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Caso: Guido Dellafiori | Una vida de avistamientos
Nombre del testigo: Guido Dellafiori
Ciudad y Pa铆s: Santiago y diversos sectores de la zona central de Chile, Chile
Fecha del incidente: Diversos episodios desde aproximadamente 1976–1977 y durante las d茅cadas posteriores
Hora aproximada: Variable; varios de los episodios relatados ocurrieron durante la tarde o la noche
Cantidad de Testigos: Variable seg煤n el episodio; algunos fueron vividos en solitario y otros en presencia de familiares, amigos y testigos circunstanciales
Direcci贸n o Coordenadas: Santiago, sectores cordilleranos de la zona central, El Alfalfal y Litoral Central de Chile. Coordenadas exactas no especificadas en el testimonio
Investigaci贸n por Iv谩n Vega Recabal
Guido Dellafiori sit煤a el comienzo de sus experiencias entre 1976 y 1977, cuando ten铆a aproximadamente ocho o nueve a帽os y viv铆a en Santiago de Chile. A partir de aquel per铆odo, distintos episodios ocurridos en la capital, la monta帽a y otros sectores de la zona central de Chile fueron quedando registrados en su memoria a lo largo de varias d茅cadas.
Su relato re煤ne recuerdos de diferentes etapas de su vida, algunos vividos en soledad y otros en compa帽铆a de familiares, amigos y testigos circunstanciales. Es una historia construida con el paso del tiempo y narrada desde la perspectiva de quien todav铆a conserva preguntas sobre aquello que experiment贸.
Ponte c贸modo, porque aqu铆 comienza un nuevo Testimonio OVNI.
Mi nombre es Guido Dellafiori y, desde que era ni帽o, he vivido experiencias que hasta el d铆a de hoy no he podido explicar completamente.
Todo comenz贸 cuando ten铆a entre ocho y nueve a帽os.
Fue alrededor de 1976 o 1977, en Santiago.
Hab铆amos ido con mi mam谩 y una de mis hermanas a visitar a mi abuelo, mi nono. Al terminar la visita salimos durante la tarde para tomar la micro y regresar a nuestra casa.
Fue entonces cuando vimos algo.
A unas dos o tres cuadras de distancia hab铆a un objeto sobre las casas. Lo recuerdo como algo ovalado, con dos o tres luces que giraban muy lentamente. Estaba muy bajo; calculo que no se encontraba a m谩s de cien metros sobre el suelo.
No parec铆a un helic贸ptero, porque no escuch谩bamos ning煤n sonido. Tampoco parec铆a un avi贸n. Desde nuestra perspectiva, pr谩cticamente no se mov铆a.
Yo era muy peque帽o y lo primero que hice fue preguntarle a mi mam谩:
—¿Qu茅 es eso?
Ella no supo responderme.
Creo que eso fue precisamente lo que m谩s me asust贸.
Cuando uno tiene ocho o nueve a帽os, espera que su madre pueda explicar las cosas. Pero yo percib铆 que ella tampoco entend铆a lo que est谩bamos viendo y, adem谩s, sent铆 que estaba asustada. Mi hermana, que era un poco mayor que yo, tampoco sab铆a qu茅 pod铆a ser.
Mi mam谩 hizo detener un taxi.
Nos subimos y recuerdo perfectamente que le dijo al conductor:
—Mire lo que hay all谩.
El taxista tambi茅n lo vio.
En lugar de continuar en direcci贸n al objeto, tomamos otra calle para alejarnos del lugar.
Durante muchos a帽os pens茅 que aquella experiencia hab铆a sido terror铆fica. Ahora, despu茅s de tanto tiempo, creo que buena parte de mi miedo naci贸 al ver asustada a mi mam谩. Si ella ten铆a miedo, siendo yo un ni帽o pens茅 que algo no estaba bien.
Sin embargo, la imagen permaneci贸 en mi memoria: aquel objeto ovalado, sus luces girando lentamente y su posici贸n extraordinariamente baja sobre las casas.
Ese fue el comienzo.
Algo empez贸 a repetirse
A medida que fui creciendo, comenzaron a ocurrirme otras situaciones.
Siempre he estado muy ligado a la monta帽a. Me gustaba salir a pescar, caminar por los cerros y pasar tiempo en lugares apartados. Cuando ten铆a catorce o quince a帽os ya acostumbraba internarme en la monta帽a y, muchas veces, lo hac铆a solo.
Durante esas salidas empec茅 a observar luces y situaciones que no pod铆a explicar con facilidad.
No siempre ocurr铆a cuando estaba acompa帽ado. Incluso recuerdo ocasiones en que sal铆a con amigos y no pasaba absolutamente nada. En cambio, cuando estaba solo, parec铆a suceder con mayor frecuencia.
No sab铆a qu茅 pensar.
Muchas de esas experiencias simplemente me las guardaba.
Con el paso de los a帽os ocurri贸 algo que todav铆a me llama la atenci贸n: personas que jam谩s hab铆an visto nada extra帽o comenzaron a presenciar fen贸menos cuando estaban conmigo.
Y despu茅s, muchas de ellas nunca volvieron a ver nada.
Una de las experiencias que m谩s recuerdo ocurri贸 cuando ten铆a alrededor de diecisiete a帽os.
Frecuentaba un sector de monta帽a asociado al estero y a un lugar donde se juntaban tres cursos de agua, cerca de lo que actualmente conozco como el Salto de la Leona.
Yo conoc铆a bastante bien la monta帽a.
Desde peque帽o hab铆a salido con un t铆o que me ense帽贸 a moverme en ella, orientarme y reconocer sus peligros. Por eso hay algo que siempre me ha resultado extra帽o:
aquella fue la 煤nica vez que recuerdo haberme perdido.
Hab铆a instalado mi campamento entre el sector que conoc铆amos como Los Calabozos y los Tres Esteros. Sol铆a ir los s谩bados y, algunas veces, si hab铆a un d铆a festivo, permanec铆a all铆 dos o tres d铆as completamente solo pescando truchas.
Ese s谩bado sal铆 desde mi campamento a pescar r铆o abajo.
Despu茅s emprend铆 el regreso.
Calculaba bien los tiempos y sab铆a cu谩nto demoraba en volver. Sin embargo, comenz贸 a oscurecer.
Segu铆 caminando.
Camin茅 y camin茅 mientras trataba de reconocer en la oscuridad los cerros que utilizaba como puntos de referencia para encontrar mi campamento.
Pero nunca llegu茅.
En determinado momento descubr铆 que estaba en los Tres Esteros.
Me qued茅 desconcertado.
¿C贸mo hab铆a llegado hasta all铆?
Seg煤n mis c谩lculos, mi campamento deb铆a encontrarse aproximadamente dos horas m谩s abajo. Con el tiempo del que dispon铆a, aquello no ten铆a sentido para m铆.
Hoy, despu茅s de tantos a帽os, me pregunto si ocurri贸 alg煤n tipo de p茅rdida de tiempo. No puedo asegurarlo. Solo puedo decir lo que recuerdo: hab铆a calculado mi recorrido y, de pronto, me encontraba mucho m谩s arriba de donde esperaba estar.
En ese momento no pude analizarlo demasiado.
Estaba oscuro y necesitaba regresar.
Comenc茅 a bajar.
La noche era extremadamente oscura. Recuerdo que la Luna aparecer铆a aproximadamente a las once. Mientras avanzaba tropezaba constantemente con piedras y comenz贸 a invadirme cierta desesperaci贸n.
No comprend铆a c贸mo hab铆a llegado tan lejos.
Hasta que me golpe茅 violentamente un tobillo contra una piedra.
Me detuve.
Me dije que deb铆a tranquilizarme. Estaba en la monta帽a, de noche y en un lugar peligroso. Seguir avanzando desesperadamente pod铆a empeorar las cosas.
Llevaba una polera, pantalones cortos, mi ca帽a de pescar y un canasto. La temperatura hab铆a descendido bastante.
Me acurruqu茅 junto a una piedra, cerca de unas ramas, y decid铆 esperar la salida de la Luna.
Cuando finalmente apareci贸, pude distinguir nuevamente el terreno.
Hab铆a alcanzado a bajar unos quince minutos desde los Tres Esteros, pero durante ese corto trayecto me hab铆a golpeado much铆simo. Con la luz de la Luna comenc茅 a reconocer las huellas pr贸ximas al r铆o y decid铆 caminar por all铆.
Entonces aparecieron los tres cerros que yo ten铆a grabados en la memoria como referencia para ubicar mi campamento.
Finalmente llegu茅.
Todo estaba exactamente donde lo hab铆a dejado.
Mi mochila continuaba colgada.
Saqu茅 algunas cosas, beb铆 algo, me abrigu茅 y encend铆 una fogata. Ten铆a el tobillo lastimado y sangrando, as铆 que comenc茅 a atender la herida mientras intentaba secarme y recuperar el calor.
Y entonces ocurri贸 algo todav铆a m谩s extra帽o.
Mientras estaba junto al fuego escuch茅 a alguien que ven铆a caminando desde la parte alta del r铆o.
Gritaba.
—¡Lucho! ¡Lucho!
Era plena noche.
Me qued茅 escuchando.
La voz continuaba aproxim谩ndose.
—¡Lucho! ¡Muchachos! ¿D贸nde est谩n?
Parec铆a alguien buscando personas perdidas o pidiendo ayuda.
Pero inmediatamente algo me produjo inquietud.
Si esa persona ven铆a desde arriba, ¿c贸mo era posible que no me hubiera cruzado con ella?
Yo acababa de recorrer precisamente ese sector.
En aquellos a帽os, seg煤n recuerdo, desde los Tres Esteros pr谩cticamente no se continuaba subiendo por aquella ruta. Si alguien descend铆a desde all铆, en alg煤n momento tendr铆amos que habernos encontrado.
Sin embargo, eso no hab铆a ocurrido.
No pens茅 entonces en nada paranormal. Mi primera reacci贸n fue mucho m谩s terrenal: imagin茅 que quiz谩s pod铆a tratarse de un grupo de personas haciendo algo indebido en la monta帽a.
Decid铆 ocultar mi presencia.
Me sent茅 dando la espalda a la fogata y coloqu茅 una piedra para disminuir su luz.
Esper茅.
Entonces vi pasar una figura.
Debido a la oscuridad no pude distinguir sus caracter铆sticas. Lo que recuerdo es una silueta humana caminando junto al r铆o mientras continuaba gritando con mucha fuerza:
—¡Lucho!
La figura sigui贸 r铆o abajo hasta perderse.
Durante mucho tiempo aquella historia qued贸 simplemente como una an茅cdota familiar.
Mis hijos crecieron escuch谩ndola. Incluso “el Lucho perdido” termin贸 convirti茅ndose en una broma entre nosotros. Cuando alguien de la familia busca a otra persona, alguna vez aparece el grito:
—¡Lucho! ¿D贸nde est谩s?
Han pasado d茅cadas, pero hay cosas de aquella noche que recuerdo con extraordinaria claridad.
La fogata.
La mochila colgada.
La silueta caminando junto al r铆o.
Y algo m谩s que solo muchos a帽os despu茅s comenc茅 a preguntarme:
¿Por qu茅 no intent茅 ayudarlo?
Si hoy estuviera en esa situaci贸n, probablemente silbar铆a o gritar铆a:
—¡Oye! ¿Est谩s perdido? Ven, qu茅date aqu铆 conmigo.
Pero aquella noche ni siquiera tuve esa idea.
No s茅 por qu茅.
Y tampoco puedo explicar c贸mo hab铆a llegado horas m谩s arriba de donde, seg煤n mis c谩lculos, deb铆a encontrarme.
Quiz谩s todas estas experiencias influyeron en algo que me acompa帽a hasta hoy: observo permanentemente.
Miro el cielo. Miro el entorno. Miro detalles.
Mi se帽ora muchas veces me pregunta:
—¿C贸mo te fijas en esas cosas?
No lo s茅.
Simplemente ocurre.
He avisado muchas veces a familiares y amigos cuando veo algo atravesando el cielo y les digo que salgan a mirar. Algunas veces ellos tambi茅n alcanzan a observarlo.
Es como si una parte de m铆 estuviera siempre atenta.
Entre mis veinte y treinta a帽os tambi茅n comenzaron a ocurrir situaciones distintas. Algunas personas relacionadas con el mundo ufol贸gico llegaron hasta m铆 sin que yo entendiera muy bien por qu茅.
Una de esas historias involucr贸 a un hombre que, seg煤n me cont贸 personalmente, hab铆a sido piloto de helic贸ptero de Carabineros.
Yo trabajaba entonces en una ferreter铆a junto a mi padre.
Un d铆a apareci贸 un hombre.
Mientras atend铆amos, alguien se acerc贸 a preguntarle si necesitaba ayuda.
—No —respondi贸—. Estoy esperando al joven.
Ese joven era yo.
Deb铆a tener unos veinticuatro, veinticinco o veintis茅is a帽os.
Cuando finalmente lo atend铆, comenz贸 a pedirme cosas peque帽as: algunos tornillos, unos clavos. Sus pedidos me parecieron extra帽os, como si en realidad no hubiera ido hasta all铆 para comprar.
Finalmente le pregunt茅 directamente:
—¿Necesita algo m谩s?
Entonces me respondi贸:
—Necesito hablar con usted por otra cosa. Necesito su ayuda y quiz谩s usted pueda ayudarme.
Nos apartamos un poco hacia la entrada de la ferreter铆a.
—Cu茅nteme —le dije.
Y comenz贸 a relatarme su historia.
Seg煤n me explic贸, hab铆a sido piloto de helic贸ptero de Carabineros y durante uno de sus vuelos se hab铆a encontrado con una nave extremadamente cerca del aparato. Seg煤n su relato, la situaci贸n lleg贸 a ser tan peligrosa que perdi贸 el control del helic贸ptero.
No recuerdo con seguridad si afirm贸 haber visto alg煤n ser o entidad, y no quiero agregar a su historia algo que mi memoria no puede confirmar.
Lo que s铆 recuerdo es el impacto que, seg煤n 茅l, aquella experiencia hab铆a provocado en su vida.
Dec铆a que despu茅s de aquello nunca hab铆a vuelto a ser el mismo y que no hab铆a podido continuar piloteando.
Yo conoc铆a entonces a personas vinculadas a la investigaci贸n ufol贸gica y pens茅 que alguien con m谩s experiencia pod铆a orientarlo mejor que yo.
Lo puse en contacto con un amigo.
Tiempo despu茅s ese amigo me coment贸 que el hombre estaba bajo un tratamiento farmacol贸gico muy intenso. Seg煤n lo que me cont贸, con acompa帽amiento m茅dico fueron ajustando las dosis y su estado comenz贸 a mejorar.
Hasta all铆 lleg贸 mi conocimiento directo de aquella historia.
Despu茅s perd铆 contacto con ellos.
Pero nunca olvid茅 algo fundamental:
aquel hombre hab铆a ido hasta la ferreter铆a espec铆ficamente a buscarme.
Nunca supe por qu茅.
Otra experiencia ocurri贸 en El Alfalfal durante una salida nocturna con amigos.
Hab铆amos ido a cazar conejos. Estaba con Ricardo, su hijo —tambi茅n llamado Ricardo— y su t铆o Alfredo.
Llegamos hasta un punto en que continuar con la camioneta durante la noche pod铆a resultar arriesgado. Decidimos detenernos. Sacamos caf茅 y unos s谩ndwiches y comenzamos a conversar.
En alg煤n momento les pregunt茅 si alguna vez hab铆an visto algo extra帽o.
Ricardo dijo que no.
Su hijo tampoco.
Alfredo record贸 que alguna vez hab铆a observado una luz en la monta帽a, aunque nunca supo qu茅 era y tampoco le hab铆a dado demasiada importancia.
Mientras convers谩bamos apareci贸 algo entre los cerros.
No escuch谩bamos ning煤n ruido.
Yo estaba apoyado en la parte trasera de la camioneta y les dije:
—¿Y eso que est谩 ah铆 atr谩s?
Se dieron vuelta.
—Oye, ¿qu茅 es eso?
Les ped铆 que no aceptaran inmediatamente mi interpretaci贸n.
—Analicen ustedes —les dije.
El objeto se desplazaba a baja altura, por debajo de la l铆nea de los cerros, y no escuch谩bamos el sonido que esperar铆amos de una aeronave convencional.
Nos quedamos conversando y tratando de encontrar alguna explicaci贸n.
Despu茅s guardamos las cosas.
El hijo de Ricardo y yo decidimos atravesar un sector a pie para encontrarnos nuevamente con los dem谩s m谩s adelante.
Yo llevaba un foco y 茅l iba conmigo.
Mientras rode谩bamos un cerro sent铆 algo dif铆cil de describir.
Era como si me hubieran colocado vapor alrededor de la cabeza.
No era exactamente calor ni algo que pudiera tocar con las manos. Era una sensaci贸n envolvente, concentrada alrededor de la cabeza.
Mir茅 a Ricardo.
脡l me mir贸 inmediatamente.
—¿Qu茅 es eso?
El hecho de que los dos sinti茅ramos algo al mismo tiempo me llam贸 profundamente la atenci贸n.
—No s茅 —le respond铆—. Pero qu茅date tranquilo.
Entonces comenz贸 el zumbido.
Ven铆a de arriba de nuestras cabezas.
Era r铆tmico:
zum… zum… zum…
Apagu茅 el foco.
Ricardo estaba muy asustado.
Le dije que permaneciera tranquilo, que esper谩ramos.
La sensaci贸n dur贸 quiz谩s treinta segundos o un minuto y desapareci贸.
Continuamos caminando hacia la camioneta, que se encontraba aproximadamente a unos setecientos metros.
Pero yo ten铆a la sensaci贸n de que aquello no hab铆a terminado.
Era como si algo nos siguiera.
Atravesamos una peque帽a quebrada y, cuando volvimos a subir, ocurri贸 nuevamente.
La misma sensaci贸n alrededor de nuestras cabezas.
El mismo zumbido.
Ricardo quer铆a correr.
—No corras —le dije—. Te puedes caer. Estamos de noche y es peligroso.
Permanecimos all铆.
Despu茅s de uno o dos minutos, aproximadamente, la sensaci贸n desapareci贸 y el sonido ces贸.
Regresamos a la camioneta.
Ricardo inmediatamente comenz贸 a contarle a su padre lo sucedido.
Estaba realmente asustado.
Yo, en cambio, no sent铆 miedo.
Y eso es algo que tambi茅n me ha acompa帽ado durante gran parte de mi vida.
Salvo aquella primera experiencia de infancia, cuando vi a mi madre asustada, los encuentros posteriores no me han provocado esa sensaci贸n.
Otra experiencia ocurri贸 en el Litoral Central, en un sector entre Las Cruces y El Tabo.
Hab铆amos salido durante la noche con unos amigos. Nos dividimos en dos grupos y acordamos encontrarnos posteriormente en el camino.
Yo avanzaba con uno de ellos desde el sector de la playa hacia la carretera.
Mientras camin谩bamos iba iluminando el terreno con mi foco.
En determinado momento sent铆 que algo ven铆a detr谩s.
Me di vuelta.
A unos cincuenta metros observ茅 una luz que se aproximaba.
Parec铆a un tubo fluorescente suspendido horizontalmente en el aire. Calcul茅 que pod铆a tener aproximadamente veinte o veinticinco cent铆metros de di谩metro y se desplazaba a unos dos metros sobre el suelo. Utilic茅 los cercos del camino como referencia para calcular su altura.
La ilumin茅 con mi foco.
Incluso le hice se帽ales.
El objeto continu贸 avanzando muy lentamente.
Cuando lleg贸 frente a nosotros ocurri贸 algo que recuerdo perfectamente: descendi贸 unos veinte cent铆metros, continu贸 aproximadamente cinco o seis metros y volvi贸 a elevarse unos veinte cent铆metros.
Despu茅s sigui贸 desplaz谩ndose hacia la carretera.
Mi acompa帽ante me pregunt贸:
—¿Qu茅 es eso?
Yo hab铆a visto anteriormente registros de objetos luminosos semejantes y trat茅 de explicarle esa referencia, pero 茅l comenz贸 a asustarse.
Seguimos caminando.
M谩s adelante hab铆a un sector con eucaliptos.
De pronto volv铆 a verla.
—Viene de vuelta —le dije.
Ah铆 mi compa帽ero entr贸 realmente en p谩nico.
Se puso detr谩s de m铆, se arrodill贸 y comenz贸 a rezar.
—No lo alumbres —me ped铆a.
Yo permanec铆 quieto.
Quer铆a observar.
La luz volvi贸 hacia nosotros y repet铆 las se帽ales con el foco.
Cuando pas贸 nuevamente frente a m铆 realiz贸 pr谩cticamente el mismo movimiento: descendi贸 alrededor de veinte cent铆metros, avanz贸 unos cinco metros, recuper贸 la altura anterior y continu贸 en direcci贸n a la costa hasta desaparecer.
Mi amigo estaba aterrado.
Se aferraba a mis pantalones desde atr谩s con tanta fuerza que tuve que pedirle que me soltara.
Despu茅s encontramos al resto del grupo.
Lo extra帽o fue que ellos ven铆an por el mismo camino y aseguraron no haber visto nada.
Mi acompa帽ante no pod铆a comprenderlo.
—¿C贸mo no vieron la luz? —les preguntaba—. ¡Estaba flotando a dos metros de altura!
Pero ellos insistieron:
no hab铆an visto nada.
A帽os despu茅s volv铆 a conversar sobre aquella noche con una de las personas relacionadas con ese grupo. El recuerdo segu铆a existiendo, especialmente el miedo que hab铆a provocado la experiencia.
¿De d贸nde nace el miedo?
He pensado muchas veces en eso.
Creo que gran parte del miedo aparece cuando nos enfrentamos a algo para lo cual no tenemos una explicaci贸n.
Eso fue exactamente lo que me ocurri贸 cuando era ni帽o.
Vi algo.
Pregunt茅 qu茅 era.
Mi mam谩 no pudo explicarlo.
Y entonces apareci贸 el miedo.
Con mis hijos ocurri贸 algo parecido.
Cuando eran m谩s peque帽os sal铆amos a observar el cielo y algunas veces ve铆amos luces que nos parec铆an extra帽as. Ellos despu茅s me dijeron que sent铆an miedo, pero que cuando estaban conmigo se sent铆an seguros.
Quiz谩s porque yo conoc铆a estas historias y hab铆a vivido situaciones similares.
No tengo una respuesta definitiva.
Tambi茅n escuch茅 durante a帽os, dentro de ambientes ufol贸gicos, la idea de que la presencia de extraterrestres en pel铆culas y en la cultura popular podr铆a constituir una especie de preparaci贸n colectiva.
Eso era lo que algunas personas vinculadas al tema me dec铆an:
—Nos est谩n preparando.
Nunca he podido demostrar algo as铆. Lo menciono porque forma parte de las conversaciones y reflexiones que acompa帽aron mis experiencias durante aquellos a帽os.
Existe otro aspecto dif铆cil de explicar.
Me ha ocurrido muchas veces que personas que nunca hab铆an observado nada extra帽o ven algo cuando est谩n conmigo y despu茅s, seg煤n ellas mismas me cuentan, no vuelven a vivir una experiencia semejante.
No s茅 por qu茅 sucede.
Cuando ten铆a alrededor de veintisiete o veintiocho a帽os, alguien que se consideraba a s铆 mismo un contactado me habl贸 de este fen贸meno.
En aquel tiempo yo trataba de comprender si todo esto ten铆a alguna realidad detr谩s o si pod铆a existir otra explicaci贸n.
Todav铆a me hago esa pregunta.
Nunca he sentido estas experiencias como una carga.
M谩s bien desarroll茅 una atenci贸n constante.
Hay una observaci贸n que compart铆 con mi familia y que recuerdo especialmente.
Est谩bamos nuevamente en El Alfalfal.
Durante a帽os fui all铆 con mis hijos, con linternas y luces, a observar el cielo. En muchas oportunidades vimos luces desplaz谩ndose en diferentes direcciones.
Pero una noche mi hija llam贸 mi atenci贸n.
—Pap谩, mira.
Observamos tres luces.
Lo que hac铆a extraordinaria la imagen era que las tres parec铆an desplazarse juntas, conservando una formaci贸n triangular.
Mi hija lo estaba viendo conmigo.
La formaci贸n continu贸 avanzando hasta alejarse hacia la monta帽a y finalmente desaparecer de nuestra vista.
Despu茅s de todo lo vivido, lo 煤nico que puedo decir es que cada experiencia debe analizarse dentro de su contexto.
Existen muchas cosas que todav铆a desconocemos. Algunas personas quiz谩s llegar谩n a conocerlas y otras no.
Pero no hay que precipitarse.
Hay que conservar momentos de calma.
Sentarse.
Analizar.
Pensar.
Y, de vez en cuando, mirar mucho al cielo.
¿Eres testigo? Si has vivido un encuentro cercano con el fen贸meno OVNI/UAP, puede
escribirnos al siguiente correo electr贸nico: MiTestimonioOvni@gmail.com Antes
de enviar tu caso, te recomendamos revisar nuestra gu铆a pr谩ctica para testigos,
donde encontrar谩s consejos 煤tiles para registrar tu testimonio: AQU脥
Derechos de Autor: El
presente testimonio est谩 protegido por derechos de autor y forma parte del
material de investigaci贸n del escritor e investigador Iv谩n Vega Recabal. Su
publicaci贸n completa ser谩 incluida en su pr贸ximo libro. Queda prohibida su
reproducci贸n total o parcial sin autorizaci贸n.
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Case: Guido Dellafiori | A Lifetime of Sightings
Witness Name: Guido Dellafiori
City and Country: Santiago and various areas of central Chile, Chile
Date of Incident: Various episodes from approximately 1976–1977 and throughout the following decades
Approximate Time: Variable; several of the episodes described occurred during the afternoon or at night
Number of Witnesses: Variable depending on the episode; some were experienced alone and others in the presence of family members, friends, and incidental witnesses
Address or Coordinates: Santiago, mountain areas of central Chile, El Alfalfal, and Chile’s Central Coast. Exact coordinates were not specified in the testimony
Investigation by Iv谩n Vega Recabal
Guido Dellafiori places the beginning of his experiences between 1976 and 1977, when he was approximately eight or nine years old and living in Santiago, Chile. From that period onward, different episodes that occurred in the capital, the mountains, and other areas of central Chile remained etched in his memory over the course of several decades.
His account brings together memories from different stages of his life, some experienced alone and others in the company of family members, friends, and incidental witnesses. It is a story built over time and told from the perspective of someone who still has questions about what he experienced.
Make yourself comfortable, because a new UFO Testimony begins here.
My name is Guido Dellafiori, and since I was a child I have lived through experiences that, to this day, I have not been able to fully explain.
It all began when I was between eight and nine years old.
It was around 1976 or 1977, in Santiago.
My mother, one of my sisters, and I had gone to visit my grandfather, my nono. When the visit was over, we left in the afternoon to catch the bus and return home.
That was when we saw something.
About two or three blocks away, there was an object above the houses. I remember it as something oval-shaped, with two or three lights rotating very slowly. It was very low; I estimate that it was no more than one hundred meters above the ground.
It did not look like a helicopter because we could not hear any sound. It did not look like an airplane either. From our perspective, it was practically motionless.
I was very young, and the first thing I did was ask my mother:
“What is that?”
She did not know how to answer me.
I think that was precisely what frightened me the most.
When you are eight or nine years old, you expect your mother to be able to explain things. But I could tell that she did not understand what we were seeing either, and I also sensed that she was afraid. My sister, who was a little older than I was, did not know what it could be either.
My mother stopped a taxi.
We got in, and I remember perfectly that she said to the driver:
“Look at what’s over there.”
The taxi driver saw it too.
Instead of continuing in the direction of the object, we took another street to move away from the area.
For many years, I thought that experience had been terrifying.
Now, after so much time, I believe much of my fear came from seeing my mother frightened. If she was afraid, then as a child I thought something must be wrong.
Still, the image remained in my memory: that oval-shaped object, its lights rotating slowly, and its extraordinarily low position above the houses.
That was the beginning.
Something Began to Repeat Itself
As I grew older, other situations began to happen to me.
I have always had a very strong connection to the mountains. I liked going fishing, hiking through the hills, and spending time in remote places. By the time I was fourteen or fifteen, I was already accustomed to venturing into the mountains, and many times I did so alone.
During those outings, I began to observe lights and situations that I could not easily explain.
It did not always happen when I was with other people. In fact, I remember occasions when I went out with friends and absolutely nothing happened. But when I was alone, it seemed to happen more often.
I did not know what to think.
I simply kept many of those experiences to myself.
As the years passed, something happened that still catches my attention: people who had never seen anything strange began to witness phenomena when they were with me.
And afterward, many of them never saw anything again.
One of the experiences I remember most clearly happened when I was around seventeen years old.
I used to frequent a mountain area associated with the stream and a place where three waterways came together, near what I now know as Salto de la Leona.
I knew the mountains quite well.
Since I was little, I had gone out with an uncle who taught me how to move through the mountains, find my way, and recognize their dangers. That is why there is something that has always seemed strange to me:
that was the only time I remember ever getting lost.
I had set up my camp between the area we knew as Los Calabozos and Tres Esteros. I used to go there on Saturdays and, sometimes, if there was a holiday, I would stay there for two or three days completely alone, fishing for trout.
That Saturday, I left my camp to fish downstream.
Afterward, I started back.
I was good at estimating the time and knew how long it took me to return. However, it began to get dark.
I kept walking.
I walked and walked while trying to recognize, in the darkness, the hills I used as landmarks to find my camp.
But I never reached it.
At a certain point, I discovered that I was at Tres Esteros.
I was bewildered.
How had I gotten there?
According to my calculations, my camp should have been approximately two hours farther down. Given the amount of time I had, that made no sense to me.
Today, after so many years, I wonder whether some kind of missing time occurred. I cannot say for certain. I can only say what I remember: I had calculated my route, and suddenly I found myself much farther upstream than I expected to be.
At that moment, I could not analyze it very much.
It was dark, and I needed to get back.
I started heading down.
The night was extremely dark. I remember that the Moon was supposed to appear at around eleven o’clock. As I moved forward, I kept tripping over rocks, and a certain desperation began to take hold of me.
I could not understand how I had gotten so far away.
Then I struck my ankle violently against a rock.
I stopped.
I told myself that I had to calm down. I was in the mountains, at night, in a dangerous place. Continuing in a panic could make things worse.
I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts and carrying my fishing rod and a basket. The temperature had dropped considerably.
I curled up beside a rock, near some branches, and decided to wait for the Moon to rise.
When it finally appeared, I could make out the terrain again.
I had managed to descend for about fifteen minutes from Tres Esteros, but during that short stretch I had banged myself up badly. With the moonlight, I began to recognize the tracks near the river and decided to walk along them.
Then the three hills that were etched in my memory as landmarks for locating my camp came into view.
I finally arrived.
Everything was exactly where I had left it.
My backpack was still hanging there.
I took out a few things, drank something, put on warmer clothes, and lit a fire. My ankle was injured and bleeding, so I began tending to the wound while trying to dry off and warm myself up.
And then something even stranger happened.
While I was sitting by the fire, I heard someone walking down from the upper part of the river.
He was shouting.
“Lucho! Lucho!”
It was the middle of the night.
I listened.
The voice kept getting closer.
“Lucho! Guys! Where are you?”
It sounded like someone searching for people who were lost or calling for help.
But immediately, something made me uneasy.
If that person was coming from upstream, how was it possible that I had not crossed paths with him?
I had just traveled through that exact area.
In those years, as I remember it, the route practically did not continue upward beyond Tres Esteros. If someone was coming down from there, at some point we should have encountered each other.
But that had not happened.
At the time, I did not think of anything paranormal. My first reaction was much more down-to-earth: I imagined that perhaps it was a group of people doing something they should not be doing in the mountains.
I decided to conceal my presence.
I sat with my back to the fire and placed a rock so that it would reduce the light.
I waited.
Then I saw a figure pass by.
Because of the darkness, I could not make out its features. What I remember is a human silhouette walking beside the river while continuing to shout very loudly:
“Lucho!”
The figure continued downstream until it disappeared.
For a long time, that story remained simply a family anecdote.
My children grew up hearing it. “Lost Lucho” even became a joke among us. When someone in the family is looking for somebody else, every now and then someone will shout:
“Lucho! Where are you?”
Decades have passed, but there are things from that night that I remember with extraordinary clarity.
The fire.
The hanging backpack.
The silhouette walking beside the river.
And something else that I only began to wonder about many years later:
Why didn’t I try to help him?
If I were in that situation today, I would probably whistle or shout:
“Hey! Are you lost? Come over here, stay with me.”
But that night, the thought did not even occur to me.
I do not know why.
And I also cannot explain how I had ended up hours farther upstream than, according to my calculations, I should have been.
Perhaps all these experiences influenced something that remains with me to this day: I am constantly observing.
I look at the sky. I look at my surroundings. I notice details.
My wife often asks me:
“How do you notice those things?”
I do not know.
It simply happens.
Many times, when I see something crossing the sky, I alert family and friends and tell them to come outside and look. Sometimes they manage to see it too.
It is as though part of me is always paying attention.
Between my twenties and thirties, different kinds of situations also began to occur. Some people connected to the UFO field came to me without my really understanding why.
One of those stories involved a man who, according to what he personally told me, had been a helicopter pilot for Carabineros, Chile’s national police force.
At the time, I worked in a hardware store with my father.
One day, a man came in.
While we were serving customers, someone approached him and asked whether he needed help.
“No,” he replied. “I’m waiting for the young man.”
That young man was me.
I must have been about twenty-four, twenty-five, or twenty-six years old.
When I finally helped him, he began asking me for small things: some screws, a few nails. His requests seemed strange to me, as though he had not really come there to buy anything.
Finally, I asked him directly:
“Do you need anything else?”
Then he replied:
“I need to talk to you about something else. I need your help, and perhaps you can help me.”
We moved slightly aside, toward the entrance of the hardware store.
“Tell me,” I said.
And he began telling me his story.
According to what he explained, he had been a helicopter pilot for Carabineros, and during one of his flights he had encountered a craft extremely close to the aircraft. According to his account, the situation became so dangerous that he lost control of the helicopter.
I do not remember with certainty whether he said he had seen any being or entity, and I do not want to add anything to his story that my memory cannot confirm.
What I do remember is the impact that, according to him, that experience had had on his life.
He said that after it happened, he had never been the same and had been unable to continue flying.
At the time, I knew people connected to UFO research, and I thought someone with more experience might be able to guide him better than I could.
I put him in touch with a friend.
Some time later, that friend told me that the man was undergoing very intensive drug treatment. According to what he told me, with medical supervision they gradually adjusted the doses, and his condition began to improve.
That is as far as my direct knowledge of that story goes.
Afterward, I lost contact with them.
But I never forgot one fundamental detail:
that man had gone to the hardware store specifically looking for me.
I never knew why.
Another experience occurred in El Alfalfal during a nighttime outing with friends.
We had gone rabbit hunting. I was with Ricardo, his son—also named Ricardo—and his uncle Alfredo.
We reached a point where continuing in the pickup truck at night could be risky. We decided to stop. We took out coffee and some sandwiches and began talking.
At some point, I asked them whether they had ever seen anything strange.
Ricardo said no.
His son had not either.
Alfredo remembered that he had once seen a light in the mountains, although he never knew what it was and had not given it much importance.
While we were talking, something appeared between the hills.
We could not hear any noise.
I was leaning against the back of the pickup truck, and I said to them:
“What about that thing back there?”
They turned around.
“Hey, what is that?”
I asked them not to immediately accept my interpretation.
“Analyze it yourselves,” I told them.
The object was moving at low altitude, below the line of the hills, and we could not hear the sound we would expect from a conventional aircraft.
We stayed there talking and trying to find some explanation.
Then we packed everything away.
Ricardo’s son and I decided to cross an area on foot and meet up with the others farther ahead.
I was carrying a spotlight, and he was walking with me.
As we went around a hill, I felt something that is difficult to describe.
It was as if steam had been placed around my head.
It was not exactly heat, nor was it something I could touch with my hands. It was an enveloping sensation concentrated around my head.
I looked at Ricardo.
He immediately looked at me.
“What is that?”
The fact that both of us felt something at the same time caught my attention deeply.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But stay calm.”
Then the buzzing began.
It came from above our heads.
It was rhythmic:
buzz… buzz… buzz…
I turned off the spotlight.
Ricardo was very frightened.
I told him to remain calm and that we should wait.
The sensation lasted perhaps thirty seconds or a minute, and then disappeared.
We continued walking toward the pickup truck, which was approximately seven hundred meters away.
But I had the feeling that it was not over.
It was as though something was following us.
We crossed a small ravine and, when we climbed back up, it happened again.
The same sensation around our heads.
The same buzzing.
Ricardo wanted to run.
“Don’t run,” I told him. “You could fall. It’s nighttime, and it’s dangerous.”
We stayed there.
After approximately one or two minutes, the sensation disappeared and the sound stopped.
We returned to the pickup truck.
Ricardo immediately began telling his father what had happened.
He was genuinely frightened.
I, on the other hand, was not afraid.
And that is something that has also accompanied me throughout much of my life.
Except for that first childhood experience, when I saw my mother frightened, the later encounters have not caused me that feeling.
Another experience occurred on Chile’s Central Coast, in an area between Las Cruces and El Tabo.
We had gone out at night with some friends. We split into two groups and agreed to meet later on the road.
I was walking with one of them from the beach area toward the highway.
As we walked, I was illuminating the ground with my spotlight.
At a certain point, I felt that something was coming from behind us.
I turned around.
About fifty meters away, I saw a light approaching.
It looked like a fluorescent tube suspended horizontally in the air. I estimated that it might have been approximately twenty or twenty-five centimeters in diameter, and it was moving about two meters above the ground. I used the fences along the road as a reference to estimate its height.
I shone my spotlight on it.
I even signaled to it.
The object continued moving forward very slowly.
When it came directly in front of us, something happened that I remember perfectly:
it descended about twenty centimeters, continued for approximately five or six meters, and then rose about twenty centimeters back to its previous height.
After that, it continued moving toward the highway.
My companion asked me:
“What is that?”
I had previously seen recordings of similar luminous objects and tried to explain that reference to him, but he began to get frightened.
We kept walking.
Farther ahead, there was an area with eucalyptus trees.
Suddenly, I saw it again.
“It’s coming back,” I told him.
At that point, my companion truly panicked.
He got behind me, knelt down, and began to pray.
“Don’t shine the light on it,” he begged me.
I remained still.
I wanted to observe.
The light came back toward us, and I again signaled to it with the spotlight.
When it passed in front of me again, it made practically the same movement: it descended about twenty centimeters, moved forward about five meters, returned to its previous height, and continued toward the coast until it disappeared.
My friend was terrified.
He was gripping the back of my pants so tightly that I had to ask him to let go.
Afterward, we met up with the rest of the group.
The strange thing was that they had been coming along the same road and said they had not seen anything.
My companion could not understand it.
“How could you not have seen the light?” he asked them. “It was floating two meters above the ground!”
But they insisted:
they had not seen anything.
Years later, I spoke again about that night with one of the people connected to that group. The memory was still there, especially the fear the experience had caused.
Where Does Fear Come From?
I have thought about that many times.
I believe much of fear appears when we are confronted with something for which we have no explanation.
That is exactly what happened to me when I was a child.
I saw something.
I asked what it was.
My mother could not explain it.
And then the fear appeared.
Something similar happened with my children.
When they were younger, we would go out to observe the sky, and sometimes we saw lights that seemed strange to us. They later told me that they felt afraid, but that when they were with me, they felt safe.
Perhaps because I knew these stories and had lived through similar situations.
I do not have a definitive answer.
For years, within UFO circles, I also heard the idea that the presence of extraterrestrials in movies and popular culture could constitute a kind of collective preparation.
That was what some people connected to the subject would tell me:
“They’re preparing us.”
I have never been able to prove anything like that. I mention it because it was part of the conversations and reflections that accompanied my experiences during those years.
There is another aspect that is difficult to explain.
It has happened to me many times that people who had never observed anything strange see something when they are with me and then, according to what they themselves tell me, never have a similar experience again.
I do not know why that happens.
When I was around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, someone who considered himself a contactee spoke to me about this phenomenon.
At that time, I was trying to understand whether there was any reality behind all of this or whether another explanation might exist.
I still ask myself that question.
I have never experienced these events as a burden.
Rather, I developed a constant attentiveness.
There is one observation I shared with my family that I remember especially well.
We were in El Alfalfal again.
For years, I went there with my children, carrying flashlights and lights, to observe the sky.
On many occasions, we saw lights moving in different directions.
But one night, my daughter called my attention to something.
“Dad, look.”
We observed three lights.
What made the image extraordinary was that the three seemed to move together, maintaining a triangular formation.
My daughter was seeing it with me.
The formation continued moving until it receded toward the mountains and finally disappeared from our view.
After everything I have experienced, the only thing I can say is that each experience must be analyzed within its context.
There are many things we still do not know. Some people may come to understand them, while others may not.
But we should not rush to conclusions.
We need to preserve moments of calm.
Sit down.
Analyze.
Think.
And, every now and then, spend a lot of time looking at the sky.
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