Deceptively simple, difficult to master, and so very cool. It's something that mostly exists in childhood. Now that I'm older, I also realize how rare that type of feeling is. That feeling is very difficult to describe. It was somehow waiting out in the ionosphere for your antenna to reach out and grab it. You sit there dumbfounded as you realize that you just had your best QSO, after all that doubt. Both operators truly appreciate having notched a good contact for the night and having practiced their new skill just a little more. Both operators are somewhat new to CW, having a great time, and the messages at the end of the QSO are grateful, uplifting, and sincere. The typical lines are there for the signal report, name, and rig information, with a little extra room for a joke or comment. You hear your callsign coming back to you. Will they even hear you? Will they hear you well enough? Will they immediately know that you are a beginner and the QSO will be a mess? Perhaps they won't even respond.īut they do. Like that first jump from the high dive when you were a kid at the public pool - with everyone watching. Once this happens, there's no going back.
So against all of your doubts and urges to just sit this one out, you hit a few buttons, set a few parameters, and start keying their callsign.
It's the third repeat of the CQ now, and you know from experience that there is only a small chance that someone will respond at this hour, on a night like this, at that speed, with conditions being a bit marginal. Out of the void you hear a solitary CQ call, at only 10wpm. The conditions aren't great, and things are fading in and out. Of the three things you hear, they are mostly longer conversations, at higher speeds, between operators that have obviously spoken together many times. Things are very slow, and it's about time to turn the radio off and finish up the day before sleep. It's 11 pm EST, and you're listening to the last few CW signals remaining on the band for the night.