On a Monday morning after two weeks of softball, books, and videos, plus an ever-deepening relationship with Heather, I loaded my fishing gear, sleeping bag, fishing clothes, and a cooler with beer into the back of Peter Lockwood’s Ford F150. Then, pulling Peter’s popup trailer, we drove away from my home and headed for two days of camping and fishing in the Colorado mountains.
We picked up US 285 going west out of Denver. First, we followed the winding road through Turkey Creek canyon. We passed through the town of Bailey without stopping. The highway took us over Kenosha Pass where we crossed the Colorado Trail.
I had hiked that trail for several days a few years back. In addition to the incredible scenery of the high mountains of Colorado, I had become familiar with the rear end of the llama that carried the camping equipment and food for our party. I lugged a sixty-pound pack for the trek.
At Johnson Corner, Peter and I turned south, staying with US 285, along the Arkansas River. We had fished along here before, but our destination today was further west. When we reached Poncha Springs we turned west on US 50. If we had continued south on US 285, we would have arrived at the Baca Grande. The experiences of my week were still fresh in my mind.
At Poncha Springs we stopped at the little café I remembered and ordered two Pad Thai. The food was excellent, as good as I remembered.
On US 50 we climbed over Monarch Pass, the Continental Divide, and soon arrived at the town of Gunnison. Skirting around Blue Mesa Reservoir, we arrived at our campground near Cimarron, a wide spot on the road west to Montrose. There we ditched the popup trailer in a designated camping site, and headed to the Gunnison River.
We spent the rest of that day along the banks of the Gunnison, without much luck. They had released a large amount of water from the upstream reservoir and the fish had not settled down to their usual habitats. Calling it a day, we headed for camp.
We raised the popup and got our things organized before breaking out the first beer. I had brought along Coors, not because it was the best of beers, but because it was our tradition.
That night we sat around the fire and told stories of earlier trips. I told Peter about my lost day and my long sleep. He told me about the problems of running a chiropractic business. I told him about my exit from Alliance and how I was now working on a book. He asked about Heather. I told him that I was in love, but that we were remaining on a friendship level. “Good luck with that,” he said. He talked a little about his long-time girlfriend, Lois Liggett, and how they were going to be married in a few months.
“Congratulations,” I said, “I like her. Seems like a really nice person.”
“She’s special, has a spiritual outlook on everything,” he replied. “Is Heather spiritual?”
“I’m beginning to see that side of her. She’s very committed to seeing things from a higher perspective. I’ve got a lot to learn.
“We’ve been focusing on extraterrestrials and the cabal – the stuff we heard from Steve Greer. Found some really interesting things along that line.” I went on to relay a little about what our investigation had turned up about Roswell and Colonel Corso. “I’ll lend you the book when we get home.”
“What about your experience with the ET in Colorado Springs?” he asked.
“Still looking for answers,” I said. I mentioned my conversation with Al Simpson.
“No one seems to have had anything like my experience. Or if they have, they’re not talking about it. This secrecy things makes it real hard to get answers.”
We drank a few beers and ate hamburgers. About 9:00 we turned in, preparing for a big day tomorrow.
The following day we fished the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River and a smaller stream that flowed into the town, then had lunch in Lake City. We found everywhere loaded with other fishermen.
In the afternoon, I was sitting on the bank of the Lake Fork, about ready to call it a day. I looked to the north, down the valley of the river where it widened out to flow into Blue Mountain Reservoir.
Suddenly and quietly a black helicopter came over the ridge to the west. I watched as it ejected a drone from its side. The helicopter continued east, while the drone came south toward me. When it was a few hundred feet over me, I looked up to see a camera on its underside. Instinctively I lowered my gaze and slipped my fishing hat low over my face. Regardless, I was sure it had taken a picture of me. Climbing, the drone continued south, up the valley.
I asked Peter if he had seen the drone.
“Yes, it was strange to see it way out here. About that time, I had a nice strike, but then lost it.”
The next day, from our camp site, we climbed steadily as we drove on a twisting gravel road. It followed the Cimarron river south. It took us about an hour and several miles, as we passed high-altitude ranches with Herefords and Black Angus on either side of the road. We finally arrived at the pull-out that I had remembered from earlier trips. A gate blocked us from further access.
After a half-mile hike down a steep dirt road, we emerged at the top of the dam for Silver Jack Reservoir. In years past, Peter and I had experienced great fishing in the spillway below the dam. Not many fishermen were willing to make the long hike down to it or, more importantly, the long hike back up to the parking area.
I wore a fishing vest over a long sleeve shirt. The latter to help ward off mosquitos. I had on my chest waders and my lucky fishing hat. Attached to my belt was my trusty net on the left, a collapsible pole to help with wading the stream on my right. In my left hand I carried my nine-foot fly fishing pole.
Remembering what worked last year, I tied a tiny dry fly to the tip of my leader. Twenty-four inches below, I tied a much larger dropper.
The air was crisp. The water, coming from deep in the reservoir, was cold and clear. We moved around the banks of the stream, keeping our shadow off the water and being cautious not to make noise. Navigating among willows, we waded into the stream, keeping a little space between us. Peter headed for the opposite bank. The water was so clear I could see every rock on the bottom. Careful with my steps among the slippery rocks on the bottom, I headed for shady water a little way upstream.
On my first cast into the hole, I snagged a beautiful trout. After playing it to exhaustion, I scooped it out with my net. I thanked the fish and killed it quickly. I could tell right then that it was going to be a memorable day.
Not long after, Peter got his first fish next to the bank on the other side of the river. We continued to wade toward the spillway, casting our flies along the sides of the river.
At the end of the day, we hiked back up with six beautiful trout each, below our limit, but enough to provide a feast when we got home. Last year I would have used the catch and release technique to catch many more fish and return them to the stream. But I now felt this practice caused trauma to the fish. I had decided to no longer practice it. Hearing my argument, Peter had gone along with me. We kept what we caught. We ate what we kept.
Late afternoon, when we reached Cimarron and my iPhone showed two bars, I called Heather.
“Did you catch some?” was her immediate query.
“Got my limit,” I replied. “We’ll head back in the morning. Can you come to dinner tomorrow? Fish with other good stuff. Peter and his girlfriend, Lois, are coming.”
“Five-thirty. I’ve got a surprise to show everyone.”
“I’ll be there. What can I bring?”
“Just yourself. Look forward to seeing you.”
Peter and I slept late the following morning. We did not leave the campground until close to 10:00. We arrived back at my house at about 2:00 and unloaded, then I headed for a shower.
By the time Peter and Lois arrived, I had fixed a large salad and cooked Spanish rice. They brought garlic bread, beer, and cheesecake.
I warmed up the frying pan with bacon grease and rolled the trout in corn grits, just the way my mother had done.
I turned around in the kitchen and there was Heather. She had not knocked, just let herself in the front door.
We reached for one another and gave a big hug. “Missed you,” she said.
“I missed you too,” I said. “Guess I’ll have to take you fishing next time.”
“Careful, I might out-fish you.”
At that moment, Peter and Lois stepped through the sliding glass doors from the back yard.
Heather turned and immediately said to Lois, “I know you. Attachson Middle School, ten years ago.”
Lois rushed to her and gave her a big hug. “Small world,” she said.
“Hi Peter,” Heather said, “I wasn’t too sure about you, but now I know you must be okay. Lois is very discriminating.”
Lois laughed, “Look who’s talking. I met Michael a year ago, but then he was just another business guy, suit and all.”
“All right you two,” I said. “I’ll start the fish.”
Before long the aroma of trout in bacon grease filled the house. The two women had gone to the living room to talk. Peter found a beer in the fridge and stood by as the four trout turned golden brown.
I had laid everything out on the kitchen counter. There were glasses for the Silverado Chardonnay that I had been chilling in the ice bucket.
“It’s time to eat,” I called out.
We served ourselves and then gathered at the round table.
After we had eaten, but before we had dessert, I said, “I have a special treat.” I turned around and brought forth a large book. Without showing them the front cover, I said, “I found this very rare book on an antique book site. Somebody had told me about it, don’t remember who, and I went looking. It’s a nineteen seventy-nine printing.” I showed them the certificate of authenticity. Then I showed them the front cover, UFO…Contact From The Pleiades.
Scooting around so everyone could see, I opened the book. On the first page, was a picture of a UFO, slightly behind a tree. The following was a quote from that page:
We too, are still far removed from perfection and have to evolve constantly, just like yourselves. We are neither superior nor super-human, nor are we missionaries… we feel duty bound to the citizens of earth, because our forebearers were their forebearers…
The Pleiadian cosmonaut, SEMJASE
February 8, 1975
I passed the book to Lois who sat between Heather and Peter. She carefully turned its pages, as the three of them were delighted with its contents. On one page the text stated that on Tuesday, January 28th, 1975, at 2:12 P.M. in the Swiss countryside of Hinwel, Billy Meier had heard an unusual sound. Then he saw a strange silver disc-shaped craft circling slowly above. He snapped several photographs. It landed in a clearing 100 meters away. He tried to approach, but was stopped by an invisible wall. A cosmonaut emerged from the craft and walked directly toward him. This was the first of his many encounters with beings from the Pleiades.
Heather, Lois and Peter continued to turn pages on which pictures of UFOs against the background of rural Switzerland were printed in full color.
“Keep in mind that there were no digital cameras when these photos were taken in nineteen seventy-five,” I said. “These were all taken by Billy with a thirty-five-millimeter camera. Plus, he was a one-armed man riding around on a motorcycle.
“I’ve been through this book several time, but still find its photos amazing and the words resonate with me, even though they contradict some of what we know from Steven Greer.
“I want to ask you about this quotation.” I pointed to it:
Although terrestrial man may have taken his first step into space, this is still a question of primitive attempts even though he has been able to fly to your moon with missiles. He has still to reach space – because to achieve this end he needs a force (propulsion) that is able to produce a ‘hyperspace’ velocity, so that the tremendous distances are reduced to something navigable. Then space and time are overcome by non-space and non-time –that is space and time are reduced almost to annihilation.
“What I want to know is how this squares away with what we know from Steve Greer and Colonel Corso. Anyone?”
“It’s not consistent with what we’ve received from others,” Peter said.
“I think it was tailored to the people of that time,” said Heather. “We know so much more today.”
“Gives me pause to think about what we are stumbling on. Where does the truth lie?” I asked, then suggested that we continue with the book.
“I like the pictures,” Lois said, “regardless of the words.”
Heather said, “Could it be that much was lost in the communications from the Pleiadians to German, and then again as it was translated it into English?”
I pointed out another quote:
On many occasions space travelers have visited your Earth from other stars (108 different civilizations at last count) sometimes from very distant systems, like ourselves. On occasion accidental contacts which are unique may take place with Earth people.
Again, this solicited comments from each of us, because it varied from what we had understood previously. After a while, we concluded that we should just marvel at the rest of the book with its pictures and then discuss it as a whole.
Having agreed to this, Lois pointed out one message from the Pleiadians that she thought was particularly important:
Man should know that the God (force) is quite simply that of creation, and that man also, either coming from the higher spiritual spheres or being elevated to those spheres after numerous terrestrial lives, is subject to creation and respectively complimentary to it… However, one can never identify God separately from the creation because God itself is a part of it…
The remainder of the book dealt with verifying the pictures as being produced by unaltered film. Billy Meier’s neighbors were involved in some of the contact incidents and gave witness to their truth. There were also drawings of various type crafts.
At the very end of the book were pictures and claims by the Pleiadians about their involvement with the great pyramids of Egypt and Mexico, their influence in ancient Greece, and their involvement with Machu Pichu, Peru and the Nazca Plains in Peru.
We sat for over an hour looking at the amazing pictures in the book. Lois was the most astonished because she had not been with us in the field, although she had seen the Disclosure video. We took a break and the others each had an opinion or two about the book.
“Overall, I find it fascinating,” Peter said. “The pictures are wonderful. Sure, there’re some inconsistencies with what we’ve heard from Greer, and Corso, but who’s to say who is more correct. After all, the words are being communicated to humans with unique backgrounds. There’s bound to be some differences. It’s a real find, Michael, thanks for sharing it.”
Heather said, “I’m going to study it more closely, and find some cross references. I’m sure there are more up to date sources. After all, so much more has come out since 1975.”
Lois’ comment was that she liked the reference to God. It was not too different from what she had concluded after several years of investigations. Heather agreed saying that she too liked the Pleiadians’ references to God.
I told them I had asked those who were communicating with me about the book. They had said that it was quite good and appropriate for the time when it was put together. Now they directed me to find more recent communications.
At 8:00, Peter and Lois decided it was time to depart.
After they had gone, Heather said, “I’m going to stay the night, hope that’s okay.”
“Great,” I replied and kissed her lightly. “You know where the guest bedroom is. I need to clean up a thing or two, then I’ll be ready for bed myself.”
“You want help?”
“No, I’m good.”
She grabbed her bag and walked upstairs.
“What was likely to happen? Was this too soon after the death of my wife?” I asked myself. “What about my commitment not to get involved? Heather was indeed very special. I knew we both felt a connection.”
When I arrived in my bedroom, I slipped all my clothes off to my shorts and climbed into bed.
Then I climbed back out, “What the hell, nothing ventured,” I said to myself.
I opened my door to the hallway. At the same moment, Heather’s door also opened. She was dressed in a skimpy night shirt.
We stared at each other for a moment, then hugged in the middle of the hallway.
“It’s time,” she whispered.
Before I could say anything, she placed a finger on my lips. Then she covered my mouth with hers. Her taste was better than I had imagined.
I took a step back toward my open door, pulling her gently with me.
In the room, I lifted her night shirt over her head.
Then I caressed the beautiful body that I had dreamed about so often, as she touched mine.
With her help I wiggled my shorts down to my feet.
We found our way to the bed.
Time had no meaning thereafter. I knew that we would be together for a long time, and knew that we loved each other.
Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. We had made love to each other slowly and very gently.
We had each whispered that we loved each other. I felt pleasure along with gratitude for what was happening. Nothing would ever be the same for me.
When I awakened, she was still next to me. I studied her face and tousled hair. She was like an angel as she lay there, breathing softly. I reached out and kissed her gently.
She opened her eyes. “I felt you eyeing me”
“So, what happens now?” I asked.
“Now, we learn how to be with each other both as friends and as lovers. You notice I said friends first.”
“I got it. You would have been a great challenge to my old self. However, I believe my new self will do quite well with being your friend.”
A little later we had migrated to the kitchen. I was in a pair of pajama bottoms. Heather wore a dress shirt of mine, buttoned so that it covered her to her thighs.
“Here’s to us, as friends,” I raised my mug of tea. “However, if you dress like that very often, I’ll have a hard time remembering.”
“Just another challenge for you,” she smiled.
“I didn’t use any protection last night,” I said. “Did you?” I stepped to her side and encircled her with my arms.
“I started taking birth control pills a week ago. Plus, as I told you, I did not get pregnant in my two former marriages.”
“It’s been a long time for me too,” I said. “However, I think we owe it to ourselves to get tested for HIV and whatever else.”
“I agree about the tests,” she said. “What about protection?”
“I’ll use a condom until we’re both sure where this relationship is going,” I replied. “I’m comfortable making love to you in this way, and being in love with you.”
“I’m sure that I want a relationship with you.”
We hugged each other, as the impact of what we were discussing washed over us. “I love you, Michael. I love you enough to have a child with you, when the time is right.”
Her words, so genuine, innocent, and beautiful, hit me very deeply. I was overcome with gratitude and love for the woman at my side. “Me too,” I whispered as I held her close. Now that her body was dedicated in this way, it had become sacred.