However, if a human is traveling between different altitudes—as is almost always the case in the Alps—scientists can examine the types of pollens that were ingested by eating, drinking, and swallowing at different elevations in order to determine where the person traveled in terms of altitude. The dramatic differences in elevation in the area where Ötzi was found yield vast differences in plant communities at each altitude, and today’s plant communities are roughly parallel to those of Ötzi’s era. As a result, scientists have been able to combine what they know about what they found in Ötzi’s digestive tract, the pace at which food and other materials move through the digestive system, and the correspondence between pollen types and elevation to re-create his movements during his last two living days.
Given the different pollens that they found at targeted points in Ötzi’s gut, scientists have re-created what must have been a tumultuous final few days for him. Clearly he was, by today’s standards, a veritable athlete. According to an analysis of the different pollens that he had ingested in his final forays, he apparently covered a distance of approximately 37 miles (60 km) in the two to three days prior to his death.7
The pollen analysis of four points in his digestive tract provides a rough picture of his intense final journey between his final resting spot and the Vinschgau Valley. Through gut research and perhaps even a little gut instinct, scientists have determined that the day before he died Ötzi for some reason went from a coniferous subalpine level down to the more deciduous valley bottoms, perhaps in search of mosses that grew only in that environment. However, nine to twelve hours before he died on that spring day, he rapidly made his way back up toward the subalpine environment, arriving some four to nine hours later. He then headed up above tree line and toward the treacherous snow and ice leading to the Tisen Pass, a potential crossing point toward modern-day Austria, near where he met his end.8 Evidence indicates that he ate his last meal some 30 to 120 minutes before he was mortally wounded by an arrow and presumably finished off with a sharp blow to the back of his head that shattered his skull.9
During those final days, according to the high-tech scouring of his digestive tract, Ötzi consumed at least three meals, surviving primarily on meat, grains, and probably some vegetative matter including bracken. Scientists found that ibex meat was the mainstay of his diet in those last two days, although he also consumed some meat from a red deer. The ibex is a mountain goat still found in the South Tirol, and red deer are also common. Neither of the meats showed any signs of the molecular changes that would indicate they were cooked, so they were probably eaten raw or dried.10
Still coveted for their meat and organs, the ibex and the red deer are reminders of a culture that had a strong hunting and gathering component, but it is important to bear in mind that Ötzi and his local Copper Age contemporaries seem to have been, first and foremost, farmers. Ötzi carried other food remnants in his body and on his person that combine to tell a tale of an Alpine diet that has been in constant evolution since the Stone Age, sustaining not only the people but also the landscape. However, the gift of Ötzi’s final days is jeopardized today by the Gift—German for “poison”—spreading its way through the valleys down below. Such is life in the Irony Age.
Given how transient our industrialized societies have become and the homogenization of our food supply, it’s extremely rare for a culture to be able to retrace its foodways back to a story with as much intrigue as the discovery of Ötzi. This kind of evidence of ancient food resources and traditions provides a touchstone for the future—one that can be embraced or simply cast into the cold, heartless gears of industrialized “progress.”
For the South Tirol, what Ötzi ate matters. It goes beyond just food or even nutrition and into questions of stewarding an inherited landscape in a way that will ensure a cornucopia for generations to come.
Ötzi is, of course, but one representative of a culture that inhabited the valleys and slopes of the region, but he is the embodiment of agriculture, nutrition, and land management in the millennia preceding the Age of Big Apple, an era in which a group of concerned citizens in one small town stood up and called the sacrifice of their inheritance what it is: a travesty, albeit a travesty that wouldn’t be tolerated.
Ötzi’s discovery site was a virtual inventory of Copper Age foodways. Not only were scientists able to study his gut for clues to his diet, but a number of items were also discovered on his clothes and in the icy pool surrounding him. Although the extraordinary array of tools found with him indicated that he was a masterful hunter, the entire spectrum of food-related items made it clear that he came from a farming community, and correlated tightly with the findings from other archaeological sites nearby.
However, Ötzi and his associated artifacts differed from other finds in the region. The research at many of the other sites involved sifting through buried strata in search of inorganic artifacts such as stone tools, ceramics, and metal, along with sundry carbonized organic materials like charred bones and seeds left in fire pits or ancient ovens. Other archaeological sites involved the complicated extraction of organic and inorganic materials from submerged lake dwellings preserved through anaerobic conditions, sometimes yielding a sound overview of basic village architecture and infrastructure, including clear insights into construction materials and techniques. The case of Ötzi was much different due to the extraordinary set of circumstances that led to nearly ideal preservation of the corpse and his diverse belongings.
Known as a wet mummy, Ötzi and the other artifacts found with him were freeze-dried during their long encasement in snow and ice. The fact that he had collapsed into a gully 9 feet (3 m) deep meant that Ötzi and his belongings were protected from the subsequent glacier that formed and scoured the landscape above him. Glaciers are known for ripping apart cadavers and strewing the body parts and belongings hither and yon. Ötzi, however, escaped the ravages of predators and ice and left us to put the puzzle pieces back together and frame them in a broader historical context.
At first, given his relatively pristine condition, researchers thought it most likely that Ötzi died in the autumn, at which point he would likely have been covered with snow before scavengers could ravage his body. That idea was reinforced by the discovery of a dried sloeberry at the site. The existence of this wild sour plum led researchers to believe that the time of death was probably during the autumnal ripening period for the sloe bush, but later pollen research of Ötzi’s gut indicated a strong presence of pollen from the hop hornbeam, a tree that typically blooms in late spring.11
Scientists began to surmise that Ötzi’s body might have lain on snow for a period of time before being submerged in water prior to the freeze-drying process that occurred when he was finally encased in snow and ice.12 As evidence of a late-spring death mounted, researchers then began to suspect that the Ice Man was carrying sloeberries in dried form, probably more for their nutritional value than their taste—or perhaps because sour berries are appreciated by hikers for minimizing thirst by stimulating saliva production.13
Having lived right on the cusp of the Late Stone Age and the beginnings of the Copper Age, Ötzi was well equipped to traverse, hunt, and forage his way across the treacherous high elevations just north of the Vinschgau Valley. His bow, made of yew, was a powerful weapon, 7.9 inches (20 cm) taller than Ötzi himself, who stood 63 inches (1.6 m) tall.14 Replicas of the bow indicate that it could be used to kill large game or humans at a distance of 90 to 150 feet (27–46 m). The fletching of his arrows with feathers demonstrates an understanding of aerodynamic stabilization that scientists thought too advanced for such an early era. Along with a quiver full of arrow shafts in various states of readiness, he was also carrying his flint knife—sharp and at the ready—and a knotted net made of grass string that was probably used for catching birds and other small game.15
And then there was the ax. The 2-foot (61 cm) yew handle features a straight main stem, with the hea
d formed from a branch that creates a 90-degree sweep. Into this the 3.7-inch (9.3 cm) copper blade was fitted and secured with birch tar and leather cordage. Trapezoidal in shape and made of 99.7 percent pure copper, the metal for the ax blade originated from ore in South Tuscany.16 Ötzi may have suffered a desolate death, but he and his contemporaries were not constrained in travel or commerce. Nonetheless, they were, as a culture, sedentary farmers who combined their agricultural savvy with their hunting prowess and an encyclopedic understanding of wild plants and their many uses. Their knowledge would be developed, refined, and passed on for generation after generation for the next five millennia. Survival in the treacherous tumult of the Alps has always involved an intimate understanding of the diverse ecosystems at multiple elevations and the unfolding subtleties of each season. Ötzi and his contemporaries were almost certainly much more intelligent than they are portrayed in our superficial discussions about ancient peoples. In fact, Ötzi might have been exceptional in that regard, since it seems he exceeded the average life expectancy of his time and survived four decades.
Stone Age, Copper Age, Bronze Age, Iron Age—they all connote “primitive” cultures. And yet when we note the mastery involved in transforming a concept into a functional product with nothing other than know-how and native materials, our culture of synthetic convenience suddenly seems less equipped to confront the bare essentials of survival. Understanding how these ancient cultures laid the groundwork for the highly nutritious foodways and sustainable agricultural practices of the Vinschgau region provides a window into the ecological wisdom carried forward by Günther Wallnöfer, the Gluderer family, and other farmers and artisans in the valley.
While Ötzi’s tools and clothing proved to be of immediate interest to scientists and the general public, scientists began to digest the other cultural clues that he carried in more subtle form—in his gut, on his clothing, and among his other belongings. The analysis of the remains in his digestive tract and in his teeth indicated that he had chewed grains on a regular basis, probably in the form of bread, since some mica and charcoal were also found in his gut, likely residual from the milling of grains and baking of bread.17 These findings were reinforced by the discovery of several grains on his garments, including emmer, einkorn, spelt, hulled barley, and broomcorn millet.
Bread made of these hearty ancient grains remains a staple of the South Tirolean diet, and all of these grains found with Ötzi appear in a variety of traditional dishes that fulfilled the high energy needs of mountain farmers and their communities for millennia. In addition, the extensive adaptation of these grains to the varied soils, microclimates, and vacillating weather of the region meant that human health and ecological health were tightly interwoven strands that stretched from the Stone Age to the present.
Ötzi emerged with two other surprises: the oldest oilseeds discovered in the eastern Alps. Both flax- and poppy seeds were found with Ötzi. Each is known for its tastiness and nutritional value, and poppy seeds were long coveted as one of the few sweeteners available in the South Tirol. Both seeds are still found in a number of traditional Tirolean recipes. Flax fibers were also transformed into linen on small looms, even in these ancient cultures.
Interestingly, those findings parallel much of what has been discovered at an archaeological excavation near the village of Latsch, located in the Vinschgau Valley between Juval (the entrance to the Schnals Valley from the Vinschgau) and Goldrain, about 10 miles (16 km) south of the Ice Man’s discovery site. From the Stone Age forward, it is clear that inhabitants of the Vinschgau relied on a combination of farming, hunting, and gathering. The excavations in Latsch unearthed samples of barley, emmer, and einkorn from the Late Stone Age and the Copper Age, as well as naked wheat, a grain that wasn’t found with the Ice Man. In addition, the Latsch discovery also yielded evidence of some cultivation of peas, which would have been an important source of protein in the Stone and Copper Ages, although evidence for pea cultivation is thus far stronger in northern reaches of the Alps than in southern areas.18
Ötzi was almost certainly part of the Remedello culture, the group that dominated the Vinschgau and other areas farther south during the Copper Age. Sedentary agriculturalists, they were nonetheless dependent upon trade for flint, copper, and other materials. It seems quite likely that Ötzi had some association with or at least knowledge of the Juval and Latsch settlements. The grains found in the Latsch site were probably cultivated in the fertile soils of the area surrounding the Adige River, which likely served as a primary or backup water source for some of the farming endeavors in Latsch.19
According to ethnobotanical researchers, it seems that land-use patterns shifted significantly after the Copper Age in the Vinschgau and Schnals Valleys, as they probably did in other places. Relying primarily upon the strata of pollens found in local lakebeds, scientists detected increases in pollens associated with grazing species of plants in the Bronze Age. Whereas there seemed to be minimal population pressures during the Stone and Copper Ages, with ample room for farming in the valley floor of the Vinschgau, population pressures in the Bronze Age seemed to have intensified the need to maximize the use of good tillable soil, setting the stage for . . . well, Heidi.
While that time leap may be overstated and the analogy a bit kitschy, there was a cultural leap that makes sense here. The postcard and Hollywood images of cattle, sheep, and goats grazing summer pastures high above tree line in the Alps are rooted in the Bronze Age demographic pressures that pushed livestock—with the help of shepherds—high up into the mountains during the peak of summer. It only makes sense: A growing population demanded increased production of grains, legumes, oilseeds, and other cultivated crops, so livestock were pushed upward to graze the coveted cool-season grasses that were hitting their nutritional peaks up on the slopes of the high mountains.
There were two other advantages to this practice, known as transhumance, the seasonal movement of people and animals up and down in elevation. First of all, taking the animals high into the mountains separated livestock from the tasty crops and thereby minimized the potential for fields being ruined by ruminants. Second, sending these animals up above tree line meant that land didn’t have to be cleared for grasses to grow—Mother Nature had already taken care of that clearing, or at least most of it.
Transhumance became a central element of Alpine agriculture and the heart and soul of South Tirolean foodways. Taking animals to the alm, the high mountain pastures, became an ingrained tradition, exemplified by the vast array of mountain cheeses and cherished butters of the region. The stunning variety of microclimates, soils, and minerals of high-elevation valleys combined to yield distinctive plant communities that would, in turn, produce milk and meat of a distinctive character. Furthermore, since the milk couldn’t be readily transported to lower elevations, it was turned into cultured products such as cheese, butter, and yogurt—nutritious and less perishable items that could be transported and turned into winter stores or even tradable commodities.
Goats, sheep, cattle—they were all part of the livestock mix from the Stone Age forward, and they are all represented in Ötzi’s garments. Goat and sheep hides served as his coat and his leggings, while his underwear was made of sheepskin, and his belt was crafted from a calfskin. Animal sinews provided the necessary stitching material, and wild-animal skins were utilized as well, with bearskin used for his hat and the soles of his shoes and deerskin for the outer covering of the shoes.20
While Ötzi’s fashion statement sheds minimal light on the specifics of livestock management in his home community, archaeological evidence from nearby settlements does paint a clearer picture of the typical agricultural practices surrounding him. In the Latsch excavations, researchers used bone fragments to determine that domestic livestock played a larger nutritional role than did wild game. They also compared the different percentages of bone fragments found to determine that between the Late Stone Age and the Copper Age, cattle played an
increasingly important role in the community’s diet. In the Late Stone Age, sheep and goats made up roughly 80 percent of the bone fragments, with cattle at 11 percent and pigs at 8 percent. In the Copper Age, cattle represented 26.4 percent of the findings, with sheep and goats declining to 62.1 percent and the domesticated pig going down to 5 percent.21
One important clue as to why cattle might have increased in importance comes from examination of bone fragments in another archaeological site about 62 miles (100 km) away from Ötzi’s home territory. “Arbon Bleiche 3” is the site of a submerged village that is approximately contemporaneous with Ötzi. Twenty-seven houses made up the village, each measuring an average of 13.1 by 26.2 feet (4 × 8 m).22 Located on the southern shore of Lake Constance (Bodensee) in Switzerland, this site provides a variety of insights as to how Ötzi probably lived. For example, dung remnants from cattle indicate that they were housed within the village confines during the winter. In contrast, scientists discovered a prevalence of insects that live in dung in the areas just outside the village, indicating that cattle were probably kept at a close proximity so that they could be used for milking and for pulling implements.23
As researchers at Arbon Bleiche 3 dug deeper for clues about the use of domesticated and wild animals in the village, they also discovered that many of the cattle bones showed signs of physical strain. Combining those findings with the discovery of a maple pole that was probably a yoke, they made a convincing argument that draft animals were beginning to play a key role in the development of agriculture in the region during the Copper Age.24 Draft animals allowed for more intensive grain cultivation, improved fertility with the spreading of manure, and easier hauling of materials needed for farming.
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