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

[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 <n6kr at elecraft.com> 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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