
A Spark From the Stars: Pliny the Elder, Ancient Skies & the First Recorded Fireball
, by Carl Rogers

, by Carl Rogers
76BC Long before radar, satellites, or the language of modern science, humanity was already watching the skies — and recording what it saw with remarkable care.
One of the most intriguing accounts comes from Pliny the Elder, the Roman naturalist, philosopher, and author of Naturalis Historia, written in the 1st century AD. Pliny wasn’t a mystic or a storyteller chasing drama. He was a meticulous compiler of observed natural phenomena — the ancient world’s equivalent of an encyclopedia.
And what he described feels… strangely familiar.
Pliny wrote of an extraordinary event witnessed in the skies:
“A spark fell from a star and grew as it descended until it appeared to be the size of the Moon. It then ascended and transformed into a torch.”
Let that sink in for a moment.
This wasn’t a fleeting streak across the sky.
This was something that changed size, altered direction, and transformed in appearance — behaviour that doesn’t sit comfortably with simple explanations.
To ancient observers, this was astonishing. To modern readers, it’s quietly unsettling.
Centuries later, astronomer Richard Stothers examined Pliny’s account through a scientific lens. His conclusion? The description most closely matches a bolide — an exceptionally bright meteor or fireball that can fragment, flare, and dramatically illuminate the sky.
Bolides can:
Appear far brighter than Venus
Grow in apparent size as they descend
Break apart or change form mid-flight
Leave long-lasting luminous trails
On paper, the explanation fits. And yet…
Here’s where things get interesting.
Pliny describes the object ascending again — rising back into the sky after descending — and transforming rather than simply burning out.
That detail has kept historians, astronomers, and Ufologists debating for decades.
Was it:
A rare atmospheric optical illusion?
A misinterpreted sequence of events?
A bolide interacting unusually with the atmosphere?
Or something that ancient language simply struggles to define?
We don’t know. And that uncertainty matters.
Modern UAP discussions often focus on radar data, fighter jet encounters, and classified briefings. But historical reports like Pliny’s remind us of something important:
The phenomenon didn’t begin in the 20th century.
For thousands of years, people from vastly different cultures — with no shared mythology or technology — have reported remarkably similar aerial events:
Objects that glow, grow, and change form
Lights that descend, hover, and rise again
Phenomena that defy easy categorisation
These accounts form a long, uncomfortable timeline that refuses to stay buried.
At theUAPman, we’re not here to declare answers.
We’re here to honor the observers — from Roman scholars to modern pilots — who recorded what they saw honestly, even when it didn’t fit existing explanations.
Pliny didn’t call it a god.
He didn’t call it a weapon.
He simply wrote down what happened.
And sometimes, that’s the most powerful thing you can do.
This is why unexplained history inspires our work.
Because mystery isn’t weakness — it’s a signal.
Because curiosity outlives certainty.
And because the sky has been asking us questions for far longer than we’ve been willing to listen.
Stay curious.
Look up.
The story isn’t finished.