EDITOR’S NOTE: Do you also have a tale to tell? Whether you’ve experienced a haunting, a mysterious cryptid sighting, or a brush with the inexplicable, please share it with Canadian author Dorah L. Williams at dorahlwilliams@gmail.com
Your story, too, could be featured in an upcoming column of Mystical Manitoulin!
Join me as we delve into the following shared stories. From a puzzling sighting of an unidentified flying object hovering over Manitoulin Island in the 1980s to a haunting tale of a different kind of sighting in remote Quebec and a curious resemblance spanning generations, these narratives are truly mystifying:
Unidentified Flying Object
“Quite a number of decades ago, some of my university friends and I stayed at a relative’s cabin on Manitoulin Island, which was loaned to us after our final exams.
While exploring the Island, we came to a small harbour. A low-flying (military-like) plane suddenly appeared, zoomed directly over us, and repeatedly circled the harbour.
If it was a standard search and rescue mission, we were unaware of any associated event requiring that, and no related news was made available during the rest of our holiday. So, we assumed it likely wasn’t an emergency situation.
I have always been an avid amateur photographer. I took several shots of the plane as it flew above us and circled the Bay. Shortly after the plane’s appearance, our attention went to a Coast Guard boat that sped into the harbour. I don’t remember seeing the plane fly away, but I didn’t notice it again after the boat arrived.
Many years later, I was sorting through the contents of a storage locker, preparing to move to a new city. I discovered a used roll of film still inside one of my many old cameras that had been packed away for ages.
I was curious to see what images were on that roll of film and if it could still be developed after all that time. Fortunately, it could.
The developed photos were from that long-ago Manitoulin Island holiday. I enjoyed looking at the images of us as young friends with lots of hair still, sharing a fun summertime trip.
But when I got to the pictures of the large plane that had flown over our heads at that harbour, I studied the photos carefully. I finally realized something else was in the sky that day, too—something none of us had noticed at the time.
A smaller bright blue oblong shaped object hovered near the plane. The “UFO” wasn’t in the same spot on every photo (as a flaw in the lens or film could create). It seemed to be flanking the plane, but in different areas of the sky, in the various shots.
No way to know if the pilot was aware of it or not. But, that might have explained why it kept circling the bay the way it did that day, as though searching for something.
It’s like a chicken and egg scenario. Was the plane tracking a “UFO?” or was the “UFO” monitoring that aircraft? Either scenario is intriguing.”
Uncle came for help
“On the north shore of the St. Lawrence River, known as Quebec North Shore, about five thousand English-speaking people lived in twelve scattered fishing villages along the coast. The area was settled in the 1860s by people from Newfoundland.
It was not until the 1970s that they got electricity. The only contact with the outside world was by boat. Two to three times a year, a schooner would bring in supplies. Outside of that, they were isolated from the world and each other for so long that they each had a distinctive history and differed from each other in many ways, including a variation of speech, boat-building practices and other local traditions.
My Uncle Leonard from Mutton Bay told me this story.
Uncle Leonard’s Mother and her sister lived across the Bay from each other. It was about one and a half miles across at the widest. When his aunt took sick, Uncle Jack, his Aunt’s husband, came and got his mother by dog team to come and nurse her sister.
Well, after a few days, his Father commenced to fret and wanted Leonard to go and see how things were. It was a fine day with just a bit of snow on the ice. He didn’t want to bother with the dogs, so he set out on foot.
About the middle of the bay, he was surprised to see his Uncle Jack heading towards his house. He was quite a bit further up the Bay from him. He hollered, but Uncle Jack did not seem to hear him. So he turned and headed back home.
The first thing his Father said was, “What are you doing back home?”
Leonard asked, “Where is Uncle Jack? I saw him heading this way.”
His Dad said, “What are you talking about? Jack isn’t here”.
“Well, I saw him,” he replied.
“Show me his tracks,” his Dad said.
To make it short there were no tracks but Uncle Leonard’s own.
“Harness up the dogs,” his Dad said. “Something funny is going on.”
As they approached his Aunt’s house, his Mother came running out.
“Jack collapsed, and we can’t get him breathing! He’s dead for sure.”
We hurried in, and he was surely dead.”
Reincarnation?
“When my children were little, I began researching our family’s roots. Before the internet, this was much slower. One day, I tracked down a distant relative in England who was really helpful in providing some family history.
I was delighted when a parcel arrived from him one day with numerous copies of Victorian-era photographs of our mutual ancestors. I browsed through the portraits and saw a few of a particular little girl. And I stared at her in disbelief.
She was the absolute spitting image of my eldest daughter. They could have been twins but were born a century apart. They even had a mole (or birthmark) in the same spot, directly under their left eye.
I marvelled at the wonders of genetics that these two girls were so similar despite being many generations apart.
My English cousin kept in touch and sent me a wonderful old family photograph he had just discovered a few years ago. The picture shows that same girl as a young woman in her early twenties, surrounded by her many siblings and parents. I enlarged and framed the photograph and hung it beside other family portraits in our living room.
As my daughter grew into adulthood, she cut and dyed her naturally curly blonde hair, so while she did look exactly like that ancestor as a young child, she no longer does so much now.
Nevertheless, I was babysitting my little granddaughter (my eldest daughter’s child) a while ago. I held her up to the newly framed picture on the wall and pointed out all of her ancestors by name. When I got to the young lady who had so closely resembled her mother as a little girl, my granddaughter almost leapt out of my arms, excitedly pointed at the image, and cried out, “Mama!” (though she’s always called her mother “Mommy”).
At first, her over-the-top excitement was amusing, and I was surprised she even noticed that particular woman, with so many people in the gathering (that she hadn’t reacted to at all).
But she was fixated on that picture and kept calling “Mama!” as she stared at it. It gave me a strange feeling. I tried showing her the image of her actual mother (in her graduation portrait on the wall directly beside that old family picture), but she wouldn’t take her eyes off that young woman in the antique photograph.
Later, I felt compelled to contact the cousin who had given me copies of those old family pictures to ask about the young woman who looked so much like my daughter. I assumed it was genetics, even over many generations. Why else would they look so much alike?
However, my cousin shared some background information I had yet to learn. Apparently, that girl had been orphaned and was adopted as a baby. She was part of my ancestors’ family, but not biologically — so there was no scientific reason she and my daughter looked so much alike as children. Or why my granddaughter reacted in such an extreme way when she saw her image.
Tragically, her only child, a wee daughter, died of tuberculosis and she also soon succumbed to that same dreadful disease within a few months. No photographs of her daughter have been found, but I’ll always wonder if she looked like my granddaughter…”
Many thanks to those who shared their stories for this column of Mystical Manitoulin! These intriguing tales serve as a reminder that mystical experiences can happen to anyone, anywhere at any time.
by Dorah L. Williams
