The Quieting Of Radio
I have a secret spot. A place I like to go. A picnic table on the bank of a brackish tidal river. With shrubby cedar that has sprouted a yard or more since I claimed it nearly four years ago. Nellie, my dog, knows it by heart, leading me through the wooded shortcuts and begging to be freed for a dip in the shriveled estuary.
The gnarled trees have been there to hold my antennas all this time. As they grow, my wires get higher. Today’s was a homemade dipole, a simple creation, made of box store parts. You can see how I set it up below, with its centerpiece marked by the arrow. The autumn sun is rapidly setting and I only just arrived.
This is the important part of the story, but the correct words seem to be tucked into the recesses of my brain. In corners I am struggling to access. I would like to explain it, type the thoughts out, have you understand these nebulous sentiments. Though I think I will fail. The radio hobby is quieting down for me. Turning personal. Retreating to a place deep inside. I can feel the shift.
My radio is quieter too today. A six watt transceiver. Around the power used to illuminate a single LED. I fantasize about twirling the VFO for hours, listening to worldly conversations crackling through the speaker. Attempting to send my voice out on invisible waves to mysteriously comingle with theirs. Natural physical phenomena that have explanations that read well in a textbook. Those explanations though do not hold up in the face of rational thought. I know, I know, my voice cannot transcend time and space, leaving my lips and nearly simultaneously entering the ear canal of a fellow amateur radio operator a half a planet away. Encoded within the folds of an electromagnetic wave…
(Oh but it does.)
I am clumsy with this transceiver. I want it to be my friend, but we have not played together very much yet. I do not know its menus. I am uncertain of which buttons to press. I know I am trying too hard. My CW paddle is sitting idle as I slowly scroll through frequencies, looking for patterns of morse code that I can comprehend. A special set of cables connects me to the ether. I see symbolism where there is none.
My secret spot. A weathered little table besides the winds of a brackish river. Pinks and blues tumbling out from the setting sun.
Nellie anxiously watches me take photographs by the river bank. She knows that our time here is running out. As if by telepathy, I can sense her concern. It is time to leave.
The change to dusk is complete and it will all be black in fifteen minutes. I rush to pack up. I am exhilarated by the sun’s disappearance. A sense of wildness and danger that harkens to days long gone. The mile walk out will be guided by the remnants of twilight. The exquisite feeling of being alive. I drink in the salty, sweaty, organic, rotting, mineral-rich scent of the river bank. A temporary bid farewell.
I am typing this from the safety of my living room couch. Reflecting on a hobby that is impacting me in ways I cannot find appropriate verbiage to describe. The Magician’s archetype flashing through my mind. Quietly, invisibly, and expertly harnessing the powers of the universe with such artfulness and subtlety that the world reacts by simply taking it all for granted. Radio waves are not logical. They are not rational. They do not make sense. And they cannot exist. They are the very definition of magic, no matter how persuasive and intelligent the explanation–and its preacher–sounds.
(Oh, but they do exist.)
You have reached the point in the story where the protagonist realizes that they are alone. That the companions who had made the trek together thus far are going their separate ways. Where the journey turns inward. The animosity felt towards an author who unfairly destroys the comfortable comradery written in the early chapters of the classic hero’s tale. And the arching realization that the path is a lonely one. A lovely one, but a lonely one nonetheless.
Radio, with its magic and mysteries, is turning inward for me. It is my journey. It is my pursuit. My joy. And my passion. And while I still remain happy to share it, the need to share is evaporating.
Always,
KM1NDY
I started listening to Shortwave radio when I was 10. Got into CB radio at 14 and a Ham License at 18. I’m now 66. It has always been an amazing journey, and it never ends. Always something new to try. And to think that just maybe, all my transmissions will be heard and decoded millions of years from now in another galaxy, is also amazing, just like we see stars that ceased to exist a million years ago. Sixty-six orbits around our sun is a short time in space history. I wish for another 40 so I can keep pushing for knowledge via our shared Ham radio hobby. Only 800,00 hams in USA out of 330 million. Pretty special huh?
Dave, it really is! An interesting thought it spending an eternity on a radio wave!! Thanks for stopping by and sharing this. Hopefully we can catch up on the hill for the November Day of Radio!
Mindy