On a crisp, clear night in Ladysmith, British Columbia, a quiet walk turned into an encounter with something utterly unexplainable. It was March 13th, 2001, around 11:45 PM when my boyfriend and I set out, captivated by the glittering stars and the gentle moonlight. As I gazed toward the sky, a sudden flicker caught the corner of my eye—an orb, perfectly circular, about ten feet in diameter, hovered silently about 3,000 feet above us.
Bathed in an eerie glow of orange and yellow, this strange light trailed a small tail, roughly one-eighth its size, moving steadily east over the harbor. It made no noise—not a whisper, not a hum—as if the night itself swallowed any hint of sound. We followed its passage, perplexed, watching as it drifted toward the middle of the harbor, a mile away, shrinking slowly until outright vanishing into the darkness.
The disappearance was baffling. Even on such a dark night, planes and stars remain visible far beyond that distance, yet this glowing orb simply blinked out of existence. The experience lasted no more than 30 seconds, but it left a lingering question in the air, a haunting mystery veiled in silence and light. What was this radiant sphere, quietly slicing through the night sky over Ladysmith? The memory remains vivid—a spectral dance in the stars that defies explanation.