Followed

By Nebojsa Borkovich

Imagine sailing across the Pacific Ocean in a 8 meter sailboat and being followed by mysterious with the mysterious objects--UFOs--throughout the voyage.This is exactly what happened to Neb Borkovich and his sailing companion Donald Begay a full blooded Navajo Native American.'FOLLOWED' is a narrative of the encounters with the unknown,as well as their struggle to understand who might be behind this,what their motives are,what it means to witnesses personally,and to humanking in general.'FOLLOWED' puts the reader at the helm,allowing them to see what these men saw and feel what they felt.This is a bona fide,well publicized UFO case,complete with documentation and supported by thorough research of the subject.Combined with their daily sailing exploits,it makes for a great read on many levels.The book consists of two,equaly fascinating parts; #1. A description of of the actual events as they happened during their voyage from La Paz,Baja California,Mexico to Hilo,Hawaii and then to San Francisco in the Spring and Summer of 2000. #2.An analysis of the case,including video enhancements,drawings,expert opinions and correlations to other similar experiences.'FOLLOWED' brings the author and the reader alike closer to the door of the ultimate and undeniable truth behind the appearances of UFO phenomena in the skies of the planet.This book is not attempting to paint a rosy picture nor does it seek a validation of the author's views but presents you with the hard facts of a reality that is stranger than fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nebojsa Borkovich
• Release date: Aug 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393740490

Book preview

Pacific UFO Mystery

Nebojsa Borkovich

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Copyright © 2002 by Nebojsa Borkovich.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This hook was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

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Foreword

Chapter 1

Quiet Before The Storm

Chapter 2

Out of Nowhere

Chapter 3

Followed

Chapter 4

Hawaiian Interlude

Chapter 5

The Experiment Continues

Chapter 6

The Night of the Flying Horseshoes

Chapter 7

High Strangeness

Along The 40th Parallel

Chapter 8

Aftermath: Media and The Investigators

Chapter 9

Revisited: The Lukachukai Incident

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Chapter 10

The Evidence

Chapter 11

Correlations

Chapter 12

Why Us?

About the Author

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FOREWORD

by Ruth Hover, Ph.D.

Welcome to the pages of this book and the extraordinary experiences of two very extraordinary men. Neb Borkovich and Donald Begay take you on their solitary trip across the vast expanses of the Pacific Ocean, from Mexico to Hawaii and then on, to San Francisco. A brave venture, to be sure, but what makes their account extraordinary is the search for answers and willingness to pursue any and all leads that may help these men to explain their very anomalous experience. Most, when faced with the giggle factor and discounting of anomalous facts by media and general public, would pursue only those sources that would validate what they think, saw or experienced. These two neither jumped on the UFO bandwagon or sought media attention other than to report only the facts as they knew them. With a dogged perseverance, they refused to be dismissed or shot down. It is this adherence to only the facts and their willingness to reiterate only the actual events that sets this account apart from others who rapidly segue into their own beliefs and spin on the reported experience to make up the bulk of books in this genre. And by the way—just what is this genre—UFOs, paranormal experience, hallucinatory visions, science fiction, science fact, spiritual growth or all of the above?

In the pages of this book, their search will become your search and regardless of their conclusions as to what happened to them and why, you, the reader will probably be led to some of your own conclusions. But that will neither add to or detract from this recounting of their story. Their refusal to embellish or change their story in any way makes this experience a rare gem of truth emerging in an often befuddled and bizarre arena of accounts of sightings, abductions,

E.T. contact & neospiritualism. Too often, the written word becomes a personal manifesto of the author’s beliefs.

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Not so with these accounts. Even when faced with Oh, that’s just the planet Venus and other discount opinions, Neb continues to pursue the core issues: What happened here? Why me? Is there a greater meaning?

As a phenomena just surfacing into public consciousness and general knowledge, you will find their story refreshing, curious and if you can open your own mind and suspend your disbelief, you may find your thoughts and conclusions drawing you inexorably down new pathways and new ways of thinking, seeing your own reality.

These two did not assume to tell me that abduction was part of their experience, but as a researcher, my belief is that not only were these men observed in their brave struggle against the Pacific, but very likely they were contacted, abducted, or have experienced other beings. Perhaps their encounters were only sightings. Who knows? But if honesty and integrity of these two are any indicators, I think in time I will find out or understand what happened here. It is wonderful to engage with minds that adhere to the facts of the matter and are eager to explore any and all paths of investigation with open curiosity while willing to accept whatever or wherever the data seems to lead.

I think you will enjoy these pages as much as I did, so dear reader, suspend your established ways of thinking and embark upon your own voyage of discovery. And so the journey continues.

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CHAPTER 1

Quiet Before The Storm

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Buenvenidos a La Paz Puerto de Illusion, says the greeting placard atop the arched gate separating the municipal pier from the Malecon, a main traffic artery snaking its way along the harbor of La Paz. Baja California’s capitol and one of the most charming, friendliest towns anywhere, this city is home to an estimated 170,000 people. La Paz maintains a comfortable balance between the relaxed, unhurried atmosphere of a small Mexican town and a hectic, overpriced tourist mecca (such as Cabo San Lucas to the southwest). It is also a modern place, featuring most of the amenities visitors who are accustomed to immediate gratification may find adequate. The unspoiled natural beauty of the area is enchanting. If you can imagine the breathtaking scenery of Utah and Arizona placed next to the warm, azure blue waters of the Mediterranean, that is Baja. Located on the shores of the Sea of Cortes and offering protection from its stormy moods, the harbor of La Paz is a magnet for the skippers of numerous yachts seeking adventure as well as a refuge from the congested, over-regulated waters of Mexico’s northern neighbors. Many have chosen to remain permanently. Here one can feel free from the prying eyes of black- shirted environmentally correct harbor patrols and revenue hungry port commissions. As long as the Mexico’s laws are respected, everyone, regardless of the thickness of one’s pocketbook, is welcomed and treated fairly. La Paz is a natural choice for any vessel repair or resupply, and a logical starting point for the exploration of the sea’s myriad islands of crossing to mainland Mexico.

It was in late February of 2000 when I stepped off a bus after a long

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twenty seven hour drive south from Tijuana accompanied by Donald Begay, whom you will learn about shortly. Burdened with luggage, we proceeded toward the municipal pier, where I exchanged a couple of friendly Como estas amigos with the smiling security guards who immediately recognized me as the owner of a tiny plastic tub which passed for a dingy, tied up to a small dock adjoining the pier. Just five hundred feet away, swinging on her anchor, was the center of all my attention, love and admiration: Mira. She is barely twenty nine feet in length, built in 1963 by the now defunct Columbia Yachts Incorporated.

This little sloop was only the latest link in my life-long quest for high seas adventure. I acquired a love for the sea while exploring the beautiful shores and coves of the Adriatic islands aboard my father’s motorboat in my native Yugoslavia. Ever since immigrating to the United States in 1973 I nurtured a desire to own a sailing vessel of any size. My dream came true in the late 1980’s when I finally purchased my first sailboat, which took me on a solo voyage to the Hawaiian Islands in the summer of 1991. It was a fifty two day long, trying experience that came to an unceremonious end, shipwrecked upon the razor-sharp, lava rocks of the leeward side of the Big Island of Hawaii. Surviving the freak accident, losing my boat and going through a hellish period of deep personal crisis following the calamity, I returned to Phoenix, Arizona where I resided since 1981. Years would go by before I could again be able to pursue my passion for sailing. Now, almost a decade later, I found myself eying my new boat and on the verge of repeating that same adventure that cost me so much. Just three months prior, Mira departed

San Diego, crewed by Don and myself, on a forty seven day cruise south to La Paz along Baja’s rugged Pacific coast. Don is a thirty five year old pure-blooded Navajo Indian from Lukachukai located in the northeastern corner of the Navajo reservation in Arizona. He moved to Phoenix in 1996, where we met and became good friends. The stories of my adventures and actual plans to purchase yet another boat invoked a strong curiosity, which grew into a desire to join me and learn about the sea and its challenges. The opportunity presented itself, and he was eager not to let it pass him by. Although a novice to the world of boating, he quickly adapted to a life of constant motion and

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close quarters, and once under way, proved to be very able. Humble and quiet by nature, Don could also withstand considerable hardships, making him an excellent choice for a crew.

While slowly cruising south and stopping off at anchorages along the way, we conversed about a variety of subjects. Politics and horrors of recent wars in former Yugoslavia often preoccupied my thoughts and Don tried to steer me away from them by bringing forth more cheerful topics. Once we ran out of sea stories and jokes, we turned our attention skyward. We looked at the starry canopy above us and wondered about the secrets it still keeps from the human eve. My general knoweledge of astronomy was slightly above average, and I gave lenghty monologues about black holes, neutron stars and the certain end of our world once our own sun swelled into a red giant, devouring the inner planets. Don listened patiently for the most part, occasionaly inserting the Navajo story of creation as a complement to the overall understanding of our existance on this earth. This led to speculation about the possibility of intelligent life in the universe. The subject of UFOs, which I always found so fascinating, crept in as a logical extension of these musings. Unlike Don, I have read a few books about it over the years and therefore was amazed to learn that Don had an unexplained sighting in the summer of 1991. What he described sounded like a classic, lone driver UFO encounter often mentioned in the pages of flying saucer literature. As he drove on tribal highway 64 toward the town of Chinle near Canyon DeChelly at approximately 8:30 PM (date unknown), he noticed a red light about a quarter mile away to the northwest. On closer inspection, the red light seemed to be affixed to the bottom of a dark object, casting a glow upon it. According to Don. this object resembled the shape of a water tower and was hovering between some hills. The area in which this took place was well known to him, and he was not aware of any structures that could have been mistaken for what he saw. Somewhat apprehensive, he stepped on the accelerator and soon lost sight of the mysterious object.

Don’s bewildering story immediately shot me back to a bizarre, frightening night experience forever etched in my mind, which I wrote off as

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an unusually vivid and horrible nightmare at the time. It occured in January of 1981 in Buffalo, New York, during one of the area’s infamous winter blizzards.

I was asleep in my bedroom on the second floor of my family’s old, wooden house, which literally shook from the blasts of arctic winds cutting across frozen lake Erie and depositing mountains of snow upon the city. My bed faced a large Venetian blind covered window and a door leading to the adjacent balcony. Around three in the morning, I felt my body caught in a vice grip of sleep paralysis. My eyes struggled to open and turn towards the window. I had the feeling that someone was standing on that balcony and wanted to come inside. I saw two long fingers with black claws hang clow'll from the blinds and spread them open from the outside. A chilling thought raced through my mind. No this can’t be a dream! This is happening right here in this room, not in some fantastic dreamscape. The opening in the blinds grew wider, exposing two very bright, shiny, yellow eyes, like lasers, peering at me. With my entire being, I fought to awaken. I tried to move, to let out a scream, to defend myself. It was useless. In an instant, something or someone materialized to the left side of my face! Li-sa-brr-ih-chi. I heard a rapid, staccato vocalization, some unknown, archaic, sounding language. Stricken with an acute and violent attack of terror, I jumped up and fell out of bed. I quickly turned on all the lights in the house, and, visibly shaken, proceeded to look everywhere for any sign, however improbable, of this phantom intruder. Nothing! So strange and so diabolic was this occurrence that to this day the hair on the back of my neck stands up when I think about it. Only in late 1988, after an unsuccessful attempt to finish reading Whitley Strieber’s Communion (which dealt with his UFO abduction) was I able to determine that this particular episode could not have been simply a dream. Was it pure coincidence, or some common deeply ingrained artifact of the human psyche? Does it point to something entirely external, directly associated with manifestations of an unearthly presence? Neither one of us knew just how soon and with what kind of urgency this legitimate question was about to reimpose itself.

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With memorable visits to Isla San Martin, Cedros, Bahias de Tortugas and Magdalena in her wake, Mira finally arrived at La Paz on December 16 and anchored off the pier. What a successful and rewarding cruise! The boat and crew performed flawlessly, and it was time to take a well-deserved break from sailing and plan for the future. We determined that it would be best to return home for a short period, since winter was already upon us and Don hadn’t seen his family for several months. There was so much to brag about and videotapes of the trip to show off to land lubbers back home. Within ten days, Don departed. After securing the boat I followed, catching a direct Aeromexico flight to Phoenix, just a day shy of the infamous and much feared Y2K computer scare. Once back home, some difficult and disheartening prioritizing had to be done. Though my ambitious plans called for a sail to the Marquesas Islands and then westward through the rest of French Polynesia and on to New Zealand, I had to scale them back for lack of money and replace them with a more realistic agenda. To return to San Diego was out of the question. To remain in Mexico was an appealing alternative, but as a foreigner I was not allowed to work in this otherwise inviting country. The idea of sailing again to Hawaii emerged as a reasonable compromise. It would provide us with enough blue water adventure, and the Islands could become a new home base for at least another year, after which we could sail south to Tahiti and resume the originally envisioned plan. We could either stay in Honolulu with the boat and find temporary employment, or leave Mira in dry storage on the Big Island and once again go back home and return to her the following season. It seemed like a very sound scheme, and the idea of visiting Hawaii really excited Don as well. Now we just had to get ready for three thousand miles of open Pacific—no small feat. In some strange way I also felt the need to prove something to myself by doing this crossing again. The mental scars of 1991 never healed. April and May provide the best weather window for sailing anywherefrom Baja. From June through November, hurricanes are spawned off

Mexico's southern Pacific coast and travel westward over the empty expanses of the ocean, sometimes swerving north and endangering vessels caught in their deadly path. With the exception of forty-plus knot squalls and strong trades, the going ought to be relatively smooth.

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Aboard Mira everything seemed normal and undisturbed. A thirty five pound Bruce anchor, connected to a hundred and fifty feet of chain rode, held fast against the stiff breezes and powerful currents of La Paz harbor. After bottom cleaning, battery charging and other minor jobs done, She would soon spring back to life, ready to take ns to Partida and Espiritu Santo Islands, which lay several miles across Bahia de La Paz. These islands are renown for their awesome, primordial appearance. The sheer crimson-red cliffs of the eastern shores and extinct volcanic cones crowning the highlands are only rivaled in their enigmatic beauty by the enchanting white sand beaches and lagoons of the western side, ringed by mangroves and ancient saguaros. To the north of Isla Partida, the guano-laced jagged pinnacles of the Los Islotes majestically jut out from the sea, home to a cacophonous sea-lion colony. Our eight day visit here proved to be a most rewarding experience. To explore Caletta Partida’s lonely desert beaches by day and enjoy tasty fish barbecues prepared in Mira’s cockpit while watching the moon rise are things worth remembering. The serenity of the place was only disturbed by the comings and goings of neighboring yachts, and Mexican ‘panga’ boats, skillfully operated by fishermen who inhabit the southern edge of the lagoon. We befriended these men and had them aboard for some not so cold cervezas. I never ceased to be amazed by the simplicity and humbleness of their lives and their daily struggle to eke out a living from the sea. In general, I found the Mexican people to be warm and unpretentious, especially in the rural areas.

It was in Partida anchorage that just two days prior to yet another return to La Paz something in the night sky momentarily attracted Don’s attention. Pointing upward, he summoned me from below, saving Look, a satellite! Rolling my eves and