Latest news with #Siberia
The Sun
20 hours ago
- Science
- The Sun
Stunning 2,500-year-old TATTOOS from Siberian ‘ice mummy' depicting ‘mythical creatures' revealed in perfect detail
THE intricate tattoos of a 2,500-year-old Siberian "ice mummy" have finally been revealed through high-tech imaging. The designs reveal leopards, tigers, a stag, a rooster and even some long-lost mythical creatures. 7 7 They are so detailed that even a modern tattooist would struggle to reproduce them, according to the researchers behind the discovery. The tattoos belong to a woman who was about 50-years-old when she died. She is thought to have belonged to the nomadic horse-riding Pazyryk culture, which roamed the lands between China and Europe. The scans exposed "intricate, crisp and uniform" tattooing that could not be seen with the naked eye. Over the two millennia, the ink has become all but invisible on the body as the skin darkens with time. "The insights really drive home to me the point of how sophisticated these people were," lead author Dr Gino Caspari from the Max Planck Institute of Geoanthropology and the University of Bern, told BBC News. Archaeologists worked with researcher Daniel Riday, a tattooist who reproduces ancient ink on his own body to understand how they were made. Tattooing was likely widespread during prehistory, but few remains from that era are preserved well enough to investigate. 7 But the so-called "ice mummies" of the Altai mountains in Siberia were often encased in ice tombs which preserved the skin. While the tattoos were not visibly on the skin, they were brought back to life using near-infrared digital photography in the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, Russia. The high-resolution scans were able to reveal the decorations for the first time in 2,500 years. "This made me feel like we were much closer to seeing the people behind the art, how they worked and learned. The images came alive," said Dr Caspari. On her right forearm, the woman had an image of leopards and tigers around the head of two deer. On the left arm, a mythical griffin-like creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle appears to be fighting with a stag. "Twisted hind bodies and really intense battle scenes of wild animals are typical of the culture," explained Dr Caspari. The "ice mummy" also had a rooster on her thumb, showing "an intriguing style with a certain uniqueness," says Dr Caspari. The design was made with uniform thickness, suggesting sophisticated methods and tools for tattooing. Some lines were created using a multipoint tool, while others were made with a finer, single-point tool, according to the study. The researchers could even see where the ancient tattooist stopped working and picked up again in the overlapping of some lines. "Many cultures around the world traditionally used bundles of plant thorns and spines to tattoo," study co-author Aaron Deter-Wolf, an archaeologist at the Tennessee Division of Archaeology and ancient-tattooing expert, told Live Science in an email. "We envision the multi-point tool as being a tightly clustered bundle of tines, probably bound together with thread or sinew." The tools were made of natural, biodegradable materials, meaning the researchers aren't able to examine the implements themselves. 7 7
CNN
21 hours ago
- Science
- CNN
New imaging reveals intricate tattoos on 2,000-year-old Siberian ‘ice mummy'
Archaeologists have used cutting edge techniques to reveal new information about the intricate tattoos of a woman that lived in Siberia during the Iron Age. Although the prehistoric remains date from more than 2,000 years ago, the skin, and therefore the tattoos, of mummies from the region's Pazyryk culture have been preserved in permafrost in the Altai mountains, according to a statement from the journal Antiquity, which published the study, on Thursday. The tattoos 'have long intrigued archaeologists due to their elaborate figural designs,' said study author Gino Caspari, an archaeologist at the Max Planck Institute of Geoanthropology and the University of Bern, in the statement. However, previous research on the tattoos has been based on early schematic drawings. 'These interpretations lacked clarity regarding the techniques and tools used and did not focus much on the individuals but rather the overarching social context,' said Caspari. Now, however, researchers have been able to produce a 3D scan of one tattooed mummy using newly-available high-resolution near infrared photography, shedding light on the high-level of craftsmanship of Pazyryk tattoo artists. Researchers worked with modern tattoo artists to identify the tools and techniques used by their ancient counterparts, revealing that this particular mummy had more intricate tattoos on its right forearm than on the left. While the two tattoos share many of the same characteristics, the right arm shows 'a finer attention to detail and a greater array of visual techniques' compared to the left, according to the study. The right arm tattoo most likely took at least two sessions to complete, and makes use of the contours of the wrist to allow the tattoo to flow over the arm, it adds. This 'clever placement' not only 'showcases the artist's expertise,' but emphasizes a feline animal as the focal point of the tattoo, according to the study. This expertise is further demonstrated by the clear and consistent linework, said the researchers. 'Achieving such crisp and uniform results, especially with hand-poked methods, would be a challenge even for contemporary tattooists using modern equipment,' they wrote. This may mean that the work was carried out by two different artists, or the same artist at different stages of training, indicating that tattooing was a skilled craft for the Pazyryk, requiring formal training and technical ability, according to the statement. 'The study offers a new way to recognize personal agency in prehistoric body modification practices,' said Caspari. 'Tattooing emerges not merely as symbolic decoration but as a specialized craft – one that demanded technical skill, aesthetic sensitivity, and formal training or apprenticeship.' This is not dissimilar to modern tattoo artists, he added. 'This made me feel like we were much closer to seeing the people behind the art, how they worked and learned and made mistakes,' said Caspari. 'The images came alive.'
CNN
21 hours ago
- Science
- CNN
New imaging reveals intricate tattoos on 2,000-year-old Siberian ‘ice mummy'
Archaeologists have used cutting edge techniques to reveal new information about the intricate tattoos of a woman that lived in Siberia during the Iron Age. Although the prehistoric remains date from more than 2,000 years ago, the skin, and therefore the tattoos, of mummies from the region's Pazyryk culture have been preserved in permafrost in the Altai mountains, according to a statement from the journal Antiquity, which published the study, on Thursday. The tattoos 'have long intrigued archaeologists due to their elaborate figural designs,' said study author Gino Caspari, an archaeologist at the Max Planck Institute of Geoanthropology and the University of Bern, in the statement. However, previous research on the tattoos has been based on early schematic drawings. 'These interpretations lacked clarity regarding the techniques and tools used and did not focus much on the individuals but rather the overarching social context,' said Caspari. Now, however, researchers have been able to produce a 3D scan of one tattooed mummy using newly-available high-resolution near infrared photography, shedding light on the high-level of craftsmanship of Pazyryk tattoo artists. Researchers worked with modern tattoo artists to identify the tools and techniques used by their ancient counterparts, revealing that this particular mummy had more intricate tattoos on its right forearm than on the left. While the two tattoos share many of the same characteristics, the right arm shows 'a finer attention to detail and a greater array of visual techniques' compared to the left, according to the study. The right arm tattoo most likely took at least two sessions to complete, and makes use of the contours of the wrist to allow the tattoo to flow over the arm, it adds. This 'clever placement' not only 'showcases the artist's expertise,' but emphasizes a feline animal as the focal point of the tattoo, according to the study. This expertise is further demonstrated by the clear and consistent linework, said the researchers. 'Achieving such crisp and uniform results, especially with hand-poked methods, would be a challenge even for contemporary tattooists using modern equipment,' they wrote. This may mean that the work was carried out by two different artists, or the same artist at different stages of training, indicating that tattooing was a skilled craft for the Pazyryk, requiring formal training and technical ability, according to the statement. 'The study offers a new way to recognize personal agency in prehistoric body modification practices,' said Caspari. 'Tattooing emerges not merely as symbolic decoration but as a specialized craft – one that demanded technical skill, aesthetic sensitivity, and formal training or apprenticeship.' This is not dissimilar to modern tattoo artists, he added. 'This made me feel like we were much closer to seeing the people behind the art, how they worked and learned and made mistakes,' said Caspari. 'The images came alive.'
Russia Today
a day ago
- General
- Russia Today
Meet fierce Northern warriors who fought Russia for a century and learned a valuable lesson
In the late 17th and early 18th centuries, on the frozen edge of Eurasia, the Chukchi watched strangers approach across the tundra. Tall, bearded, clad in breastplates and iron helmets, the men seemed like figures torn from legend. 'They had whiskers like walruses, iron eyes, and spears so wide they could block out the sun,' Chukchi elders would later recall. These were Russian Cossacks – pioneers sent by the tsar to collect tribute and push the empire's borders ever further east. For decades, they had swept across Siberia with little resistance, subduing one indigenous group after another. They believed they were unstoppable. But on the Chukchi Peninsula, they met a people who would not yield. Nomadic, fiercely independent, and hardened by a landscape where survival itself was a daily battle, the Chukchi refused to be conquered. The collision of these two worlds would ignite one of the longest and bloodiest conflicts in the history of Russia's eastward expansion. The Chukchi were few in number – perhaps no more than 15,000 at the time – but their way of life had made them nearly impossible to subdue. For millennia they had roamed the windswept Chukchi Peninsula, a world of brutal winters, short summers, and endless tundra. Temperatures could plunge to -40°C, and in summer, swarms of mosquitoes turned every journey into torment. Survival in such a place was a daily act of endurance. They lived in small, highly mobile camps, moving with their reindeer herds twice a year. Each settlement had its own leader, known as an umilik, and there was no central authority – no single chief who could negotiate, surrender, or be coerced. This political fragmentation made it nearly impossible for outsiders to strike lasting agreements with them. Chukchi society revolved around two things: The herds that sustained them and the sea that bordered their lands. Inland clans were reindeer herders; coastal groups, dubbed 'foot Chukchi' by Russians, hunted whales and fished in Arctic waters. Their dwellings reflected this dual life: Semi-subterranean huts reinforced with walrus bones in winter, and collapsible, cone-shaped yarangas for summer migrations. But life in the tundra was not simply about endurance – it was about strength and dominance. The Chukchi had a reputation for launching sudden raids on neighboring peoples, including the Koryaks, Yukaghirs, and even Eskimo groups across the Bering Strait. These raids were not mere skirmishes: Several camps could band together, attack without warning, and vanish into the tundra with stolen reindeer and supplies. These campaigns were central to their survival and prestige. From childhood, Chukchi boys and girls were trained for hardship. Running long distances with heavy loads, learning to go hungry for days, and sleeping little were all part of their upbringing. They became expert archers, spearmen, and hand-to-hand fighters. Armor was fashioned from bone, horn, or leather, and they perfected tactics of surprise – striking at night or when enemy men were away, then disappearing into the wilderness before reinforcements could arrive. To the Chukchi, capture was unthinkable. Warriors, women, even children would rather take their own lives than be enslaved. The elderly and the gravely ill were expected to choose death rather than burden the camp. This unforgiving code of survival, combined with their mobility, warrior culture, and intimate knowledge of the land, made the Chukchi extraordinarily resilient opponents. And yet, on the horizon, a new kind of adversary was drawing closer – one unlike any they had ever faced. The Russian Empire was pushing relentlessly eastward, driven by the lure of fur and the promise of new lands. When its Cossack detachments finally reached the Chukchi Peninsula, a clash was inevitable. By the late 17th century, Russia was driving deeper and deeper into Siberia. The motivation was clear: furs. Sable pelts in particular were so valuable in Europe and Asia that they were called 'soft gold'. Detachments of Cossacks – semi-autonomous warrior-settlers – moved ever farther east, following rivers through dense forests and across endless plains in search of new lands and new sources of tribute. The model was simple. When the Cossacks reached a new territory, they would build a small fortified outpost, declare the local tribes subjects of the tsar, and demand yasak – an annual tax in furs. Resistance was met with violence. Most of the indigenous groups they encountered were fragmented, lightly armed, and poorly equipped to fight organized Russian units. This rapid advance gave the Cossacks a sense of inevitability. They had pushed across Siberia in a matter of decades, subduing one people after another, and now only the tundra of the Far Northeast remained. Rumors whispered that beyond the Chukchi Peninsula lay even richer lands, perhaps even a route to America. But as the Cossacks crossed the Kolyma River and approached Chukchi territory, they were entering a world unlike any they had faced before. Here the distances were immense, the climate unforgiving, and the people both armed and ready. The Chukchi would not be intimidated by shows of force, nor would they be persuaded by gifts or treaties. What followed was not the swift conquest the Russians had come to expect, but a drawn-out war in the tundra – one that would test both sides to their limits. The first Russian expeditions into Chukchi territory began cautiously. In 1642, the Cossack Dmitry Zyryan encountered a group of Chukchi while traveling with their neighbors, the Yukaghirs. The meeting ended in blood. The Cossacks, armed with iron weapons and coveted goods, were ambushed. Several Russians were badly wounded, and a number of Chukchi were killed. It was a small skirmish, but it set the tone: this would not be an easy land to tame. In 1648, seven small sailing ships known as koches pushed off from the mouth of the Kolyma River, led by the merchant Fedot Popov and the legendary Cossack Semen Dezhnev. The journey was catastrophic. Storms scattered the flotilla; two vessels were wrecked on the rocks, two others vanished at sea, and only a handful of survivors made it ashore. Dezhnev, against all odds, reached the mouth of the Anadyr River by land, built a makeshift fort, and declared the surrounding peoples subjects of the tsar. But Russian footholds in the region remained fragile. When the officer Kurbat Ivanov replaced Dezhnev, the Chukchi began attacking Cossack hunters and patrols near Anadyr. Their arrows and sling stones turned daily tasks such as fishing into life-or-death gambles. Through the late 17th century, expedition after expedition met the same fate. Small Cossack detachments would march into the tundra to collect yasak or punish raiders, only to be picked off and disappear. The Chukchi had no forts to besiege, no villages to burn, and no central leader to capture. They fought on their own terms – striking quickly, vanishing into the vast emptiness, and forcing the Russians to spread themselves thin. Even hostages yielded little leverage. Over time, a grim system of exchanges developed: if the Chukchi captured Russians, they would trade them for their own kin, but rarely for anything else. And while they began acquiring captured firearms, they never relied on them; muskets were scarce and ammunition hard to come by. By the early 18th century, frustration in St. Petersburg was mounting. The Chukchi were not only resisting imperial control, but also terrorizing Russia's tributary tribes – the Koryaks and the Yukaghirs – seizing reindeer and land in a cycle of raids and counter-raids. Afanasiy Shestakov, head of the Yakut Cossacks, petitioned the imperial Senate for a major campaign to 'pacify the unruly Chukchi.' In 1730, Shestakov personally led a small mixed force of Cossacks, Koryaks, and Tungus deep into Chukchi territory. Outnumbered by hundreds of Chukchi warriors, his detachment was overwhelmed; Shestakov was struck by an arrow and speared as he tried to flee by sled. Only half of his men survived. Shestakov's death galvanized the empire, and soon a new figure arrived who would change the course of the war: Captain Dmitry Pavlutskiy of the Tobolsk regiment. Unlike most who had served on the frontier, Pavlutskiy was a regular army officer – trained, disciplined, and ambitious. He quickly became a near-mythical figure. To the Koryaks and Yukaghirs, long harassed by Chukchi raids, Pavlutskiy was a savior. Songs celebrated him as a northern Sir Lancelot, a fearless protector who avenged decades of violence. To the Chukchi, he was something entirely different. They whispered about him as a demon in human form – relentless, cunning, and merciless. Entire camps fled at the rumor of his approach; others chose suicide over capture, unwilling to face the shame and suffering they believed would follow. Pavlutskiy understood the scale of the challenge and brought unprecedented force: more than 500 Russians and allied tribesmen, supported by 700 reindeer sleds laden with supplies. He drove his men deep into the tundra, covering distances of nearly 2,000km. His campaign was devastating. In the first ten months alone, he killed more than 1,500 Chukchi – over 10% of their entire population – and took another 150 captive. But even Pavlutskiy could not secure a decisive victory. The Chukchi melted away into the wilderness, resurfacing to strike at isolated settlements and tributary tribes. Pavlutskiy's columns could annihilate Chukchi bands they managed to corner, but they could not occupy the land or break the people's will. In 1747, Pavlutskiy made what would be his final march. Pursuing a Chukchi raiding party with just 100 men, he suddenly found himself outnumbered by 500 warriors. One of his aides urged him to build a defensive ring of sleds, but Pavlutskiy refused, choosing open battle instead. The Chukchi defied their usual tactics of harassing from a distance and charged head-on. Pavlutskiy fought like a berserker, cutting down attackers with sword and musket, until lassos dragged him from his horse and spears pierced his armor. His death sent shockwaves through both sides. St. Petersburg mourned a commander who had become the embodiment of Russia's struggle in the Far Northeast. The Koryaks and Yukaghirs grieved the loss of a protector. The Chukchi, by contrast, celebrated. Legends sprouted almost immediately: Some said Pavlutskiy was roasted after his death; others claimed he fought to the last breath, 'like a tiger cornered in the snow.' Whatever the version, all agreed on one point: He had been their fiercest adversary. The war had ground into stalemate. Maintaining remote garrisons drained imperial coffers, and every expedition consumed lives and resources. The tundra devoured armies as surely as the cold devoured the unprepared. By the 1750s, the Russian Empire was exhausted by the Chukchi war. Expedition after expedition had drained the treasury, and garrisons in the remote Anadyr fortress were costly to maintain and constantly under threat. The Senate in St. Petersburg began to rethink its approach. If the Chukchi could not be subdued by force, perhaps they could be persuaded by profit. The Anadyr fortress was dismantled in 1764, its church bells hauled away to other settlements. But this withdrawal was not a surrender. Imperial officials, encouraged by Catherine the Great, began pursuing a new policy: negotiating directly with Chukchi leaders and offering trade as an incentive for peace. By this point, the Chukchi themselves had changed. Years of warfare and the constant need to guard their herds had created a clearer hierarchy among umiliks, the camp chiefs. Weaker leaders had perished, and the survivors understood that raiding could no longer secure their status or wealth. Trade offered an Russians organized fairs at small fortified posts along the Anuy River. There, merchants exchanged tea, tobacco, metal tools, and textiles for fox and sable pelts, beaver skins, and walrus ivory. These goods were precious in the tundra, and commerce flourished. What Cossack muskets and imperial decrees could not achieve, merchants accomplished quietly. The Chukchi acknowledged the sovereignty of the Russian Empire, not as a conquered people but as partners in trade. In return, they gained access to valuable goods and the right to live as they always had – on their own terms, without the threat of military campaigns hanging over them. Chukchi mythology even adapted to this new reality. In their stories, there were only two true peoples in the world: themselves and the Russians. Everyone else was little more than useful fauna, like reindeer or walruses. Russians, they said, existed for a specific purpose: to produce tea, tobacco, sugar, salt, and metal items, and to trade them with the Chukchi. By the late 18th century, open warfare on the Chukchi Peninsula had ended. Russians and Chukchi had moved beyond raids and punitive campaigns, forging a relationship built on trade and mutual respect. This understanding laid the foundation for something far more lasting: a shared life in one country. Over the centuries that followed, the Chukchi became part of the Russian Empire, then the Soviet Union, and now the Russian Federation. Yet they have retained their traditions, language, and way of life in one of the harshest environments on Earth. Reindeer herding, fishing, and seasonal migrations remain central to Chukchi culture, and their spiritual beliefs and legends are still passed down from generation to generation. Today, the Chukchi enjoy their own federal subject – Chukotka Autonomous Okrug – a reflection of the unique place they hold within Russia. Regional and federal authorities support the preservation of Chukchi culture, ensuring that the nomadic camps, ancient rituals, and language of this small Arctic nation are not lost to time. What began centuries ago as one of the most protracted and difficult conflicts in Russia's eastward expansion ultimately gave way to coexistence. The Chukchi and the Russians, once bitter adversaries, now share not just a land but a future. Their story is a reminder that even in the most inhospitable of places, people can find a way to live side by side – without losing who they are.
CTV News
a day ago
- Science
- CTV News
Tattoos on a 2,000-year-old ice mummy examined by archaeologists
Close-up high-resolution photograph of the tattoos on one forearm. A cut made when preparing the individual for burial runs through the tattoos, indicating tattoos did not play a specific role in funerary rituals (credit: G. Caspari & M. Vavulin) A team of archaeologists from Switzerland used high-resolution digital imaging technology to examine tattoos invisible to the naked eye on a 2000-year-old ice mummy from Siberia. Tattooing is believed to have been a common practice during the prehistoric period, but according to research published in the Antiquity Journal, it was difficult to investigate due to the lack of evidence. But according to researchers, the tattoos on these ice mummies from the Pazyryk culture of the Altai mountains survived because the mummies were buried in deep chambers encased in permafrost, which helped preserve the skin of those buried. Archaeologists have been long intrigued by the tattoos of the Pazyryk culture, due to their 'elaborate figural designs,' Gino Caspari, senior author of the research from the Max Planck Institute of Geoanthropology and the University of Bern, stated in the research paper. The female mummy was originally excavated from a Pazyryk tomb during the Soviet era in the 1940s, Caspari told The Pazyryk culture existed during the Early Iron Age in the Altai Mountains of southern Siberia, he explained. It's part of the broader 'Scythian World' – a term referring to Eurasian steppe cultures from the ninth century to the second century B.C. They were known for their weaponry, horse gear and artwork in the Scytho-Siberian animal style, among other things. 'Archaeologists have long been fascinated by the extremely vivid depictions of fighting animals,' Caspari said. 'The tattoos also offer glimpses into identity, ritual, craft specialization and living traditions.' Illustrations of the tattoo mummy Illustrations of the tattoo from the right and left forearm, showing their: A) current state; B) recreated to fill in missing elements and account for skin desiccation; and C) idealised renderings (credit: D. Riday) According to their findings, most of the earlier research was conducted based on early schematic, black and white drawings of the visible tattoos, since high-resolution images were not possible. 'These representations lacked technical precision and omitted subtle, but critical details,' Caspari said. 'For decades, tattoos were largely interpreted visually and symbolically, without insight into their method of creation.' Archaeologists produced a three-dimensional scan of the tattooed Pazyryk mummy using digital near-infrared photography, which they examined with the help of modern tattoo artists. 'This collaboration was essential to bridging gaps between ancient practice and modern understanding, (and) reinforcing the interpretation of multi-session, hand-poked tattooing with varied tools,' Caspari said. 3D model of the mummy Photogrammetrically created 3D model of the mummy, showing: A) texture derived from visible-spectrum photographs; and B) texture derived from near-infrared photography (credit: M. Vavulin) Researchers found that the tattoos of the right forearm had more detail and technique than the ones on the left arm, suggesting multiple tattooers or a single tattooer through different stages of development. 'This indicates tattooing was not simply a form of decoration to the Pazyryk culture, but rather a skilled craft that required formal training and technical ability,' the research paper noted. Caspari believes this study 'helps to put the prehistoric individual back into focus, rather than treating tattoos solely as generalized cultural markers.' 'It illuminates personal choice, learning processes, artistry, and technological skill over two millennia ago,' he said. Prehistoric tattoo artists were similar to modern professionals from the tattoo industry, the study showed. 'This made me feel like we were much closer to seeing the people behind the art, how they worked and learned and made mistakes,' Caspari concluded in the paper. 'The images came alive.'
