I sat in my tent, spread eagled, with my arms and legs buttressing its sides against the incessant onslaught of hail stones and heavy winds that had flipped my tent end-over-end across my campsite just moments before.
Man, I thought, as I nervously peeped through the mesh at the accumulating pile of hail. Those energy vortex beings do not screw around.
The backstory:
It’s a strange thing, having a writer’s brain. Especially in this digital age, when so many of us can’t just be writers. We have to be photographers, content producers, social media experts. You pan the scenes of your life wondering what little nugget of weirdness or beauty just might be your next story, photographing and videoing it to death so you make sure you have all the content all the time. So when I saw the sign for the UFO watchtower in Hooper, CO, I knew I had to drop in.
The UFO Watchtower is an icon when it comes to roadside kitsch. It’s been covered in every travel blog and “Weird USA” article you can think of. A somewhat stern-looking alien points you in the direction of the small domed outpost sitting alone in the dust, and only the most single-minded folks can resist taking the turn down the gravel road to investigate.
I walked in the door to find owner Judy Messoline manning the register. I asked her about her watchtower and her most memorable sightings – she motioned me outside.
She stationed herself in a metal chair and lit up a cigarette. “I honestly started it as a bit of a joke,” she admitted. She had moved to the San Luis Valley to run a cattle ranch, a venture that ended up being unsuccessful. When the ranch failed, her fellow ranchers teased her about the prevalence of UFOs in the valley skies, egging on the idea of a watchtower.
She invested tens of thousands of dollars into her roadside venture, which quickly caught the attention of the media – she did interview after interview and expected all the publicity to turn her watchtower into the profitable investment that she hoped for. But it didn’t.
Agonizing over her potential financial ruin, she went into her front garden and pleaded with the powers above – alien or otherwise – to send her visitors, a minimum of 100 a day, to keep the lights on. The next day, people showed up in droves and they never stopped coming. Today, Judy is a believer.
Since then, over twenty psychics have visited the watchtower and all agree that two energy vortices and their protective supernatural guardians sit in the property’s front garden; these vortices apparently often appear in and around sites with high UFO activity. Judy now encourages visitors to leave something of themselves in the garden as a dedication to these entities. “If you need something, walk out into the garden with a genuine heart and ask,” she said.
It’s been a rough year for me – like it has been for so many – so I thought this might be a good chance to try and turn things around. I chose my objects: a pen and a handwritten note. I picked the perfect place in the garden, right next to an old guitar. I filmed myself placing the offering into the garden bed. The call of good content proved too good to resist. I mean, after all, I was still placing my offering with a pure heart, right? Content is how I make my living, and a story about communing with Colorado’s supernatural beings is pretty high up there in the category of cool road trip stories. What harm could it do?
After I finished my visit, I headed back to my campsite for a little afternoon R&R. My phone battery was low, so I plugged it into my car to charge and started sifting through the photos I took earlier that morning. And then the wind started, a crazy howl that streamed through the campsite so hard it practically whistled through my car doors. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my tent cartwheel across the site with a weightlessness that betrayed the fact that it was previously anchored and currently full of my things. I leapt out of the vehicle and snagged the tent moments before it made its chaotic escape to the neighboring field, but I wasn’t strong enough to contain it – it twisted in my grip like a desperate animal. Then the hail began, small, stinging pellets that burned my legs and arms and lashed at my face.
I dove headfirst into the tent in a dual effort to keep it on the ground and protect myself from any potential bruising. As I sat there, several thoughts popped into my head. So THIS is how I go. Are there normally hail storms in the desert?! At least I got to hear about aliens on my last day on earth.
And then it dawned on me. The moment that started it all. A moment when I had offended something much bigger than myself. I had dabbled in something I didn’t fully understand, and I had misstepped. I filmed my offering in a stereotypical display of journalistic self-centeredness. I had disrespected their power in the name of brand building. Turns out that these beings are emphatically anti-Instagram.
I began silent apologies, hoping to curry favor before my tent completely gave up the ghost. After what seemed like an eternity, the hail slowed and the wind quieted. I emerged from my shelter, which was now several yards from its original anchor point and a wilted version of its former self. Hail covered the ground but began melting within seconds, almost like it was never even there at all.
Some may say that I simply got caught up in a regular ol’ hailstorm and that it was just bad luck. But I know the truth: those beings were giving me a little lesson in humility. Next time I make an offering to a supernatural entity, that phone will stay in my pocket.