Great way to start a discussion on an otherwise lackluster Sunday! I'm even more of an reactionary 😄 No personal computers attached to my rigs. And I've given up paddles and keyers for cooties. I'm hopelessly lost in the past!!
John K7FD > On Jul 12, 2020, at 8:07 AM, Wayne Burdick <[email protected]> wrote: > > I have a friend about my age who got into amateur radio only a few years ago. > Like many of us, he was enthusiastic about the technology. Intrigued with DX. > > I showed him my station; we talked endlessly about gear. Later, I helped him > put up a simple wire antenna. > > Then, when his license arrived, he dove straight into FT8 and didn't look > back. Within days, he'd worked all states, then DXCC. He'd bag a few rare > ones over a light lunch, then pat his laptop on the back and congratulate his > software app for its near-mythical ability to extract weak signals out of > noise. > > Within weeks, he'd mastered everything there was to know about this glorious > new hobby. > > Point. Click. > > In this new world order, those of us who took the longer, slower path to > ionospheric enlightenment -- and who still occasionally enjoy making waves by > hand -- often fail to explain why. > > I had failed to explain it to my friend. Even as hints of his boredom crept > in, creating an opening, the best argument I'd made for trying CW was that he > could do it without a computer. Coming in a weak second was the notion that > CW was the original digital mode. For obvious reasons, I didn't bother with > the classic argument about CW's signal-to-noise advantage over SSB. > > I had all but given up. > > Then, in a moment of delayed clarity, I decided on a different approach. I > invited him to a weekday brunch. A bit of an escape. He willingly took the > bait. > > On the appointed day, arriving at his workplace, I bypassed the lobby's > glistening elevators and climbed the four flights of stairs to his office. I > insisted we take the stairs down, too. > > "Why?" he asked. "And how'd you get up here so fast?" > > I pointed out that I always chose stairs, when possible. That's why I wasn't > out of breath. We hustled down, jockeying for position, and emerged on the > ground floor invigorated by the effort. > > "So, where are we going?" he asked. We'd been to every overrated > twenty-dollar burger venue at least twice. > > I replied that we'd be going someplace we'd never tried. My kitchen. > > When we arrived, I put him to work chopping onions and broccoli and squeezing > oranges while I whipped eggs into a froth and grated Swiss cheese. We ate our > omelettes outside, in full sun and a cool breeze. > > "What's for desert?" he asked. "Isn't there a frozen yogurt place a > two-minute drive from here?" > > I had something else in mind. Back in the kitchen, I handed him a water > bottle, then strapped on a small pack I'd prepared earlier. > > We walked a mile or so through my neighborhood, admiring the houses' varied > architecture, ending up (as planned) at a local park festooned with > blackberry bushes. The most accessible branches had been picked clean, but > with teamwork and persistence we were able to gather several large handfuls > of fat, ripe berries, which we devoured on the spot. > > We'd been poked and scratched but didn't care. > > "Doesn't brunch usually end with champagne?" he wondered aloud, admiring his > wounds. > > Not this time. I pulled out two bottles of craft beer that I'd obtained from > a neighbor in trade for repairing his ancient home stereo. Carlos had spent > years crafting an American pilsner to die for, sweating every detail, > including iconic, hand-painted labels. > > My friend accepted the bottle, then tried in vain to remove the cap. Not a > twist-off. > > "Opener?" he said. > > I handed him a small pocket knife, an antique without specialty blades. He > soon discovered it could not be used to remove the cap directly. He looked at > me with a bemused expression, no doubt wondering what I had up my sleeve this > time. > > I pointed out that we were surrounded by white oaks, a species known for its > hard wood. He got the message, smiled, and began hunting. Within seconds he'd > collected a small fallen branch. I watched as he used the knife to fashion a > few inches of it into a passable bottle opener. We popped the caps, toasted > his new-found skill, and traded stories of our misspent youths. > > "Oh, one more thing," I said. > > I pulled a KX2 out of my pack, along with two lengths of wire. Of course he > knew everything there was to know about Elecraft, and me, so he wasn't > surprised when I also pulled out the rig's attachable keyer paddle. We threw > one wire in the closest tree and laid the other on the ground. > > He didn't have to ask whether I'd brought a laptop. > > We listened to CW signals up and down 20 meters, which was open to Europe at > the time. As he tuned in each station, I copied for him using pencil and > paper. He'd learned Morse code, but only at very slow speeds. > > After making a contact, I set the internal keyer speed to 10 words per minute > and dialed power output to zero, for practice purposes, then showed him how > to use the paddle. He smiled as he got the hang of it. Sending the full > alphabet was a challenge, but he got there. The KX2 decoded and displayed his > keying, providing confirmation. > > We'd blown through his allotted lunch break by a factor of three, so it was > time to go. We coiled up the antenna wires, packed up, and walked back. As I > drove him back to his employer, we made plans to get together again for a > weekend hike. > > I could have just dropped him off, but we went back into the lobby together. > Out of habit, he stopped in front of the elevator. Then he looked up. > > "OK," he said. "I get it. This CW thing. It's slow, it's hard to do well, and > it takes years of practice." > > "Like hunting for your own food, or carving your own tools," I added. > > "Or cooking from scratch. Or brewing your own beer. Building your own radio. > And you use more of your senses. Not just your eyes, but your ears. Your > sense of touch." > > I nodded. Listening. Feeling. That was the radio I'd grown up with. > > "Of course it's harder to work DX with CW than with FT8," I reminded him, > playing devil's advocate. > > "Is that what matters, though?" he asked. > > A longer discussion for another day. > > "Your call," I said. > > He gripped my shoulder and smiled, then reached toward the elevator's > glowing, ivory colored button, framed by polished brass. > > The path most taken. > > Point. Click. > > "On second thought," he said, "I'll take the stairs." > > * * * > > Wayne, > N6KR > > > > > > > > > > > ______________________________________________________________ > Elecraft mailing list > Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft > Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm > Post: mailto:[email protected] > > This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net > Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html > Message delivered to [email protected] ______________________________________________________________ Elecraft mailing list Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm Post: mailto:[email protected] This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html Message delivered to [email protected]
