy picked out antelope, a hunter, snakes and a few geometric designs. Some were faint; others were damaged by modern "graffiti artists." Most of the rock art is from the Fremont Culture, people who lived in the canyon for nearly a thousand years before they moved away around 1200 A.D.
Clifford Rayl, friend of rock art, must have lived at the site of Cottonwood Glen Picnic Area, mile marker 27.2. We found his log house, broken barn and tombstone from 1997. The pamphlet doesn't give his name, but it said the cabin dates from the late 1800's when a later misfiled deed made ownership of the ranching homestead revert to Carbon County. We walked around the property and photographed some of the old ranching equipment. It was a chilly 51 degrees.
The cows got out near the old stage coach stop of Harper. They lined the road and climbed the hillside in search of the choicest grass morsels. When we turned the car around to check out deserted Harper, the cows were gone.
We searched for Balanced Rock. The pamphlets said it looked like Porky Pig. But our search revealed inaccuracies in the mileage markers. With some careful looking we found the rock and more petroglyphs. Andy agreed with the Porky identification and suggested that the mileage marker inconsistencies were probably due to the paving of the road.
Abandoned ranches dotted the canyon. One even had an old rusted truck near the fenced-in field. The pamphlet said farmers grew alfalfa. I didn't see any, but there were bails of hay.
Nearby was another patina-covered ledge where ancient artists had created their murals.
What a beautiful canyon! With a ready supply of water, the ancient dwellers had a perfect place to settle. They must have lived here many years to carve and peck the hundreds of figures. The desert varnish on the sandstone gave them an ideal canvas.
Three mule deer paraded across a farmer's field of bailed hay. The youngest one pranced when I got out to take a picture. He too must like this canyon.
When the sun came out, the canyon warmed up Our car read 58 degrees at 10:30 a.m.
"This must be a lonely place to ranch in the winter," said Andy, "and when this was a dirt or gravel road? Oiy!"
Daddy Canyon contains remnants of Ute and Fremont cultures. Located right across from an operating mine, the preserved area includes trails that wind into a series of deep box canyons. It is thought that the canyon probably received its name from Katherine Nutter, when she referred to her husband Preston. Katherine was much younger than Preston, and she always referred to him as "Daddy," "Daddy Dearest," or "My Daddy" in her letters to him.
We spent nearly two hours following the trail deep into the canyon and along the rim where petroglyphs and pictographs lined the rock walls.
Fremont Village at mile marker 45.5 featured a Fremont era pit house. The pit structure was dug partially underground and then covered with a log superstructure that was then coated with mud and dirt. We parked and followed a steep trail uphill toward the canyon wall.
A sign on the road said, "Fremont Village," but once we reached the first level ridge, trails jutted off in every direction. We trekked another half mile to the box canyon.
"Pit house," I told Andy. He kept going.
"Pit house. It won't be by the cliffs. It's in the ground, not the cliff."
When he couldn't find any more distinct trail, we turned back. I took a couple more pictures of the canyon and stepped warily, watching for snakes and avoiding the loose, slippery rubble.
Suddenly Andy laughed. "There it is," he said, pointing to a ring of rocks right in front of him. Not too high above the road and mostly filled in with grass was the Fremont Pit House, probably built between 900 and 1200 A.D.
At mile marker 45.9 we photographed The Great Hunt Panel. A short walk took us in to the sandstone wall. Wildlife biologists believe it depicts a scene in late November or early December when herds of bighorn sheep meet for the fall mating season. It is the only time of year when rams, ewes and lambs are all together in one place.
The large trapezoid horned figure at the top of the panel is an example of classic Fremont rock art style. Three hunters with bows and arrows are also visible. Andy caught sight of a tiny sign and turned the car around to read it. "Big Buffalo," it said. Again we parked and hiked down the road to find "Big Buffalo." We could see a trail on the other side of the dry wash. A little bushwhacking, and we were headed across Cottonwood Canyon. There, pecked into the sandstone, was Big Buffalo, the largest buffalo petroglyph in the canyon and a generous foot long from end to end.
"It looks pregnant too," said Andy, and it easily could have been.
The left fork of the main road took us into Gate Canyon. We checked out the first few miles and then turned around. Dark clouds had moved in over the ridge, and we weren't about to get caught in a narrow canyon during a storm. The exit at the other north end was 45 miles away.
In several places we saw the old iron telegraph poles, installed by the U.S. 9th Cavalry, a regiment of African Americans, along Nine-Mile Road to service the military post at Fort Duchesne.
When we got out of the canyon at 3 p.m., only huge white puffs of cumulus clouds dotted an azure sky. The car thermometer read 77 degrees. Summer had returned... temporarily.
He'd been arguing with himself after the downpour yesterday. But we turned into the road for Nine-Mile Canyon outside of Price at 8:30 a.m. A sign read, "No service for 75 miles." But the road was paved now, and a bright sun warmed the land and dried out yesterday's puddles.
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| Unlike the entry sign, the canyon and park are only roughly developed. |
Minnie Maude Creek flowed next to us. Rabbits hopped across the road at our first stop, the old homestead, and western jays flew overhead. It's hard to imagine how a whole ranch could function out of one small cabin.
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| Clifford Rayl is buried in the canyon of rock art that he loved. |
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| The defunct ranch property, whose ownership reverted to Carbon County, is the picnic area for Nine-Mile. |
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| An abandoned ranch house near the Harper Stage Coach Stop shows the effects of weathering. |
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| Balanced Rock rests precariously and probably temporarily. |
Abandoned ranches dotted the canyon. One even had an old rusted truck near the fenced-in field. The pamphlet said farmers grew alfalfa. I didn't see any, but there were bails of hay.
 |
| The canyon is a blend of the ancient and the modern. |
What a beautiful canyon! With a ready supply of water, the ancient dwellers had a perfect place to settle. They must have lived here many years to carve and peck the hundreds of figures. The desert varnish on the sandstone gave them an ideal canvas.
Three mule deer paraded across a farmer's field of bailed hay. The youngest one pranced when I got out to take a picture. He too must like this canyon.
When the sun came out, the canyon warmed up Our car read 58 degrees at 10:30 a.m.
"This must be a lonely place to ranch in the winter," said Andy, "and when this was a dirt or gravel road? Oiy!"
 |
| Desert varnish on the natural sandstone offers a perfect canvas for the ancient rock art of the Fremont and Ute. |
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| A very strenuous hike, the unmarked trail leads into several box canyons and all the way up the side ridge. |
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| We exit Daddy Canyon by picking our way down the dry wash. |
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| The petroglyphs at Daddy Canyon include zoomorphs (animals) and anthropomorphs (human figures). |
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| Bighorn sheep dominate many of the panels. |
"Pit house," I told Andy. He kept going.
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| Rocks outline the Fremont Pit House in the lower center. |
When he couldn't find any more distinct trail, we turned back. I took a couple more pictures of the canyon and stepped warily, watching for snakes and avoiding the loose, slippery rubble.
Suddenly Andy laughed. "There it is," he said, pointing to a ring of rocks right in front of him. Not too high above the road and mostly filled in with grass was the Fremont Pit House, probably built between 900 and 1200 A.D.
At mile marker 45.9 we photographed The Great Hunt Panel. A short walk took us in to the sandstone wall. Wildlife biologists believe it depicts a scene in late November or early December when herds of bighorn sheep meet for the fall mating season. It is the only time of year when rams, ewes and lambs are all together in one place.
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| The Great Hunt is one of the most recognizable petroglyph panels and a well known example of Fremont rock art. |
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| Big Buffalo is one of 63 rock art sites in the canyon that have been added to the National Register of Historic Places. |
The left fork of the main road took us into Gate Canyon. We checked out the first few miles and then turned around. Dark clouds had moved in over the ridge, and we weren't about to get caught in a narrow canyon during a storm. The exit at the other north end was 45 miles away.
In several places we saw the old iron telegraph poles, installed by the U.S. 9th Cavalry, a regiment of African Americans, along Nine-Mile Road to service the military post at Fort Duchesne.
When we got out of the canyon at 3 p.m., only huge white puffs of cumulus clouds dotted an azure sky. The car thermometer read 77 degrees. Summer had returned... temporarily.
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