One crisp night in early June 1973, I found myself gazing north-eastward over the quiet skies of North Bay, Ontario, when a peculiar sight caught my eye. It was about 10 PM when a glowing cylindrical form appeared, cutting a path silently across the dark expanse. This was no ordinary light; it was an elongated shape, glowing a dull cherry-red that reminded me of the gentle heat of a stove element just beginning to warm.
The object drifted steadily for two to three minutes, moving at a speed comparable to a jetliner cruising high above, yet eerily silent and calm. Its size was striking—imagine something one and a half times the length of a commercial jetliner, yet maintaining a uniform glow without other lights or projections. No sound accompanied its journey, making the experience all the more haunting.
Watching this glowing red cylinder slice through the night, I was struck by its mysterious calm and unchanging path. With no flickering or variation, it seemed almost otherworldly, as if a silent sentinel moving steadily along a predestined course. The exact altitude remained elusive, shrouded by darkness, but the presence itself was unmistakable.
This unforgettable encounter left an indelible impression. The eerie glow, the ghostly silence, and the steady northeast-bound flight sparked my curiosity and awe. Such phenomena remain a poignant reminder of the unknown lurking just beyond our familiar skies.