Time - Man of the Year/Time_Man_of_the_Year_Compact_Publishing_3YX-Disc-1_Compact_Publishing_1993.iso/moy/102692/10269931.000

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                                                                                COVER STORIES, Page 62

ICEMAN


The discovery of a frozen 5,300-year-old wanderer -- the world's
most ancient intact human -- stirs passion and controversy and
opens a window on life in the Stone Age

By LEON JAROFF -- With reporting by William Rademaekers/Innsbruck
and Rhea Schoenthal/Bonn


    Women have inquired about the possibility of having his
baby. Scientists the world over plead for a chance to examine
him. Museums compete for bits of his clothing and tools.
Nations and provinces bicker over who has custody rights, while
anthropologists struggle to discern how he lived and what other
ancient secrets he is destined to reveal.

    Through it all, the object of this desire and celebrity
has remained mute, though his very appearance on the scene has
spoken volumes. He is known as the Iceman, a Stone Age wanderer
found one year ago remarkably preserved in the melting Similaun
glacier high in the Alps. His discovery has already upset some
long-held notions about the late Stone Age, chilled relations
between Austria and Italy -- near whose border he was found --
and stimulated tourism and commerce. His age, established by
radiocarbon dating as approximately 5,300 years, makes him by
far the most ancient human being ever found virtually intact.
(Some Egyptian mummies are older, but had their brain and vital
organs removed before interment.)

    "He is a remarkable specimen," says Werner Platzer, an
anatomist at Austria's University of Innsbruck. "Scientists have
never before had an opportunity to examine such an ancient
body." But the Iceman has provided posterity with more than just
his body; he literally died with his boots on. His glacial
grave has yielded pieces of his clothing, weaponry and other
equipment. While most remains of ancient humans are found
surrounded by funerary objects (if anything at all), the Iceman
"was snatched from life completely outfitted with the implements
of everyday existence!" exclaims Markus Egg, the German
archaeologist who is overseeing the delicate process of
restoring the Iceman's belongings. In effect, the find brings
the remote Neolithic period vividly to life, says prehistorian
Lawrence Barfield of England's University of Birmingham. "It is
as though you are walking around a museum looking at pottery and
flint, then turn a corner and find a real person."

    Examining that person and his implements, scientists have
gained new insight into late Stone Age society. They've been
stunned by the sophisticated design of his arrows, which reflect
a basic grasp of ballistics, and by the ingenuity of his
clothing. Even more amazing is the evidence that Neolithic
people had discovered the antibiotic properties of plants. Among
other surprises, the Iceman has shown irrefutably that human
haircuts and tattoos have been in vogue a good deal longer than
anyone suspected. Researchers have also begun to reconstruct the
extraordinary coincidences of weather and geography that led to
the Iceman's death, his long interment and his startling
re-emergence 53 centuries later.

    "I thought at first it was a doll's head," says Helmut
Simon, the German tourist who spotted the Iceman on Sept. 19,
1991, while on an Alpine walking trip with his wife. On closer
inspection, however, they realized that the head and shoulders
protruding from the Similaun glacier were human, and seeing a
hole in back of the skull, suspected foul play. Hurrying to a
hikers' shelter to report their find, they set in motion a
series of blunders that nearly deprived the world of a priceless
treasure.

    Uncertain about who had jurisdiction, Markus Pirpamer,
owner of the shelter, called police on both sides of the border.
The Italian carabinieri, believing the body was that of an
ill-fated climber, showed no interest. Their Austrian
counterparts, who had already pulled eight corpses out of
glaciers that summer, said they would investigate by the next
afternoon. Pirpamer decided the next morning to go see for
himself, and was flabbergasted: "I had seen bodies come out of
the glacier," he recalls, "but this was nothing like them.
Bodies trapped in the glacier are white and waxy and usually
chewed up by the ice. This one was brown and dried out. I could
tell that it was really old."

    Later that day, an Austrian policeman arrived by
helicopter and attempted to free the body with a jackhammer. The
brute-force tool chewed up the Iceman's garments and ripped
through his left hip, exposing the bone. Fortunately, the
officer ran out of compressed air to power the jackhammer before
he could do further damage. His superiors decided to wait until
the following week to resume the recovery; the helicopter, they
explained, was needed for more important things.

    Word of the find spread, and over the weekend about two
dozen curiosity seekers trudged to the site. Some collected
fragments of garments and tools as souvenirs, and one used a
pickax to free the body from the melting ice. Overnight,
however, the temperature dropped. By the time Innsbruck
forensics expert Dr. Rainer Henn arrived to investigate the
death, on Monday, Sept. 23, the body was again locked in ice.
Having neglected to bring tools, Henn and his team resorted to
hacking it out with a borrowed ice pickax and ski pole, largely
destroying the archaeological value of the site.

    The mistreated corpse, clothed from the waist down when
discovered, was now stark naked except for remnants of a boot
dangling from his right foot, and bore the marks of his crude
recovery. He had also been castrated; it turned out that his
penis and most of his scrotum were missing, perhaps accidentally
broken off during his recovery and taken by a visitor. Flown out
by helicopter and transferred to a hearse, the Iceman and his
possessions were transported to Innsbruck. There, one final
indignity awaited the body. It became the centerpiece of a press
conference in the local morgue. While the Iceman and his
tattered belongings lay on a dissecting table under blazing
klieg lights, reporters and other hangers-on joked, smoked and
even touched the body. Not until late afternoon did someone
notice a fungus spreading on the Iceman's skin.

    It was only then, after five days of heavy-handed
mistreatment, that the Iceman was given professional succor.
Arriving at the morgue, Konrad Spindler, head of Innsbruck's
Institute for Prehistory, was stunned, immediately realizing the
significance of the shriveled body. "I thought this was perhaps
what my colleague Howard Carter experienced when he opened the
tomb of Tutankhamen and gazed into the face of the Pharaoh."

    Spindler could see that the body had been naturally
mummified -- quickly de hydrated by icy winds or perhaps by the
foehn, the warm, dry North African wind that sweeps across the
Alps during winter. To prevent further damage, his team bathed
the body in fungicide, wrapped it in a sterilized plastic
sheet, covered it with chipped ice and moved it to a
refrigerated room at the university. There, except for 30-minute
intervals when it is removed for CAT scans and other scientific
tests, the Iceman has been stored ever since at 98% humidity and
-6 degrees C (21.2 degrees F), the glacial temperature he had
grown accustomed to over more than 5,000 years.


    A Seasoned Outdoorsman

    A broad portrait of the Iceman and his times is gradually
emerging from the tests and observations. He was a fit man,
between 25 and 35, about 1.6 m (5 ft. 2 in.) tall -- which was
short even in his day -- and weighed around 50 kg (110 lbs.).
Though his nose had been crushed and his upper lip folded by the
weight of ice, it is clear that he had well-formed facial
features that would not draw stares from contemporary Tyroleans.
Says South Tyrolean archaeologist Hans Not Durfter: "He looks
like one of our well-tanned ancestors."

    An examination of his body revealed no sign of disease and
no wounds beyond those that were inflicted during his
exhumation. But scientists are still pondering the reason for
the bluish tinge of his teeth, which were well worn, probably
from a diet of milled grain products.

    Though the mummified body was completely hairless,
investigators have plucked about 1,000 curly brownish-black
hairs from the recovered shreds of clothing. Those that came
from the Iceman's head were only 9 cm (3 1/2 in.) long --
evidence that humans had been cutting their hair far earlier
than anthropologists had believed. More mysterious were the
well-defined tattoos: groups of blue parallel lines on the
Iceman's lower spine, a cross behind the left knee and stripes
on the right ankle. "Since all these tattoos were covered by
clothing," says Spindler, "they must have had an inner meaning
for the man and not have had the function of identification for
other tribes." Some scientists suggest that the designs might
have been used to mark the passage from youth to manhood. One
fact is certain: until this discovery, it was thought that
tattooing originated 2,500 years later.

    The Iceman was well prepared for the Alpine chill. His
basic garment was an unlined fur robe made of patches of deer,
chamois and ibex skin. Though badly repaired at many points, the
robe had been cleverly whipstitched together with threads of
sinew or plant fiber, in what appears to be a mosaic-like
pattern, belying the popular image of cavemen in crude skins.
"The person who made the clothes initially was obviously
skilled. This indicates that the Iceman was in some way
integrated into a community," says prehistorian Egg, who is
restoring the clothes at the Roman-Germanic Central Museum in
Mainz, Germany. As for the repairs, made with grass thread, Egg
says, "We assume he did them himself in the wilderness."
Shredded during the Iceman's recovery, the garment arrived at
Mainz in nearly a hundred pieces and with so many bits missing
that Egg has doubts about ever fully determining the fashion of
the times.

    For further protection, the Iceman wore a woven grass cape
over the garment similar to those used by Tyrolean shepherds as
late as the early part of this century. His well-worn size-6
shoes were made of leather and stuffed with grass for warmth.
Last month an Italian expedition turned up an additional furry
piece of the Iceman's wardrobe, probably a cap.

    The Iceman's equipment revealed an unexpected degree of
sophistication. His copper ax was initially mistaken by Spindler
as evidence that the find dated from the Bronze rather than the
Neolithic Age. But the blade turned out to be nearly pure
copper, not bronze.

    To archaeologists, the Iceman's fur quiver is an even
rarer prize. "It is the only quiver from the Neolithic period
found in the whole world," Egg marvels. Its cargo of feathered
arrows marks another first. Carved from viburnum and dogwood
branches, a dozen of them were unfinished. But two were primed
for shoot ing -- with flint points and feathers. The feathers
had been affixed with a resin-like glue at an angle that would
cause spin in flight and help maintain a true course. "It is
significant that ballistic principles were known and applied,"
says Notdurfter. The quiver also held an untreated sinew that
could be made into a bowstring; a ball of fibrous cord; the
thorn of a deer's antler, which could be used to skin an animal;
and four antler tips, tied together with grass.

    The bow, which had not yet been notched for a bowstring,
is made of yew, which Egg explains is "the best wood in Central
Europe for bowmaking and the wood the famous English longbows --
like Robin Hood's -- were made of." Yew is relatively rare in
the Alps, but the Iceman had searched out "the best material."

    The Neolithic climber was also armed with a tiny flint
dagger with a wooden handle; a net of grass, which possibly
served as a carrying bag; and a pencil-size stone-and-linden
tool that was probably used to sharpen arrowheads and blades.
Two birchbark canisters may have been used to carry the embers
from a fire, Egg speculates. The Iceman apparently toted much
of his gear in a primitive rucksack with a U-shaped wooden
frame.

    Homo tyrolensis, as some scientists have dubbed him, also
had a leather pouch resembling a small version of the "fanny
packs" worn by tourists today. Inside he carried a sharpened
piece of bone, probably used to make sewing holes in leather,
and a flint-stone drill and blade. A sloeberry, probably his
snack food, was found at the site, along with two mushrooms
strung on a knotted leather cord. The mushrooms have
infection-fighting properties and may have been part of the
world's oldest-known first-aid kit. The only decorative item,
possibly a talisman, was a small, doughnut-shaped stone disk,
with a tassel of string.


    The Iceman's Final Hours

    Prepared as he was for an Alpine outing, how did the
Iceman perish? And what was he doing so high in the mountains?
To Egg, the evidence suggests that the Iceman could have been
a shepherd, part of a group tending sheep or cattle. Ekkehard
Dreiseitel, a University of Innsbruck climatologist, agrees. "We
know the weather 5,000 years ago was somewhat warmer. The
pasturage in the high Alps [above the tree line] would have
been tempting in the summer, since it requires no clearing of
the forest." Because the ax resembles those found in Stone Age
settlements near Brescia, Italy, Egg suggests that the Iceman
and fellow shepherds had worked their way through the Alpine
foothills from the south, grazing their flocks. It is also
possible that he was seeking flint in the highlands.

    At some point, Egg says, the Iceman could have left his
group to search for yew to replace a broken bow or to hunt for
food. His route may have taken him over the Alpine crest and
down to the tree line on the other side. There he cut himself
a new bow, fetched more arrow wood, and prepared to rejoin his
friends.

    It was late summer or autumn -- evidenced by the
sloeberry, which was then in season -- and a sudden storm and
drop in temperature while the Iceman was crossing the crest may
have forced him to take refuge in a basin 3 m to 5 m (10 ft. to
16 ft.) deep, ridged on both sides. There he died. Writing in
last week's issue of Science, a team of experts suggested that
the Iceman "was in a state of exhaustion perhaps as a
consequence of adverse weather conditions. He therefore may have
lain down . . . fallen asleep and frozen to death."

    While the Iceman lay exposed, a bird might have torn the
small hole found on the back of his head, but a heavy snowfall
soon covered the body, protecting it from further depredation.
Soon the glacier moved in, flowing over the basin. "We know
that if he had been trapped in the glacier," says glaciologist
Gerhard Markl, "the body and the implements would have been
ground up beyond recognition. When we recover bodies from a
glacier, we often find a leg here, an arm there."

    Safely tucked away in a deep "pool" in the glacial stream,
protected from currents and preserved by the frigid -6 degrees
C temperature, the Iceman lay undisturbed for more than 53
centuries. And centuries more might have passed before he was
discovered were it not for a foehn that last year delivered tons
of North African desert sand to the Alpine ridges. "This is a
common phenomenon," explains climatologist Dreiseitel, "but in
1991 it coincided with a winter that produced little snow, and
the coating of sand increased the rate of melt on the high
peaks." All over the Alps that summer, glaciers retreated -- in
cluding Similaun. Even then, it was only by chance that the
world learned of the Iceman. "By the end of September," says
Spindler, "he would have been buried under a half-meter of snow.
Most probably, he would have remained in his glacial grave for
at least another hundred years."


    The Custody Conundrum

    On Oct. 2, 1991, an Austro-Italian surveying team
determined that the find was 92.6 m (101 yds.) inside Italian
soil, namely the autonomous region of South Tyrol. The result
has been a custody battle every bit as absurd as the bungled
recovery effort. "Rome was ready to demand the body back
immediately," explains a South Tyrolean scientist. "It was then
that we in South Tyrol pointed out that this province has
authority over its own culture and patrimony." Innsbruck, of
course, wanted to keep the celebrated corpse.

    Last February a deal was struck requiring the University
of Innsbruck to return the Iceman to South Tyrol no later than
Sept. 19, 1994 -- three years from the discovery date. In an act
of goodwill, the Innsbruck team last month marked the first
anniversary of the discovery with a motorcade that carried the
first edition of Der Mann im Eis, a 464-page scientific tome, to
Bolzano, South Tyrol's capital.

    With less than two years to go, Innsbruck scientists are
hoping to conduct as much research as possible, while struggling
with the costs of the Iceman's upkeep -- $10,000 a month. To
help cover these expenses, they are charging high fees for
photo opportunities and using profits from book sales and
lecture tours. Rome hasn't made the research effort any easier.
Authorities there, furious over the Iceman's mismanaged
recovery, declared that the mummy is the archaeological
equivalent of "a Leonardo" and warned that it should not be
damaged "in any way." When Innsbruck sent out the snippets of
flesh "no larger than a sweetening tablet" for carbon dating by
experts at Oxford and in Zurich, the Italian government
threatened legal action.

    The bickering has seriously delayed examination of the
Iceman's internal organs and analysis of his DNA, tests that
could shed light on his diet, immune system and cause of death,
and even help identify his closest living descendants. Innsbruck
University anatomist Werner Platzer feels frustrated and
bewildered: "The Italian ministry has told us that we are not
allowed to destroy a bit of the body," he complains. On the
other hand, "they say that if no research is carried out, the
body must go to Rome for research purposes." As head of the
anatomical-research project, Platzer has decided to ignore
Rome's objection. This month he will begin doling out minuscule
bits of the Iceman for analysis by experts in many nations.
"This find is for scientists all over the world," he argues. "It
is ridiculous to say this is an Italian or an Austrian matter."

    The Iceman's appeal is universal. Austrians have fondly
nicknamed him "Oetzi" (after the Oetztaler Alps). Thousands of
people worldwide have written to express their interest or
profess kinship. Some claim to have communicated with him, while
several women, unaware of the Iceman's castration, have
volunteered to be impregnated with his sperm. In South Tyrol,
a small tourist industry, replete with T-shirts, pamphlets and
escorted hikes to the recovery site, is already flourishing. And
proud provincial officials are planning to build a museum around
the Iceman and display him in some sort of refrigerated
showcase.

    Scientists are appalled. An Iceman museum in picturesque
South Tyrol would doubtless be a hit, but most experts believe
it would be a mistake to display anything but a replica of the
mummy. Displaying the body, Platzer says, would be undignified,
and "we don't think it could tolerate those conditions." In
fact, the Iceman's present custodians are worried that even
their best efforts cannot indefinitely preserve the world's most
extraordinary time traveler. Full-scale research had better
proceed apace. What a sad irony it would be if, after waiting
more than 53 centuries to come to light, the Iceman and his
ancient secrets would be lost to human folly and politics.