by Ted Denmark
Boulder, CO, January 16, 2015
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It was just before noon on our way to Boulder when we pulled off Highway 285 for a bit of refreshment with a hot drink, after a quite lovely morning’s drive, having witnessed the white-on-white ice-coated trees sweep by before the backdrop of snowy-white mountain-scapes. This stop was a memorable favorite when we had driven the same route in the opposite direction four years before, and I had gotten one of the best cappuccinos within mature memory. In the meantime our street-side coffee house had been craftily renamed to the “Brown Dog” (from “Bongo Billys”) with an amusing coffee-colored hound over the door … and on nearly everything else within sight. I sipped my half-caf/ half-decaf brew when it came up, and it did not disappoint. Julie had a vanilla chai in hand which she signaled was also worthy of our time for which to have carefully stepped across the ice in the parking lot. We were having a really good morning and would soon again be rolling along the two-lane blacktop.
As Mount Princeton sprawled widely and majestically past in its expansive snow coat out the passenger-side window, Julie remarked, “It’s a fourteener …” I re-gained moderate speed and began to prepare for a left turn on the highway, which would take us into the downhill glide leading out of this extraordinary big-mountain terrain. Then, after surveying the stretch of highway in front of me, I was suddenly surprised to catch a sharp metallic glint coming from the blue sky above the little wintry-landscaped town of Buena Vista, just up towards the top of the windshield and slightly to my right. I quickly sat up and re-arranged my mental composure, thinking, “Wow… what was that!?” I stared intently at the spot where it had come from as I wondered, “Would any kind of airplane be flying that low … up in this remote mountain territory?”
It was only a matter of a few seconds before it happened again: a bright metallic flash from the same spot of blue sky, again lasting only a second … or less. I stared even more intently at the returning spot of blue sky to see what was there … like a bright shiny … but before I could reason out a further suspicion, it happened again, this time a little longer, and I said to Julie, “Look up to our right there … something is reflecting in the sunlight.” At first I imagined an airliner of the kind that is often seen jetting across the sky from Denver to all points on the compass, but quickly rejected the idea. By now Julie had also begun to note and track whatever it was. I continued, “Did you see it?” “Yes,” she said, her gaze captured by the same flashing reflection, as I glanced over to see her serious demeanor.
It kept flashing every few seconds as our level of amazement continued to grow, shortly beginning to look smaller and thinner to me as I attempted to imagine something that might appear—without success—but kept watch to see what might happen next. We were also coming up to the left turn on the highway, requiring me to turn my attention back to the road as I went into the turn, after which, I realized sadly, this location in the sky would be hidden to me. I suggested to Julie that she continue to watch carefully from her side window, clearly an unnecessary directive. I then lost sight of the mysterious flashes but knew Julie would continue the high-focus vigil we had gotten ourselves into. She started a verbal report with the observation that the intermittent flashes were still happening—for how long it was now hard to tell since there had been such an intense focus on our part—but the highway distance traversed would have been no more than a few hundred yards. I soon pulled over to the side of the road for a moment’s more careful recapitulation of the recent dramatic sighting events.
Finally, after a short time and after what had evidently been the last flash she had seen, Julie said, “It just stopped … and there’s NOTHING in the sky.” “Nothing …” I thought … I had not seen anything either in spite of my expectation that something … even something metallic, had to be there to be reflecting sunlight over the period of a few minutes when at least a half dozen … or more … bright flashes had occurred in an otherwise completely clear blue sky. We undoubtedly knew we had both seen them as clearly as the power lines dangling in the wind some short distance, maybe fifty feet, below the very spot …
We now peered at each other with amazed but more knowing looks; we would never have evidence to show for what we had just witnessed—except between ourselves—but what we had just seen would have to be classified as a … “UFO” … or as I quickly noted, an IFO—a flying object that we identified—like the old military gag of calling a UFO “identified” simply because we saw it. Of course Julie knew exactly what I meant since this could only have been a response by some one or other among our dear ET family and friends, to our playful suggestion in our recent Trance Session 59, conducted just a few days before, in which we noted that we would soon be traveling through the mountains and would be very pleased if we could get to see one of their spacecraft as a little present for Julie’s birthday, only three days before.
We knew, and had no doubt, this was what had just actually just happened, and in such an amusing way, as Julie made the connection between this sighting on the road to and from the little mountain berg of Buena Vista, the “beautiful view,” that we were able to take in as they carefully adjusted the tilt of their polished metallic spacecraft to reflect sunlight at just the right angle into our approaching field of view, as they do not allow their space ships to be seen by the general public, and go to great lengths to avoid it. But it really was amazing, as we both reflected back on our just-completed experience of seeing a spacecraft, quickly and repeatedly, turn its invisibility shielding off and on, so that it appeared to momentarily flash—only to us (!)—as we drove along the highway. It was a very clever trick that our ETs must have surely found amusing, which we shared as we drove along with our own smiling “Brown Dog” espresso drink cups, now heading out east, knowing that this was one of the clearest and most impressive spacecraft sightings we had ever witnessed—and while we were together this time (!).
We returned to this striking situation several times as we rolled through the rocky hillsides with additional recollections and assessments over the course of the early afternoon while en-route along various highways until we finally rolled up to Whole Foods in Boulder for a late lunch snack, now able to sit on stable ground to recount our amazing experience. Several days later we again sat down before retiring, and Julie noted she had actually seen what appeared to be a curved surface that could have been part of a cylindrical shape, seeming to be about six or seven inches wide if the object were at arm’s length. She would naturally have had the better look of the two of us since she was not distracted by having to drive. We agreed that neither of us saw anything visible otherwise in between the flashes, nor anything in the sky after the flashes had stopped while we sat for a short time in the car on the side of the road. We also agreed that, had there been any sort of small airplane or anything like an “ultralight,” she would, without doubt, have seen it, while continuously scanning the sky from our stopped position.
There really wasn’t enough in the way of visual cues to accurately estimate how far away the flashes were from us, but after attempting to re-imagine the scene on several occasions, I would say they seem to have been about fifty yards away and perhaps a little less of a distance above the ground. In any event, the re-imagining process has not required any effort since the highly-imprinted metallic flash images recur spontaneously, virtually on a daily basis … as happens with events one will never forget.
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