A visit to the 2300-year-old Grauballe Bog Man

On my last day at Aarhus University I sat a three-hour exam. It was frantic. Someone commented on my loud typing. But I finished it, completing my study trip in Denmark’s second-largest city. The class had Carlsburgs and rye-bread sandwiches to celebrate before saying our final goodbyes. Most of the class were heading to Copenhagen that afternoon, but I was staying in Aarhus for another night. There was still someone I had to meet: the bog man.

It was December and the days were short and that afternoon I took a bus to Moesgaard Museum, where the bog man lived. On the way the landscape turned rural and I was worried I had gone too far. I asked another bus passenger for help. Her name was Dita and she was also getting off at the museum, which was the last stop.

The museum was housed in a grand old manor complex, where there was also a university. Dita was an archaeology student at the university and she was on her way to meet her classmates to discuss a viking fair they had planned. She showed me the way to the museum but told me it closed at 4pm.

It was 3.50pm. I had not timed this well. But luck was on my side as Dita happened to work at the museum as a guide. She snuck me in and we went on one of the quickest museum tours in modern history. We made a beeline to the back of the building to see the famous bog man, who is officially known as Grauballe Man. He was lying in a glass box. He had brown leathery skin and his muscles were shrunken. Dita hurriedly told me his story.

“He was killed about 2,300 years ago,” she said. “He had his throat cut and was thrown into the nearby bog. But he didn’t float to the surface because the bog quickly froze over him, and he laid there until some peat diggers found him.”

The tour was over, but my interest in the Grauballe Man was sparked. He was found deep in the bog by a local peat-digger in 1952 near the village of Grauballe in Jutland. He was so well preserved that scientists could later learn he had eaten porridge for breakfast on the morning he was killed. He still has his hair, and you can see the lines on his hands. 

Human bodies are naturally mummified in peat bogs because of the unusual conditions, including cold temperatures, low oxygen and high acidity. Unlike other ancient bodies, peat bog bodies can retain their skin and internal organs. 

It is believed Grauballe Man was killed either as punishment, or as a human sacrifice offered to gods, perhaps the pagan goddess of fertility Nerthus. He was killed on a cold morning in about 300BC at the age of about 35, Moesgaard Museum says. He was struck in the leg with a club, which broke his shin, and then his throat was cut. His body was placed in an Iron Age peat cutting near the village of Grauballe, Jutland. 

He is the world’s only example of an entire body preserved from head to toe in this way. Other bog people are missing limbs, organs or other body parts. Dita told me he is the most amazing bog person in the world and I am inclined to believe her. The poor guy was violently killed and dumped in a freezing swamp in northern Denmark around the time of Socrates, but by the looks of it he’ll outlast us all. 

After seeing the bog man I was swiftly whisked out of the museum, which by then had closed for the day. I said thank you and goodbye to Dita. She gave me a map of the surrounding area and told me I should walk through the nearby forest to the beach. So I did.

As I walked from the museum towards the forest I was greeted by some moss-covered, thatch-thatch-rooved stone cottages that I later learned were built centuries ago by vikings. These days they belonged to the archaeology school. The students once held classes inside but the buildings are fragile and historic so now they are preserved. In a field near the cottages I was greeted by three long-haired horses before I crossed the tree line.

Walking in the forest alone is an intense experience, especially in the winter, when the sun is going down and there’s no one else around. Leafless birch trees stretched into the darkening sky. I came across a stream that made a path through the trees and the water was a brilliant blue and looked ice-cold. A tree trunk had fallen or been placed across the stream and I dared myself to walk across it.

I was relieved when I made it to the other side. But this relief soon faded when I looked around and found no walking paths nearby so I decided to cross back over the log. While I was midway across with my arms out at right angles and my nerves on edge a cruel bird thought it was a good time to take flight in the most abrupt and noisy manner. It was only metres away and it startled me and I faltered momentarily. My face became hot. But I regained my balance and headed down to the shore. 

The beach was deserted and the air was cold and it was quickly getting dark. But I was there, so I walked along the rough sand. The light was gone when I started back along the leafy bank of the stream. Years ago I would have been petrified walking alone in that dark Danish forest. I walked up the hill out of the trees and back past the horses, who pointed their noses at me.

I was pleased to see the lights of the manor through the trees. I walked up the hill and through the cobbled square and on to the road where the bus was parked. Dita was on board again, sitting up the back with her friends from the university. The bus came to life and we headed back to Aarhus.