Visiting The Grave Of John Jones (NUTTY PUTTY CAVE)
A Quiet Place of Tragedy: Visiting the Sealed Cave Where John Edward Jones Lost His Life
Utah County, Utah — Far from paved roads, tourist signs, or cellphone reception, a sealed opening in a rocky hillside marks one of the most haunting accidents in modern American outdoor history. Nutty Putty Cave, once a popular destination for amateur spelunkers, is now permanently closed—entombing the body of John Edward Jones, a young husband and father who died there in 2009.
More than fifteen years later, the site remains difficult to find, isolated in rugged terrain near what locals call “Little Moab.” There are no official markers directing visitors to the cave. Those who come must navigate rough trails, rocky inclines, and open desert, often relying on maps, guesswork, and persistence.
A recent YouTube video documenting a solo visit to the memorial shows just how remote—and unsettling—the location still is.
A Remote Journey into Silence
The journey to Nutty Putty Cave begins near an active shooting range and stretches deep into open land dotted with massive solar panel farms. The terrain is harsh and unforgiving, with steep rocky hills and no clear trail markers.
“There’s literally nothing out here,” the visitor narrates at one point, riding alone through the desert. “I’m the only one out here.”
Gunshots echo in the distance. Rattlesnakes are a known hazard. The absence of other people amplifies the sense of isolation—an environment that feels untouched, indifferent, and eerily quiet.
After multiple wrong turns, steep climbs, and repeated checks of Google Maps, the visitor finally reaches the sealed entrance of Nutty Putty Cave. There is no dramatic reveal—just rocks, concrete, and silence.
Who Was John Edward Jones?
John Edward Jones was 26 years old when he died on November 25, 2009. He was a medical student, a husband, and the father of a one-year-old daughter. His wife, Emily, was pregnant with their second child at the time of his death.
Jones had previous experience with caves and was exploring Nutty Putty Cave with family members during a Thanksgiving visit to Utah. Nutty Putty was known for its narrow, twisting passages—often described as a “spelunker’s playground.”
At some point during the exploration, Jones entered a tight passage he believed to be the “Birth Canal,” a known route within the cave. Instead, he took a wrong turn into an unmapped section later nicknamed “Ed’s Push.”
The passage narrowed sharply and sloped downward. Jones became wedged upside down, his body angled nearly vertical, with his feet higher than his head.
He could not move.
A Rescue That Became Impossible
Rescue crews worked for more than 27 hours to free Jones. Over 100 rescuers participated, using ropes, pulleys, and drilling equipment in an increasingly dangerous environment.
At one point, they managed to raise Jones several inches—nearly enough to extract him. But an anchor system failed, sending him back into the crevice. The sudden movement worsened his position and caused serious internal strain.
Doctors on site warned that prolonged inversion was placing extreme pressure on his heart and lungs. Blood pooling in his upper body made survival increasingly unlikely.
Shortly before midnight, Jones suffered cardiac arrest and was pronounced dead inside the cave.
Recovering his body was deemed too dangerous. The risk of further collapse and potential loss of additional lives led authorities to make an unprecedented decision.
Nutty Putty Cave was permanently sealed.
John Edward Jones remains inside.
A Memorial in the Middle of Nowhere
Today, the cave entrance is blocked with concrete and rock. Nearby, a small memorial plaque bears Jones’s name and dates:
1983 – 2009
The plaque reads, in part:
“On November 25, 2009, our beloved John passed away on this site. He was a loving father, a kind husband, a loyal son, and a true and cherished friend.”
Another inscription thanks the rescuers who worked tirelessly to free him, calling their efforts brave and selfless.
Visitors often leave small tokens—coins, notes, or flowers. During the filmed visit, the narrator accidentally disturbs some of the offerings and quickly replaces them, visibly uncomfortable.
“I feel so bad,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
There is no fencing, no guardrail, no ranger station. Just wind, rocks, and the knowledge of what lies beneath.
A Place That Feels Heavy
Standing above the sealed cave, the visitor reflects on the reality that Jones’s body lies directly below.
“I am currently above his body,” he says. “That is so weird.”
The moment is not sensationalized. There is no music, no jokes. Just exhaustion, silence, and respect.
The isolation is striking.
“He’s alone here,” the visitor says. “Buried in the middle of nowhere.”
The statement captures what continues to draw people to Nutty Putty Cave—not curiosity, but a quiet need to understand how something so ordinary could end so tragically.
Lessons That Changed Cave Safety Forever
John Jones’s death had lasting consequences. Nutty Putty Cave, once open to the public, was closed permanently. The incident led to increased scrutiny of recreational caving and renewed emphasis on training, mapping, and risk assessment.
Experts frequently cite the case as an example of how even experienced explorers can underestimate confined spaces.
“Narrow caves don’t forgive mistakes,” one rescue official later said. “And they don’t give second chances.”
A Story That Endures
More than a decade later, Nutty Putty Cave remains a place of mourning rather than exploration. Those who visit do not come to see a cave—they come to remember a life.
At the end of the video, the visitor quietly prepares to leave.
“I feel sorry for John,” he says. “That’s the worst way to die.”
Then, without dramatics, he rides away—leaving the memorial as he found it.
Silent. Sealed. And unchanged.
