"On second thought, I'll take the stairs."

[wayne burdick]

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










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Post: mailto:[hidden email]

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[David Bunte]

Wayne -

That was one of the most beautiful stories I have heard in years... not
just because it was about ham radio, but because it was about so much
more... and wonderfully crafted as well. Many thanks for sharing.

Dave - K9FN (90 some percent CW with my K-Line)

On Sun, Jul 12, 2020 at 11:10 AM Wayne Burdick <[hidden email]> 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:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]
>

______________________________________________________________
Elecraft mailing list
Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

[Jim Sheldon]

Outstanding story Wayne!  You're not the only one that has a ham friend
like that either.  Sometimes I get a bit frustrated when people ask me
about the hobby and why I only operate CW and my explanation falls on
deaf ears.  I think I will have to try your approach to the situation
and see if I can't get a few more interested.

The stairs are another thing though - LOL.  I'm 78 now with a very bad
knee and don't walk or climb stairs very well any more (though I do
still try) and I'm afraid most of the new hams I know that fit this
category would leave me behind very quickly - hi hi.

I learned to copy CW as a "Morse Intercept Operator" in the US Army back
in 1961, later taught myself to send with both a keyer and bug (I still
prefer the mechanical bug), got my ham license in 1963 and have never
looked back.  Still use CW 99.5 percent of the time and only use phone
when absolutely necessary (mostly on the VHF/UHF FM repeaters).

Jim Sheldon, W0EB


------ Original Message ------
From: "Wayne Burdick" <[hidden email]>
To: "Elecraft Reflector" <[hidden email]>
Sent: 7/12/2020 10:07:59 AM
Subject: [Elecraft] "On second thought, I'll take the stairs."

>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:[hidden email]
>
>This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
>Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
>Message delivered to [hidden email]

______________________________________________________________
Elecraft mailing list
Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

[Macy monkeys]

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 <[hidden email]> 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:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]

______________________________________________________________
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[Elecraft mailing list]

Morning Wayne,

From one writer to another, that was a very nice piece! Like Elecraft radios, it was well-crafted and had just the right amount of “stuff.”

I’ve been a ham for a little more than a year. I’ve worked quite a few stations using FT8 — because that is about all I can do here at the house. If have S7-S9 noise because of ancient power equipment in my neighborhood. Phone is out of the question. So it was FT8 if I wanted to play radio at home.

Most of my ops are portable. I go out on weekends or during the week when I can, set up a portable station, and talk to other operators. I’m a little shy, so I’m not much of a ragchewer. But I like the contests, QSOPs, and working special event stations.

Last fall I enrolled in the CW Academy and completed Basic and Beginner. One of the mentors is running an ad hoc Intermediate class this summer. I’m up to about 10wpm now and continue practicing to get my copy speed up. I’m not good enough (yet) to run a frequency, but that’s my goal.

There have been many times I just sat at the rig, in the field, and tuned the bands… just listening to the other stations. I find something comforting in knowing there are these operators out there, communicating in a simple fashion using a relatively simple technology.

I’m hearing a few slow-code stations talking on 40m many evenings. If I’m home, I turn my web browser to one of the websdr sites and listen.

On Wednesdays I can sometimes hear a few stations during the CWTs at home. I’ve even worked a few of them from home, with my slow, clumsy fist.

I really dislike listening to stations on my home rig, an upgraded K3. Because of the noise, when I use NB/NR to get a better SNR, the tone is chopped up and does not sound pleasant to the ear, as it should. But it gives me the chance to work a couple of stations and it’s only an hour at a time, so I can tolerate it that long.

But I am enjoying my radios. I don’t mind working portable at all. The weather is often nice here in northern Nevada and I like the outdoors.

I am also enjoying the CW mode. In many respects I’m something of a purist and the CW mode appeals to that part of my personality. There is something clean about the tone of CW and well-sent More Code is quite musical.

I also prefer the stairs…

73 de AG7TX

David Thompson, AG7TX
Jack of All Trades
Master of None
[hidden email]

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 08:07, Wayne Burdick <[hidden email]> 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:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]

______________________________________________________________
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Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

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Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

[John-2]

Thanks Wayne.

Reminded me of Carl and Jerry.

73.

John.

ve7day.


On 12/07/2020 8:07 a.m., Wayne Burdick 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:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]

______________________________________________________________
Elecraft mailing list
Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

[David Herring]

Wayne,

You know from our previous conversations that I am a writer as well. I so appreciate reading a good story that’s well written.

What takes a well written story from good to great is its effectiveness, that is, when the story causes the reader to move or act.

I caught myself a few moments ago digging out my paddles with thoughts of dusting off my CW skills…

Nicely done!

73,
David - N5DCH

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 9:56 AM, John <[hidden email]> wrote:
>
> Thanks Wayne.
>
> Reminded me of Carl and Jerry.
>
> 73.
>
> John.
>
> ve7day.
>
>
> On 12/07/2020 8:07 a.m., Wayne Burdick 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:[hidden email]
>>
>> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
>> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
>> Message delivered to [hidden email] <mailto:[hidden email]>
> ______________________________________________________________
> Elecraft mailing list
> Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft <http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft>
> Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm <http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm>
> Post: mailto:[hidden email] <mailto:[hidden email]>
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net <http://www.qsl.net/>
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html <http://www.qsl.net/donate.html>
> Message delivered to [hidden email] <mailto:[hidden email]>

______________________________________________________________
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Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

[Michael Downs]

Nice story Wayne. I’m 75 going on extinction. I always take the stairs too and I walk three to four miles a day. Keeps the mind clear and the fist strong. 73 & good DX

Mike KS7D
Sent from my iPhone
www.ks7d.com

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 11:26 AM, Jim Sheldon <[hidden email]> wrote:
>
> Outstanding story Wayne!  You're not the only one that has a ham friend like that either.  Sometimes I get a bit frustrated when people ask me about the hobby and why I only operate CW and my explanation falls on deaf ears.  I think I will have to try your approach to the situation and see if I can't get a few more interested.
>
> The stairs are another thing though - LOL.  I'm 78 now with a very bad knee and don't walk or climb stairs very well any more (though I do still try) and I'm afraid most of the new hams I know that fit this category would leave me behind very quickly - hi hi.
>
> I learned to copy CW as a "Morse Intercept Operator" in the US Army back in 1961, later taught myself to send with both a keyer and bug (I still prefer the mechanical bug), got my ham license in 1963 and have never looked back.  Still use CW 99.5 percent of the time and only use phone when absolutely necessary (mostly on the VHF/UHF FM repeaters).
>
> Jim Sheldon, W0EB
>
>
> ------ Original Message ------
> From: "Wayne Burdick" <[hidden email]>
> To: "Elecraft Reflector" <[hidden email]>
> Sent: 7/12/2020 10:07:59 AM
> Subject: [Elecraft] "On second thought, I'll take the stairs."
>
>> 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:[hidden email]
>>
>> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
>> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
>> Message delivered to [hidden email]
>
> ______________________________________________________________
> Elecraft mailing list
> Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
> Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
> Post: mailto:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]

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[Bill Frantz]

I love Wayne's story, which demonstrates how much more value you
get from mastering activities that involve some difficulty. As
others have pointed out, it is very well written too. However,
sometimes those arguments don't work.


When that happens, my favorite argument is: And how do you ask
for 5 units of type O+ blood on FT4/8?

I use FT4/8 frequently, but it always seems a bit like cheating
because there is no good answer to the above question.
Contesting and DXing started as practice for emergency
communications, which is the reason many people give for getting
their licenses. Emergency modes should allow for the above message.

As an example, when operating in Field Day, it is legal (I
think) to use a cell phone as a link to an Internat based time
server. Does this make sense for an EmComm based event? One can
argue about GPS based time sync or high stability clocks, but
modes that require time sync seem fragile in an emergency
situation. What happens if a CME has taken out the GPS?

The good news is I made many CW contacts, along with some PSk31,
RTTY, and voice contacts which don't have these problems.

73 Bill AE6JV

On 7/12/20 at 11:07 AM, [hidden email] (Wayne Burdick) wrote:

>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.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Bill Frantz        | Can't fix stupid, but   | Periwinkle
[phone]      | duct tape can muffle the| 150 Rivermead
Road #235
www.pwpconsult.com | sound... - Bill Liebman | Peterborough, NY 03458

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[w6ipa]

Wayne,

This is great - however, here is how anyone can help train more CW operators. I am still a beginner in CW, so I’m not yet feeling “competent". But I’m sure this list has plenty of them. I received this from CWOPS’ CW Academy recently:

> For a number of reasons, we are having an enormous number of students signing up for the Sep/Oct 2020 semester. We are anticipating somewhere in the neighborhood of 600 to 700 plus students. As it now stands, we are very short of competent advisors. We currently have around 75 advisors and with our target of approximately five or six students per advisor class, we really could use about 40 to 50 more advisors.
>
> To that end, we see you are not signed up to take or teach a class this fall. Would you be willing to teach one or more Beginner, Basic, or Intermediate classes in September??
>
> The curriculum is pretty much laid out and we will be glad to provide an orientation and answer any questions you may have. The commitment is only two nights per week of your choosing for a few hours. Check it out at cwops.org/cw-academy/cw-academy-options/ <https://cwops.org/cw-academy/cw-academy-options/>
> You do not have to be a member of CWops to be an advisor; just a willingness to give back and help fellow CW’ers move forward.
>
> Your help is appreciated,
> CWA Management
>
>

JC/W6IPA
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[wayne burdick]

Hi JC,

Thanks for the note on CWOPS. I hope to sign up for this myself.

73,
Wayne
N6KR

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 10:38 AM, W6IPA <[hidden email]> wrote:
>
> Wayne,
>
> This is great - however, here is how anyone can help train more CW operators. I am still a beginner in CW, so I’m not yet feeling “competent". But I’m sure this list has plenty of them. I received this from CWOPS’ CW Academy recently:
>> For a number of reasons, we are having an enormous number of students signing up for the Sep/Oct 2020 semester. We are anticipating somewhere in the neighborhood of 600 to 700 plus students. As it now stands, we are very short of competent advisors. We currently have around 75 advisors and with our target of approximately five or six students per advisor class, we really could use about 40 to 50 more advisors.
>>
>> To that end, we see you are not signed up to take or teach a class this fall. Would you be willing to teach one or more Beginner, Basic, or Intermediate classes in September??
>>
>> The curriculum is pretty much laid out and we will be glad to provide an orientation and answer any questions you may have. The commitment is only two nights per week of your choosing for a few hours. Check it out at cwops.org/cw-academy/cw-academy-options/
>>
>> You do not have to be a member of CWops to be an advisor; just a willingness to give back and help fellow CW’ers move forward.
>>
>> Your help is appreciated,
>> CWA Management
>>
>>
>
> JC/W6IPA

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[wayne burdick]

Hi John,

Thanks for bringing Carl and Jerry to my attention. I'd never heard of until now (born too late, apparently). Here's a fascinating article about these fictional characters, from Popular Science, circa 1960:

   http://www.copperwood.com/carlandjerry.htm

73,
Wayne
N6KR

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 8:56 AM, John <[hidden email]> wrote:
>
> Thanks Wayne.
>
> Reminded me of Carl and Jerry.
>
> 73.
>
> John.
>
> ve7day.
>
>
> On 12/07/2020 8:07 a.m., Wayne Burdick 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:[hidden email]
>>
>> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
>> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
>> Message delivered to [hidden email]
> ______________________________________________________________
> Elecraft mailing list
> Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
> Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
> Post: mailto:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]

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[Bill Steffey NY9H]

wow  ...  he is so young !!!   I am so old,,,

I was just browsing thru several months of 1955 Pop electronics and
reading the Carl & Jerry stories.

Here are ALL the PE magazines starting in 1954,,,,

https://worldradiohistory.com/Popular-Electronics-Guide.htm

Of course they save the world, with elecrtonics.....


bill


On 7/12/2020 2:49 PM, Wayne Burdick wrote:

> Hi John,
>
> Thanks for bringing Carl and Jerry to my attention. I'd never heard of until now (born too late, apparently). Here's a fascinating article about these fictional characters, from Popular Science, circa 1960:
>
>     http://www.copperwood.com/carlandjerry.htm
>
> 73,
> Wayne
> N6KR
>
>
>> On Jul 12, 2020, at 8:56 AM, John <[hidden email]> wrote:
>>
>> Thanks Wayne.
>>
>> Reminded me of Carl and Jerry.
>>
>> 73.
>>
>> John.
>>
>> ve7day.
>>
>>
>> On 12/07/2020 8:07 a.m., Wayne Burdick 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:[hidden email]
>>>
>>> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
>>> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
>>> Message delivered to [hidden email]
>> ______________________________________________________________
>> Elecraft mailing list
>> Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
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>> Post: mailto:[hidden email]
>>
>> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
>> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
>> Message delivered to [hidden email]
> ______________________________________________________________
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>
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[Steve Belunek]

Hi Wayne,

As a new ham, having just joined this list and excitedly awaiting my first HF rig (a KX3), I really appreciate this perspective.

I had considered whether to pursue getting into HF and DX, and what radio in general could offer over more "instant-gratification" forms of communication like SMS. What I kept coming back to is the excitement of learning and figuring new things out, the challenge of making contact, and the human element.

I feel like quick and easy texting has made conversation disposable, I remember when email was a once-a-day transmission via modem… or you had to write an actual letter to reach someone… the content of the transmission was far more considered, precisely because it took time and effort… and I think that effort made the message even more appreciated by the recipient.

When I was younger, my physics teacher gave me a shortwave radio… I must have spent hours tuning that dial listening to voice transmissions and strange beeps and boops. Then I got busy with a career working in computers. I am definitely a tinkerer and gadget geek.

Fast forward to today, I’ve re-discovered radio, got my license and my VHF/UHF HT… and I’m still intrigued by those far away signals… who’s out there sending them, and where are they coming from?

73,
Steve
KM6ZNZ

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 8:07 AM, Wayne Burdick <[hidden email]> 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:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]

______________________________________________________________
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Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

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Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

[Bill K9YEQ]

Wayne,

As I constantly tell myself, never to late or too old to learn.  Your stories tells a lot.  I am encouraged to use CW more....

72 & 73,
Bill
K9YEQ
FT'er for K2, KX1, KX3, KXPA100,  KAT500, W2, etc.

-----Original Message-----
From: [hidden email] <[hidden email]> On Behalf Of Wayne Burdick
Sent: Sunday, July 12, 2020 1:50 PM
To: John <[hidden email]>
Cc: Elecraft Reflector <[hidden email]>
Subject: Re: [Elecraft] "On second thought, I'll take the stairs."

Hi John,

Thanks for bringing Carl and Jerry to my attention. I'd never heard of until now (born too late, apparently). Here's a fascinating article about these fictional characters, from Popular Science, circa 1960:

   http://www.copperwood.com/carlandjerry.htm

73,
Wayne
N6KR

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 8:56 AM, John <[hidden email]> wrote:
>
> Thanks Wayne.
>
> Reminded me of Carl and Jerry.
>
> 73.
>
> John.
>
> ve7day.
>
>
> On 12/07/2020 8:07 a.m., Wayne Burdick 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:[hidden email]
>>
>> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net Please help support this
>> email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html Message delivered to
>> [hidden email]
> ______________________________________________________________
> Elecraft mailing list
> Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
> Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
> Post: mailto:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net Please help support this email
> list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html Message delivered to
> [hidden email]

______________________________________________________________
Elecraft mailing list
Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html Message delivered to [hidden email]
______________________________________________________________
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Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

Hi Steve,
Welcome to the ham community. If you are interested in CW operation I encourage you to look at the CW Academy sponsored CWOps at CWops.org. There is a program to carry you from beginner to 25 WPM with proper instruction along the way. That KX3 is a great radio for CW or any other mode you wish to pursue.

73,
Bill WE5P

Comfortably Numb

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 16:11, Steve Belunek <[hidden email]> wrote:
>
> Hi Wayne,
>
> As a new ham, having just joined this list and excitedly awaiting my first HF rig (a KX3), I really appreciate this perspective.
>
> I had considered whether to pursue getting into HF and DX, and what radio in general could offer over more "instant-gratification" forms of communication like SMS. What I kept coming back to is the excitement of learning and figuring new things out, the challenge of making contact, and the human element.
>
> I feel like quick and easy texting has made conversation disposable, I remember when email was a once-a-day transmission via modem… or you had to write an actual letter to reach someone… the content of the transmission was far more considered, precisely because it took time and effort… and I think that effort made the message even more appreciated by the recipient.
>
> When I was younger, my physics teacher gave me a shortwave radio… I must have spent hours tuning that dial listening to voice transmissions and strange beeps and boops. Then I got busy with a career working in computers. I am definitely a tinkerer and gadget geek.
>
> Fast forward to today, I’ve re-discovered radio, got my license and my VHF/UHF HT… and I’m still intrigued by those far away signals… who’s out there sending them, and where are they coming from?
>
> 73,
> Steve
> KM6ZNZ
>
>
>> On Jul 12, 2020, at 8:07 AM, Wayne Burdick <[hidden email]> 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:[hidden email]
>>
>> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
>> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
>> Message delivered to [hidden email]
>
> ______________________________________________________________
> Elecraft mailing list
> Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
> Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
> Post: mailto:[hidden email]
>
> This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
> Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
> Message delivered to [hidden email]

______________________________________________________________
Elecraft mailing list
Home: http://mailman.qth.net/mailman/listinfo/elecraft
Help: http://mailman.qth.net/mmfaq.htm
Post: mailto:[hidden email]

This list hosted by: http://www.qsl.net
Please help support this email list: http://www.qsl.net/donate.html
Message delivered to [hidden email]

[NS0R]

This is excellent.
>
>
______________________________________________________________
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Post: mailto:[hidden email]

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Message delivered to [hidden email]

[Macy monkeys]

I'm all for learning CW but I hope those who graduate take it further than just the midweek CWT and weekend contests. I enjoy a good CW raghew and those are becoming mighty rare.

John K7FD

> On Jul 12, 2020, at 1:18 PM, "[hidden email]" <[hidden email]> wrote:
>
> Hi Steve,
> Welcome to the ham community. If you are interested in CW operation I encourage you to look at the CW Academy sponsored CWOps at CWops.org. There is a program to carry you from beginner to 25 WPM with proper instruction along the way. That KX3 is a great radio for CW or any other mode you wish to pursue.
>
> 73,
> Bill WE5P
>
> Comfortably Numb
>
>> On Jul 12, 2020, at 16:11, Steve Belunek <[hidden email]> wrote:
>>
>> Hi Wayne,
>>
>> As a new ham, having just joined this list and excitedly awaiting my first HF rig (a KX3), I really appreciate this perspective.
>>
>> I had considered whether to pursue getting into HF and DX, and what radio in general could offer over more "instant-gratification" forms of communication like SMS. What I kept coming back to is the excitement of learning and figuring new things out, the challenge of making contact, and the human element.
>>
>> I feel like quick and easy texting has made conversation disposable, I remember when email was a once-a-day transmission via modem… or you had to write an actual letter to reach someone… the content of the transmission was far more considered, precisely because it took time and effort… and I think that effort made the message even more appreciated by the recipient.
>>
>> When I was younger, my physics teacher gave me a shortwave radio… I must have spent hours tuning that dial listening to voice transmissions and strange beeps and boops. Then I got busy with a career working in computers. I am definitely a tinkerer and gadget geek.
>>
>> Fast forward to today, I’ve re-discovered radio, got my license and my VHF/UHF HT… and I’m still intrigued by those far away signals… who’s out there sending them, and where are they coming from?
>>
>> 73,
>> Steve
>> KM6ZNZ
>>
>>
>>> On Jul 12, 2020, at 8:07 AM, Wayne Burdick <[hidden email]> 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
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
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[Courtney Krehbiel KD6X]

Very well done Wayne!  For what it's worth, when someone asks me why ham radio and CW in the era of cell phones and internet, I usually ask them the question "Why do people buy sailboats?".  It's a great way to start the conversation, and I usually see lights go on.  As you eloquently illustrated, there's a lot of charm and fun to be had by taking the old traditional paths rather than the freeway.  It requires a lot of knowledge and skill to be a good CW operator or a sailor in a wind powered vessel.  

Cheers and 73,

  -- Courtney  KD6X

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Subject: Elecraft Digest, Vol 195, Issue 11

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[ANDY DURBIN]

I'm as old as many here but, unlike most here,  I left amateur radio for 40 years after my initial teenage enthusiasm as a "G3".   My 15-17 wpm copy capability and a reasonable fist with an English WT-8A were completely lost.  When I started over I had to learn the alphabet almost from scratch.

I see CW as a "means to an end" and, for me, the "end" is chasing DX.   If the DX is working CW I'll call them with CW.  If they are working FT8 then I'll call them with FT8.  It now seems far more likely that the DX I need is working FT8 and not CW.  Despite that, in my 8.5 years chasing DX as a "K", I have more DX confirmed using CW than with digital or phone.

I still can't have a CW conversation at more than about 14 wpm and never rag-chew.  No problem reading my own call at 35 wpm though, so happy to chase DX at that speed if that's the speed the DX wants to work.

CW is just the "means".  If I want a conversation I can use Skype.

73,
Andy, k3wyc

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