Caso: Mathias Rudloff | La
Luz del Enladrillado
Nombre del testigo: Mathias Rudloff
Ciudad y Pa铆s: Altos de Lircay, Regi贸n del Maule, Chile
Fecha del incidente: 6 de diciembre de 2008
Hora aproximada: 20:00 horas, aproximadamente una hora antes de la
puesta de sol
Cantidad de Testigos: 3 personas (dos ingenieros y un arquitecto)
Direcci贸n o Coordenadas: El Enladrillado, sector Valle del Venado,
Reserva Nacional Altos de Lircay, Regi贸n del Maule, Chile.
Coordenadas de referencia: 35.578627° S, 70.965970° O.
Investigaci贸n por Iv谩n Vega Recabal
Mathias Rudloff,
ingeniero de profesi贸n y aficionado desde hace a帽os al estudio del fen贸meno
OVNI, viaj贸 en diciembre de 2008 junto a dos amigos desde Concepci贸n hasta El
Enladrillado, en los Altos de Lircay, Regi贸n del Maule, Chile. El prop贸sito del
viaje era realizar trekking y conocer uno de los paisajes cordilleranos m谩s
singulares de la zona.
Durante la tarde del 6 de
diciembre, despu茅s de completar el ascenso y mientras los tres permanec铆an en
las alturas contemplando el Valle del Venado, una situaci贸n inesperada
transformar铆a aquella excursi贸n en una experiencia que Mathias continuar铆a recordando
y tratando de comprender muchos a帽os despu茅s.
Ponte c贸modo, porque aqu铆 comienza un nuevo Testimonio
OVNI.
Todo comenz贸 el viernes 5 de diciembre de 2008.
Part铆 desde Concepci贸n junto a dos amigos rumbo a El Enladrillado. Nuestro objetivo era bastante simple: quer铆amos hacer trekking, subir hasta ese lugar y disfrutar de la experiencia de estar en plena cordillera. Si bien el tema ufol贸gico ha sido una de mis pasiones, para mis compa帽eros no lo era, as铆 que aquel viaje no naci贸 como una expedici贸n para buscar OVNIs ni mucho menos. 脥bamos a caminar, conocer el lugar y pasar un fin de semana diferente.
Ese mismo viernes llegamos al sector de CONAF e hicimos campamento aproximadamente a las 22:00. Nuestra intenci贸n era descansar durante la noche para comenzar el ascenso al alba del s谩bado.
Hasta ese momento, todo transcurri贸 con absoluta normalidad.
El s谩bado 6 de diciembre comenzamos temprano.
Tuvimos suerte con el tiempo. Era uno de esos d铆as clim谩ticamente perfectos para caminar por la monta帽a y realizamos el ascenso sin mayores dificultades.
Durante todo el recorrido no vimos ni percibimos absolutamente nada fuera de lo com煤n.
Despu茅s de varias horas de trekking conseguimos llegar a El Enladrillado un par de horas antes de la puesta de sol.
Hab铆amos planificado permanecer all铆, aunque sab铆amos que exist铆an restricciones para acampar en el sector debido a la necesidad de proteger el entorno natural de la cima. Por eso procuramos movernos con mucho cuidado y mantener el m谩ximo respeto posible por el lugar.
Una vez instalados, hicimos algo bastante l贸gico despu茅s de semejante caminata: comenzamos a sacar las fotograf铆as de rigor.
Fotografiamos el paisaje y todo aquello que nos parec铆a interesante. Despu茅s guardamos las c谩maras.
Este detalle terminar铆a siendo importante.
Yo ten铆a la m铆a dentro de su funda. Era una de aquellas c谩maras digitales peque帽as que se utilizaban mucho en esos a帽os, con tarjeta SD. No ten铆amos tel茅fonos con las capacidades fotogr谩ficas actuales ni est谩bamos permanentemente preparados para registrar algo inesperado. Hab铆amos terminado de sacar fotograf铆as y, simplemente, guardamos nuestros equipos.
Nos sentamos entonces a contemplar el Valle del Venado mientras prepar谩bamos algo para comer.
Recuerdo especialmente la tranquilidad de ese momento.
Est谩bamos en altura, rodeados por un paisaje enorme, mirando hacia el valle mientras lentamente se acercaba el final de la tarde.
Hubo algo del lugar que me llam贸 particularmente la atenci贸n: la ac煤stica.
Al mirar hacia el fondo del Valle del Venado se pod铆a distinguir un r铆o. En alg煤n punto de ese r铆o hab铆a una cascada y, pese a encontrarse a bastante distancia de nosotros, alcanz谩bamos a escucharla levemente desde donde est谩bamos.
Ese detalle se me qued贸 grabado.
Hab铆a una sensaci贸n de silencio y amplitud que hac铆a posible percibir sonidos provenientes de lugares bastante alejados.
Est谩bamos ah铆, tranquilos, preparando comida y mirando el paisaje.
Entonces, uno de mis amigos dijo de repente:
—¡Miren, miren!
Levant茅 la cabeza.
Y ah铆 estaba.
Vi una luz amarilla.
Parec铆a estar flotando y desplaz谩ndose un poco m谩s abajo de nuestra l铆nea del horizonte.
Lo primero que me permiti贸 dimensionar visualmente su posici贸n fueron las monta帽as que estaban detr谩s. No est谩bamos observando algo perdido en medio de un cielo completamente vac铆o; ten铆amos el relieve como contraste y pod铆amos ver aquella luz desplaz谩ndose aparentemente por debajo de la l铆nea del horizonte.
Si El Enladrillado se encuentra aproximadamente a unos 2.200 metros de altura, mi impresi贸n en ese momento fue que la luz pod铆a encontrarse alrededor de los 2.000 o 2.100 metros.
Quiero ser preciso con esto: fue una estimaci贸n completamente visual.
No ten铆amos ning煤n instrumento para medir su altitud.
Lo mismo ocurri贸 con la distancia.
Calcul茅 que pod铆a encontrarse aproximadamente a unos tres o cuatro kil贸metros de nosotros, pero nuevamente era una apreciaci贸n hecha a ojo, tomando como referencia el paisaje que ten铆amos delante.
Los tres comenzamos a observarla.
Y nos quedamos en silencio.
Eso es algo que recuerdo muy bien.
Ninguno de nosotros dijo inmediatamente:
—Es un avi贸n.
—Es un helic贸ptero.
—Es un reflejo.
No.
Simplemente nos quedamos mirando.
Mudos.
Creo que parte de nuestra reacci贸n se debi贸 precisamente a que ninguno encontraba, en esos primeros segundos, una explicaci贸n evidente para lo que estaba viendo.
La luz continuaba desplaz谩ndose.
Era amarilla y, desde nuestra posici贸n, se ve铆a redonda.
No recuerdo haber distinguido una estructura alrededor de ella. No vimos alas, fuselaje ni una silueta reconocible. Lo que nuestros ojos percib铆an era, sencillamente, una luz amarilla movi茅ndose frente al relieve de las monta帽as.
El acontecimiento completo dur贸 aproximadamente veinte segundos.
Puede parecer muy poco tiempo, pero cuando est谩s mirando algo que no consigues identificar, veinte segundos son suficientes para observar, pensar y comenzar a hacerte preguntas.
Mientras la miraba, volv铆 a pensar en algo que me hab铆a llamado la atenci贸n minutos antes: la ac煤stica del lugar.
Pod铆amos escuchar d茅bilmente una cascada que estaba a bastante distancia.
Por eso me pregunt茅: si aquello que est谩bamos viendo correspond铆a a alg煤n veh铆culo o aparato que produjera un sonido importante, ¿no deber铆amos haber escuchado algo?
Pero no escuch谩bamos nada que pudi茅ramos relacionar con aquella luz.
Ning煤n motor.
Ning煤n zumbido que pudi茅ramos identificar.
Nada que llamara nuestra atenci贸n aparte de lo que est谩bamos viendo.
Ese silencio fue uno de los elementos que m谩s me impresionaron.
Otro aspecto que me llam贸 mucho la atenci贸n fue la magnitud aparente de la luz. Desde donde est谩bamos, la luz parec铆a tener un tama帽o considerable y una intensidad bastante llamativa. Hasta hoy me cuesta comprender qu茅 fuente pod铆a generar una luminosidad semejante desde la distancia a la que nosotros estim谩bamos que se encontraba.
Naturalmente, en ese momento comenzamos a buscar explicaciones.
Yo soy ingeniero y mi primera reacci贸n frente a algo extra帽o no es necesariamente pensar en una explicaci贸n extraordinaria. Intento buscar alternativas y preguntarme qu茅 fen贸meno conocido podr铆a producir lo que estoy observando.
As铆 que empec茅 a considerar posibilidades.
Una de las primeras ideas fue imaginar una luz similar al foco de un autom贸vil, como una “luz alta”.
Pero la posici贸n aparente no me cuadraba.
Aquella luz no parec铆a desplazarse siguiendo un camino que nosotros pudi茅ramos distinguir. Desde nuestra perspectiva se encontraba movi茅ndose en una posici贸n que no consegu铆amos asociar con el desplazamiento normal de un veh铆culo terrestre.
Adem谩s, segu铆a presente la cuesti贸n del sonido.
No escuch谩bamos un motor ni nada parecido.
Entonces pens茅 en otra posibilidad.
¿Pod铆a ser simplemente un reflejo del Sol?
S铆.
Era una posibilidad.
El Sol estaba poni茅ndose hacia nuestra izquierda y detr谩s de nosotros. Por lo tanto, ten铆a sentido preguntarse si alg煤n objeto situado a la distancia pod铆a estar reflejando la luz solar directamente hacia nuestra posici贸n.
Pens茅 en ello mientras continu谩bamos observando.
Sin embargo, hab铆a algo que me generaba dudas.
La intensidad de aquella luz parec铆a mantenerse bastante constante.
No recuerdo que aumentara y disminuyera claramente mientras avanzaba. Tampoco recuerdo destellos intermitentes. Durante aquellos segundos la percibimos con una luminosidad bastante estable.
Si se trataba de un reflejo producido por alg煤n objeto en movimiento, me preguntaba por qu茅 la intensidad no cambiaba de una manera m谩s evidente al modificarse el 谩ngulo respecto del Sol y de nuestra posici贸n.
Pero tampoco pod铆a descartarlo.
Simplemente no consegu铆a hacerlo encajar completamente con lo que estaba viendo.
La luz continu贸 su recorrido.
Desde nuestra perspectiva, la direcci贸n era aproximadamente de sur a norte.
Seguimos mir谩ndola hasta que finalmente la perdimos de vista.
Desde el momento en que mi amigo nos alert贸 hasta que dejamos de verla habr谩n transcurrido unos veinte segundos.
Eso fue todo.
Veinte segundos.
Despu茅s empezamos, inevitablemente, a pensar qu茅 pod铆a haber sido.
Hay que situarse tambi茅n en el a帽o en que ocurri贸 esto.
Era diciembre de 2008.
Los drones de uso dom茅stico no formaban parte de nuestra vida cotidiana como ocurre actualmente. En aquel momento, al menos para nosotros, no era natural mirar una luz desplaz谩ndose por el cielo y pensar inmediatamente en un peque帽o dron con luces.
Adem谩s, la zona nos parec铆a bastante aislada.
Durante nuestra permanencia all铆 tampoco hab铆amos observado un tr谩nsito a茅reo que nos hiciera pensar de inmediato en una aeronave convencional.
Intentaba buscar una explicaci贸n que tuviera sentido.
Y recuerdo que, incluso de manera ir贸nica, termin茅 imaginando algo bastante absurdo.
Pens茅:
“Para que esto fuera algo convencional tendr铆a que haber, no s茅, una persona en parapente con un foco de cincuenta cent铆metros de di谩metro apuntando directamente hacia nosotros durante veinte segundos”.
Era una forma de expresar lo dif铆cil que me resultaba hacer coincidir lo que estaba viendo con algo que pudiera reconocer.
Pero no vimos ning煤n parapente.
No distinguimos una persona.
No vimos alas.
No observamos una estructura alrededor.
No vimos nada que pudi茅ramos reconocer como una aeronave.
Solo vimos aquella luz redonda y amarilla.
Despu茅s del avistamiento tomamos una fotograf铆a.
En esa imagen se puede apreciar algo que tambi茅n recuerdo claramente: el clima comenz贸 a cambiar con bastante rapidez.
Desde el poniente empez贸 a entrar un banco de nubes.
El paisaje que poco antes hab铆a estado despejado comenz贸 a transformarse.
Para nosotros este detalle era importante porque el avistamiento hab铆a ocurrido antes de la entrada de esas nubes. Desde nuestra perspectiva, adem谩s, aquello que observamos se encontraba por encima del nivel aparente que posteriormente ocupar铆a ese banco nuboso.
Todo hab铆a sucedido muy r谩pido.
Minutos antes est谩bamos simplemente sentados contemplando el Valle del Venado y preparando algo para comer. Las c谩maras estaban guardadas y el d铆a hab铆a transcurrido sin nada fuera de lo normal.
脡ramos tres personas: dos ingenieros y un arquitecto. Los tres vimos lo mismo desde el mismo lugar y durante el mismo intervalo de tiempo.
Con los a帽os he vuelto mentalmente muchas veces a aquellos segundos. He pensado en un reflejo, en alg煤n tipo de aeronave, en una fuente luminosa convencional e incluso en la posibilidad de que hubi茅ramos interpretado de manera incorrecta su distancia o posici贸n.
Tambi茅n soy consciente de que las estimaciones que hice fueron a simple vista. No ten铆amos instrumentos de medici贸n, por lo que no puedo afirmar que aquello estuviera exactamente a tres o cuatro kil贸metros de nosotros ni que se encontrara a 2.000 o 2.100 metros de altitud.
Lo que s铆 puedo contar es lo que recuerdo haber visto.
Una luz amarilla, aparentemente redonda, desplaz谩ndose frente a las monta帽as en direcci贸n aproximada de sur a norte. No percibimos ning煤n sonido que pudi茅ramos asociar con ella y su intensidad pareci贸 mantenerse bastante constante mientras estuvo a nuestra vista.
No puedo decir con certeza qu茅 era.
Fuimos a El Enladrillado simplemente para hacer trekking. No est谩bamos realizando una investigaci贸n y mis compa帽eros ni siquiera compart铆an mi inter茅s por el tema ufol贸gico. Nada nos hac铆a pensar que aquella tarde terminar铆a convirti茅ndose en una experiencia que continuar铆amos recordando tantos a帽os despu茅s.
Hasta el d铆a de hoy, ninguno de los tres ha encontrado una explicaci贸n que nos deje completamente satisfechos.
Y despu茅s de todo este tiempo, todav铆a me hago la misma pregunta:
¿Qu茅 fue aquello que vimos sobre el Valle del Venado?
Testigos: Si has vivido un encuentro cercano con el fen贸meno OVNI/UAP, puede escribirnos al siguiente correo electr贸nico: MiTestimonioOvni@gmail.com Antes de enviar tu caso, te recomendamos revisar nuestra gu铆a pr谩ctica para testigos, donde encontrar谩s consejos 煤tiles para registrar tu testimonio: AQU脥
Derechos de Autor: El presente testimonio est谩 protegido por derechos de autor y forma parte del material de investigaci贸n del escritor e investigador Iv谩n Vega Recabal. Su publicaci贸n completa ser谩 incluida en su pr贸ximo libro. Queda prohibida su reproducci贸n total o parcial sin autorizaci贸n.
© Todos los derechos reservados.
Case: Mathias Rudloff | The Light of El Enladrillado
Witness Name: Mathias Rudloff
City and Country: Altos de Lircay, Maule Region, Chile
Date of Incident: December 6, 2008
Approximate Time: 8:00 p.m., approximately one hour before sunset
Number of Witnesses: 3 people (two engineers and one architect)
Location / Coordinates: El Enladrillado, Valle del Venado sector, Altos de Lircay National Reserve, Maule Region, Chile
Reference Coordinates: 35.578627° S, 70.965970° W
Research by Ivan Vega
Mathias Rudloff, an engineer by profession and a longtime enthusiast of the study of the UFO phenomenon, traveled in December 2008 with two friends from Concepci贸n to El Enladrillado, in Altos de Lircay, Maule Region, Chile. The purpose of the trip was to go trekking and experience one of the area's most remarkable mountain landscapes.
On the afternoon of December 6, after completing the ascent and while the three of them were high in the mountains overlooking Valle del Venado, an unexpected event would transform that excursion into an experience Mathias would continue to remember and try to understand many years later.
Make yourself comfortable, because a new UFO Testimony begins here.
It all began on Friday, December 5, 2008.
I left Concepci贸n with two friends, heading for El Enladrillado. Our goal was fairly simple: we wanted to go trekking, climb up to the site, and enjoy the experience of being deep in the mountains. Although the UFO phenomenon has long been one of my passions, my companions did not share that interest, so this trip was certainly not conceived as an expedition to look for UFOs. We were simply going to hike, explore the area, and spend a different kind of weekend.
That same Friday, we arrived at the CONAF sector and set up camp at approximately 10:00 p.m. Our intention was to rest during the night so that we could begin the ascent at dawn on Saturday.
Up to that point, everything had been completely normal.
We started early on Saturday, December 6.
We were fortunate with the weather. It was one of those days with perfect conditions for hiking in the mountains, and we completed the ascent without any major difficulties.
Throughout the entire hike, we neither saw nor noticed anything remotely unusual.
After several hours of trekking, we managed to reach El Enladrillado a couple of hours before sunset.
We had planned to stay there, although we knew there were restrictions on camping in the area because of the need to protect the natural environment at the summit. For that reason, we made every effort to move around carefully and treat the place with the utmost respect.
Once we had settled in, we did something fairly obvious after such a long hike: we began taking the customary photographs.
We photographed the landscape and anything else that caught our attention. Then we put our cameras away.
That detail would later become important.
Mine was inside its case. It was one of those small digital cameras that were widely used at the time, with an SD card. We did not have phones with today's photographic capabilities, nor were we constantly prepared to record something unexpected. We had finished taking pictures and simply put our equipment away.
We then sat down to look out over Valle del Venado while preparing something to eat.
I particularly remember how peaceful that moment was.
We were high in the mountains, surrounded by an immense landscape, looking down toward the valley as the afternoon slowly drew to a close.
There was one thing about the place that particularly caught my attention: the acoustics.
Looking toward the far end of Valle del Venado, we could make out a river. Somewhere along that river there was a waterfall and, despite being quite a long distance from us, we could faintly hear it from where we were.
That detail stayed with me.
There was a sense of silence and vastness that made it possible to hear sounds coming from places quite far away.
We were sitting there peacefully, preparing food and looking at the landscape.
Then, suddenly, one of my friends said:
“Look, look!”
I raised my head.
And there it was.
I saw a yellow light.
It appeared to be floating and moving slightly below our horizon line.
What first allowed me to visually gauge its position were the mountains behind it. We were not looking at something isolated in the middle of a completely empty sky; the terrain provided a backdrop, and we could see that light apparently moving below the horizon line.
Since El Enladrillado is located at an altitude of approximately 2,200 meters, my impression at the time was that the light might have been at around 2,000 or 2,100 meters.
I want to be precise about this: it was entirely a visual estimate.
We had no instruments with which to measure its altitude.
The same was true of the distance.
I estimated that it might have been approximately three or four kilometers away from us, but again, that was simply an estimate made by eye, using the landscape in front of us as a reference.
All three of us began watching it.
And we fell silent.
That is something I remember very clearly.
None of us immediately said:
“It’s an airplane.”
“It’s a helicopter.”
“It’s a reflection.”
No.
We simply stared at it.
Speechless.
I think part of our reaction was precisely because, during those first few seconds, none of us could find an obvious explanation for what we were seeing.
The light continued to move.
It was yellow and, from where we were standing, it appeared round.
I do not remember seeing any structure around it. We saw no wings, fuselage, or recognizable silhouette. What our eyes perceived was simply a yellow light moving against the backdrop of the mountains.
The entire event lasted approximately twenty seconds.
That may seem like very little time, but when you are looking at something you cannot identify, twenty seconds is enough time to observe, think, and begin asking yourself questions.
As I watched it, I thought again about something that had caught my attention just minutes earlier: the acoustics of the place.
We could faintly hear a waterfall that was quite far away.
So I wondered: if what we were seeing was some kind of vehicle or craft that produced a significant amount of noise, shouldn't we have heard something?
But we heard nothing that we could associate with that light.
No engine.
No humming or buzzing that we could identify.
Nothing that drew our attention apart from what we were seeing.
That silence was one of the things that impressed me most.
Another aspect that particularly caught my attention was the apparent size of the light. From where we were, it seemed considerably large and remarkably intense. Even today, I find it difficult to understand what kind of source could have produced such luminosity from the distance at which we estimated it to be.
Naturally, we began looking for explanations.
I am an engineer, and my first reaction when confronted with something strange is not necessarily to assume an extraordinary explanation. I try to consider alternatives and ask myself what known phenomenon might produce what I am observing.
So I began considering possibilities.
One of my first thoughts was that it might be a light similar to a car headlight, like a high beam.
But its apparent position did not make sense to me.
The light did not seem to be moving along any road or path that we could distinguish. From our perspective, it was moving in a position that we could not associate with the normal movement of a ground vehicle.
And there was still the issue of the sound.
We could not hear an engine or anything similar.
Then I considered another possibility.
Could it simply have been a reflection of the Sun?
Yes.
That was a possibility.
The Sun was setting to our left and behind us. Therefore, it made sense to wonder whether some distant object might have been reflecting sunlight directly toward our position.
I thought about that as we continued watching it.
However, there was something that made me uncertain.
The intensity of the light appeared to remain fairly constant.
I do not remember it clearly becoming brighter and dimmer as it moved. Nor do I remember any intermittent flashes. During those seconds, we perceived it as having a fairly steady brightness.
If it was a reflection produced by a moving object, I wondered why the intensity did not change more noticeably as the angle between the Sun, the object, and our position changed.
But I could not rule it out either.
I simply could not make that explanation fully fit what I was seeing.
The light continued on its path.
From our perspective, it was traveling approximately from south to north.
We continued watching it until we finally lost sight of it.
From the moment my friend alerted us until the moment we could no longer see it, approximately twenty seconds must have passed.
That was all.
Twenty seconds.
Afterward, we inevitably began wondering what it might have been.
It is also important to put this into the context of the year in which it happened.
It was December 2008.
Consumer drones were not part of everyday life as they are today. At that time, at least for us, it was not natural to see a light moving through the sky and immediately think of a small drone equipped with lights.
The area also seemed quite isolated to us.
During our time there, we had not observed any air traffic that would have immediately made us think of a conventional aircraft.
I kept trying to find an explanation that made sense.
And I remember that, somewhat ironically, I ended up imagining something rather absurd.
I thought:
“For this to be something conventional, there would have to be, I don't know, someone on a paraglider with a fifty-centimeter-diameter spotlight aimed directly at us for twenty seconds.”
It was simply a way of expressing how difficult I found it to reconcile what I was seeing with anything I could recognize.
But we saw no paraglider.
We could not make out a person.
We saw no wings.
We observed no structure around it.
We saw nothing we could recognize as an aircraft.
All we saw was that round, yellow light.
After the sighting, we took a photograph.
That image shows something else I remember clearly: the weather began changing quite rapidly.
A bank of clouds began moving in from the west.
The landscape, which had been clear shortly before, began to change.
For us, this detail was important because the sighting had occurred before those clouds moved in. From our perspective, moreover, what we had observed was above the apparent level that the cloud bank would later occupy.
Everything had happened very quickly.
Just minutes earlier, we had simply been sitting there looking out over Valle del Venado and preparing something to eat. Our cameras were packed away, and the entire day had passed without anything unusual happening.
There were three of us: two engineers and an architect. All three of us saw the same thing, from the same location, during the same period of time.
Over the years, I have mentally returned to those few seconds many times. I have considered a reflection, some type of aircraft, a conventional light source, and even the possibility that we had incorrectly interpreted its distance or position.
I am also aware that the estimates I made were based solely on visual observation. We had no measuring instruments, so I cannot claim that it was exactly three or four kilometers away from us, nor that it was at an altitude of 2,000 or 2,100 meters.
What I can tell you is what I remember seeing.
A yellow, apparently round light moving in front of the mountains in an approximately south-to-north direction. We perceived no sound that we could associate with it, and its intensity appeared to remain fairly constant for as long as it was visible to us.
I cannot say with certainty what it was.
We went to El Enladrillado simply to go trekking. We were not conducting an investigation, and my companions did not even share my interest in the UFO phenomenon. Nothing led us to believe that afternoon would turn into an experience we would still be remembering so many years later.
To this day, none of the three of us has found an explanation that completely satisfies us.
And after all this time, I still ask myself the same question:
What was it that we saw over Valle del Venado?
Copyright: This testimony is protected by copyright and forms
part of the research material of writer and investigator Iv谩n Vega
Recabal. Its complete publication will be included in his upcoming book.
Any total or partial reproduction is prohibited without written authorization.
©
All rights reserved.
.png)
.jpg)
.png)
.jpg)
.png)
