Good evening. This happened in March of 1991. I was working for the Forest Service back then, stationed out of the Galice office. We covered a big chunk of the Siskiyou, mostly maintenance and fire watch, but sometimes we'd get called out for other things. Downed aircraft, lost hikers, that kind of deal. It was a Tuesday night, around ten thirty, and I was just getting ready to turn in when the call came through. Dispatch said they'd gotten reports of something coming down in the forest, witnesses described it as a fireball, maybe a small plane crash. Coordinates put it about eight miles northeast of the station, up in a pretty remote area. Dense timber, no roads within two miles. I grabbed my gear and headed out. The night was clear, cold, probably mid-30s. No moon, just stars. My radio had been acting up all week, completely dead, so I was on my own once I hit the trail. Took the service road as far as I could, then went on foot. The coordinates were good, and I knew that area pretty well.
The hike in took me about twenty minutes. You could still smell it in the air before you could see anything, this burnt metal smell, like when you're welding but sharper. More chemical. It cut right through the pine scent. I came over a rise and there it was, sitting in a small clearing. And I'm going to tell you right now, it wasn't any plane. It was maybe thirty feet across, disk-shaped, with this dull metallic surface that didn't reflect my flashlight the way metal should. The thing seemed to absorb the light. There was no debris field, no impact crater, nothing broken off. It was just sitting there, perfectly intact, with these panels or seams running along the edge that glowed with this faint orange light. The whole clearing was warm. I could feel the heat coming off it from fifteen feet away. Steam was rising from the ground where it touched down. I spent maybe twenty-five, thirty minutes just documenting what I was seeing. Taking measurements with my range finder, making notes. The whole time, this low humming sound, right at the edge of hearing. You felt it more than heard it.
I knew I needed to report this. I mean, this was way beyond anything I was equipped to handle. So I started back toward the service road. I'd been walking maybe fifteen minutes when I heard voices ahead of me on the trail. That stopped me cold. It was past midnight by then. Nobody should have been out there. And these weren't casual hikers, I could hear radio chatter, professional tones. Multiple people moving through the brush with purpose. I killed my light and moved off the trail, got myself behind a big Douglas fir, and waited. And that's when I saw them come through. Three people in dark gear, professional. But it was the person in front that made my blood stop. Because it was me. I was looking at myself, wearing the same jacket, same gear, same everything. Moving the same way I move. And I could hear... I could hear myself talking on the radio. Calling in coordinates. Describing what I was heading toward. yourself must be terrifying - Miles'
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