A small group of people stand together
next to a diagonal cliff-face of jagged rocks. We stand in the shade
and feel the chill of a small breeze that brings goosebumps to my
arms. A faint cry of a bird can be heard somewhere above in the
cliffs. “If you are quiet,” the lady says, “you can hear the
call of a falcon.” We all stand still and listen and hear the
high-pitched shriek. “The falcons nest on this side and the eagles
nest on the other.” She points to high jagged rocks on the other
side of the Gap.
At the moment, I am probably the
youngest member of our little group. Most don gray hair and have a
scholarly look about them. Our tour-guide, Nancy, has gray hair
also, but much longer, and appears to come from the hippie generation,
now becoming a grandparent. That's not to say she was a hippie. She
may have been closer to a cowgirl, raised on a ranch. Whatever her
background, I know that she is local, and has a huge understanding of
the Parowan Gap and the cultures that surround it.
The Parowan Gap is a large V-shaped
notch carved between two craggy hills, leaving a corridor that
connects Cedar and Parowan Valleys. Ten thousand years ago it
connected Rush Lake to the west and the Little Salt Lake to the east
in what was part of the massive Lake Bonneville. The first signs of
human activity at the Gap go back nearly 5,000 years. Since then it
has attracted the American Indian, having left hundreds of drawings all over the rocks.
When the site was discovered by the
Anglo, it was assumed by many that these drawings were mere doodles.
But after much study, it has been concluded that what lies at the
Parowan Gap is a sophisticated charting of the sun, moon, and stars.
Some archeologists even suggest that there is influence from the
Mesoamerican culture in Mexico, which would include the Aztecs.
While most of the petroglyphs at the Gap belong to the Fremont
culture, there are also two Spanish crosses, early Mormon inscriptions,
and Hopi influenced carvings.
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| The Paiute deity, Tobats, watches over the Parowan Gap. |
From where we stand, to our
east is the rock profile, or god mask, of Tobats. Looking closely at
the rugged rocks, you can see the larger-than-life head, slightly
tilted, with a slit for a mouth, a pointy flat nose, high chin,
flat forehead, and an indention for his eyes. Tobats is the creator
god, and is associated with many Paiute legends. One tradition tells
of Tobats standing on the north peak of the Gap and teaching the
Paiutes.
Although I know of Tobats from my own
research, it is interesting that Nancy doesn't dare mention the name
of the Paiute god while speaking to our group. She says that she
doesn't want to mispronounce his name in respect for the Paiute
elders who hold their deity sacred.
We cross the narrow road that runs
through the Gap and stand in front of a panel on the north face.
Yesterday was the spring equinox and Nancy is explaining some of
the glyphs associated with this time of year. “Do you see that
dying little sage brush up on the rock? If you look to the right and
see three rocks that appear to be stacked on top of each other, and
above them you see what looks like claw scratches in the rock. If
you come to this spot on the morning of the equinox after sunrise, a
shadow will be cast onto those scratches in
the rock.” I count eight grooved lines in the stone. Nancy
explains that the shadow moves one line every two days.
 |
| Ancient glyphs like these may have been used to mark important dates. |
Near the claw marks is an extensive
panel of over a dozen glyphs. Nancy explains what some of
these mean. One that catches my attention is a serpent-like line
that could be described to look like a pregnant mother's belly. In
this line there are fifty-two sections (representing weeks of the
year) and on the curved part of the belly there are thirty-six
sections, indicating the thirty-six weeks that a woman is pregnant.
She explains that the Indians learned that timing was important when
having children, and they learned that if they could breed like the
animals did—who have
their babies in the spring—then
their mortality rate would be much higher. This is all very
fascinating, but I can't quite understand how the Natives came up
with weeks that match the same “week” in western culture. I
understand months because it is roughly one rotation of the
moon, but not weeks.
Much of the information that Nancy
gives, I am sure, was gleaned from the research of Garth Norman,
an astro-astronomer who studied the Gap for several years and
discovered correlations with ancient calendars in Mesoamerica. In
his book, Norman extrapolates the meaning of the glyphs using complex
calculations that I struggle to understand. Using his hypothesis,
the Indians at Parowan Gap were pure geniuses. They mapped out not
only the seasons of the year, but such difficulties as metonic years
and the revolution of Venus.
To the left of the birthing panel is a
glyph of a bear print with an upside-down comb above it. Below is a
fan-like shape that Nancy compares to a large pizza slice. The pizza
has 29 lines. The bear print above it and the upside-down comb have
the resemblance of a great-horned owl. That makes sense, she says,
because the owl only comes out at night. I can see the likeness of
the owl, but I will admit that it is a stretch.
Nearby is a plaque depicting the
interpretations of the local Paiute tribe. I quickly note that these
translations do not coincide with those of Norman's studies. Even
Nancy admits that there are other interpretations out there and they
are all subject to speculation. She says that some of the renderings
are down-right scary. That may be true, but I think that all
of these explanations are a leap of faith.
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| The Gap casts a distinct shadow as sunset approaches. |
After examining another panel that is
just around the corner of the broken hillside, our group walks to
a location a couple hundred yards east of the Gap. A good half-hour
of daylight lingers in the sky. I breathe in the fresh air and enjoy
the company of other strangers along the route.
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| Cairns mark the location to watch the sunset at equinox. |
We arrive at a small pile of fallen
rocks that sit on the loamy earth in close proximity to one another.
This is the equinox cairn. How do they know that this was the
original pile of rocks constructed by the native Indians? Je n'en sais rien. But sure enough, this will be the location to watch the sun
set perfectly in the center of the Gap on the day when both night and
day are equal in size. At different locations, there are also cairns
for summer and winter solstice.
To pass the time, Nancy does a good job
telling stories about local pioneers in the early days of Mormon
settlement. During a bitter cold night in 1854, the settlers heard a
cry for help from a man in a snowdrift. That man was John C.
Fremont, and he was nearly frozen to death. After he was warmed and
fed, the settlers helped rescue his crew that was conducting a survey
for the railroad, and also helped replace their horses.
During the narration of the story, a
large animal is observed sauntering down the hillside and through the
trees in a diagonal direction, coming toward the crowd, but still
distant, then veering off to the right and disappearing across the
road. Some of the onlookers think it is a deer. But others,
including myself, know better. It is a prong-horned antelope. Dark,
smooth and slightly curled back at the top, his horns stand straight
up from the top of his skull. His hide is reddish-brown with white
on his belly and rump—completely
different than the gray coating of a deer.
Several minutes later, we turn around
to watch the sun, squinting our eyes and concealing the strongest of
its rays with our hands. From this angle, the Gap appears as a large
upside-down triangle with very uneven and jagged sides. At its point
at the bottom of the gap, where this large chasm meets the horizon,
the blazing sun melts slowly out of sight, until suddenly it no
longer hurts to look in that direction.
The next morning, I arrive at the Gap
an hour before sunrise. I am the only one here. A strong scent of
sage brush carries through the air, smelling as if it has just
rained, although I know it hasn't.
I situate myself near the center of the
Gap, on the south side, in a position where I can see the light
through the slit of Tobat's mouth. I hear only the
cold breeze that funnels through the corridor of the Gap. In the
obscurity of morning, the rugged ocher cliffs appear to be absent of
glyphs.
Near the opening of a triangular cave
shelter, I kneel down and gaze upward into the sky. They say that
this is the point that the Natives used to watch the North Star. At
this early hour, a few stars linger in the twilight. I can see part
of the handle of the Big Dipper, but little of the pot—and
nothing of Polaris.
Then I hear the first high-pitched
whistle. Kak, kak, kak, kaak. I
know that it comes from up high, but I'm not sure exactly where.
This must be the falcon.
I have barely
returned to where I had set down my gear when I hear a whining howl
of a lone coyote. The shrill of the yip carries easily over the
bulk of rocks in the Gap. I guess that it must be somewhere on the
far west side.
Not
too long after the coyote has slipped away, I hear a deep and soft
hoo, hoo, hooo, hoooo
carry across the gulf of the Gap. This is definitely an owl.
Immediately my mind returns to the presentation last night and the
interpretation of the petroglyph to be a great-horned owl. Unlike
the other animals who are calling this morning, I feel like I can
roughly pinpoint the location of the owl. I can't see him, but can
easily imagine a soft, mottled gray bird with large yellow eyes,
rotating his head, and hooing away to advertize his territory.
I pass my time by walking around and perusing the glyphs that are now becoming more visible. There are so many! By now, the owl has ceased calling, but a symphony of others have begun. It sounds like the jungle of Costa Rica. I had no idea that there were so many birds here! Once again, my mind reverts back to the sacredness of this place by Native Americans. Could this be a dwelling place for many of the old spirits? Certainly, this place feels sacred to me.
Now I turn my
attention to the etches in the rock that Nancy correlated last night
with the equinox. [It is interesting that Norman uses these same
etchings to mark the winter solstice.] The sun is scheduled to rise
at 7:32 this morning. The sunrise will vary depending on the
placement of hills and mountains. This time comes and passes
without a projection onto the claw marks.
I look far to the
west, beyond the area of the Gap, and see a delineating shadow that
signals first sunlight. It is still some distance away, but slowly
moving eastward.
Finally, at 10:10
am, the shadows of the sun move across the bear-claw etchings. After
two and a half hours of waiting, I get to see what I came to find.
Is this
coincidence? Does it really mean anything? Does it truly mark the
equinox, or will I find a similar happening if I return in a month?
Why were these markings etched into the rock?
The Parowan Gap is
a fascinating place that, in my opinion, conjures more questions than
it answers. Although many of the glyphs have their interpretations
by modern day men, most of the truth at the Gap is shrouded in
mystery. ♠
[My experience at the Parowan Gap happened during the spring equinox of 2015.]
