One late August afternoon in 2003, while wandering toward Ottawa’s vibrant Byward Market with a friend, I caught sight of something extraordinary in the sky. It was around 4:30 p.m., and as we descended the steps between the Connaught Building and the U.S. Embassy, a shape hover-caught my attention. At first glance, it resembled a hot air balloon, its deep red hue blending against the summer sky and familiar enough in these parts. But within seconds, my rational interpretation shifted dramatically.
The object didn’t drift lazily like a balloon should; it transformed. The form twisted and flipped, revealing itself as a disk—an unmistakable saucer spinning leisurely across the skyline. About 15 to 20 meters wide and 4 to 5 meters high, it hovered roughly 20 to 25 meters above the ground, near a four-story building, moving slowly eastward down George Street.
This wasn’t just a trick of light or weather. The object’s deliberate shape-shifting defied any conventional explanation, contrasting sharply against the bustling city backdrop. My friend saw it too as we turned onto Williams Street, though it’d moved about a kilometer away and wasn’t easy to identify from that distance.
Curiously, I initially imagined the craft might be part of some elaborate stunt—a radio station prank staged with the nearby Hard Rock Cafe’s rooftop terrace. But its otherworldly behavior soon dispelled that notion. It was no balloon, and no earthly machine I’ve ever encountered.
This spectral saucer drifting slowly across Canada’s capital remains etched in my memory—not just for what it was, but for how it warped my sense of reality under the fading summer light. Such moments compel us to question the skies, to wonder what secrets float just beyond our grasp.