Intro:  Hi, I’m Bill Continelli, W2XOY, and I’ll be back in a moment to talk about ……

NOTHING.  That’s right, NOTHING!!

We are radio hobbyists, radio enthusiasts, even radio geeks.  Whether it’s amateur radio, CB, shortwave, scanning, GMRS/FRS, or all of the above, radio is part of our daily lives.  Mobile radios are in our cars, HTs are on our belts, and some room in our apartment or house is crammed, floor to ceiling with radios.  In fact, for some of us, radio is a 24/7/365 avocation.  We are constantly searching, scanning, or scouring the RF spectrum for signals.  We become agitated when our receivers are silent.  In fact, silence is the last thing we want from our radios.

Or is it?  Could it be that someone in our midst has been on a 20 year search for …..Nothing?

The answer is yes.  I am that person.  And I achieved that goal in August of 2005.

It all began in the early 1980’s.  My job requires a lot of travel.  I was on the road, somewhere in North-Central Pennsylvania, which, except for Northern Maine, is the most sparsely populated area in the Northeast.  My car at that time was equipped with a 2 meter rig, a 40 channel CB, and the usual AM/FM radio.  As I drove, I had all radios in the scan mode when I realized that I was receiving….Nothing.  From 540 to 1610 kHz, 26.965 to 27.405 MHz, 88 to 108 MHz, and 144 to 148 MHz, I heard nothing.  No signals.  No RF.  Just silence.  This phenomenon continued for 30 miles until the car radio locked on a local FM station.

I began to wonder.  With literally millions of radio and television transmitters simultaneously on the air worldwide, was there anyplace on the planet that was still devoid of  RF signals?  Could I ever find such a place?  It would be difficult, if not impossible.  Nevertheless, I promised myself that, someday, I would find it.

My quest became more difficult in the late 1980’s when I installed several more radios in my car.  I now had continuous receive from 540 kHz all the way through 928 MHz, including cellular.  My job required travel throughout the Eastern United States.  Even in the most desolate areas of West Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee, I heard stations pouring in on shortwave.  In fact, as I travelled into uncharted, unpopulated territory, I became rare DX on the 14.336MHz County Hunters Net.  Stations by the dozen eagerly called me.  On 40 meters, the ECARS net on 7.255 MHz was full scale.  I was a regular check in with only 50 watts and a Hamstick antenna.  10 meters was wide open, and I worked the world on sideband, as well as 10 meter FM repeaters hundreds of miles away.  When 6 meters opened via E-Skip, I worked stations in almost 20 states.  From the middle of nowhere, I was connected.  I was not in the Land of Nothing. 

In February of 2002, I was sent to Phoenix, Arizona, on a 4 week assignment.  I flew out there with dual band, extended receive HTs, a CB walkie-talkie, and a Yaesu FT-817, which covered the full shortwave spectrum, as well as 6 meters, 2 meters and 70 centimeters.  I rented a car, and spent the weekend exploring the mountains and deserts of Arizona and New Mexico.  I found many areas without CB, AM, FM, VHF and cellular signals.  But once again, shortwave pulled through.  Even though the sunspots were declining, I always found the shortwave bands alive.  With only 5 watts out of the FT-817, and telescopic 20, 17, 15, 10 and 6 meter antennas, I worked numerous stations thousands of miles away.  I earned my 10-10 number from a location devoid of all life forms, in the Arizona desert, just 500 feet from the Mexican border.  I was thrilled with the performance of the FT-817, but, once again, even though I was in an unpopulated, inhospitable area, I was not in the Land of Nothing.

Then, in August of 2005, I had an extended business trip planned.  I would spend a week in San Diego, followed by a week in New Orleans, then a week in Atlanta, a week in Washington, D.C., and finally, a week in New York City.  Since I’m a railfan, I decided to do the whole trip via Amtrak.  I booked a “roomette”, a small private room about 4’ x 6’.  It contained two seats that folded into a bed.  The official reason for the “roomette” was medical, I use a C-PAP machine to breathe at night.  The real reason was personal.  I packed a Grundig YB-400 SW radio, the Yaesu FT-817, a Yaesu VX-5, a Yaesu FT-60, an ICOM IC-T2H, a Radio Shack scanner, a Grundig YB-300 SW radio, and a Midland CB walkie-talkie.  I also brought telescopic gain antennas, battery chargers, and a generous supply of NiMH and alkaline batteries.  I would have a private, coast to coast ham shack, paid for by my employer!

I had a blast on my way to California.  Although I couldn’t work HF from inside the railcar, I had dozens of QSOs on 2 meters and 70 cm.  On many occasions, the tracks were parallel to an Interstate.  I would work the truckers on CB Ch 19.  In one contact, the trucker kept pace with the train for 10 miles as we talked.  On the prairies of Illinois and Kansas I had simplex QSOs that covered 20 miles or more.   I used the ICOM IC-T2H (the most sensitive 2 meter HT ever made) to listen to marine traffic on the Great Lakes and the Mississippi River, as well as scan the railroad frequencies.  I checked out the local AM & FM stations, listened to VHF TV audio, tuned in shortwave broadcasters, listened to the airports, and scanned the public service bands.  And I got paid for it.

But, in the back of my mind, I knew that this trip would also bring me to the Land of Nothing.

I left California one week later, on Amtrak’s “Sunset Limited”.  This train follows the Union Pacific’s main line through southern California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.  From El Paso to Del Rio, the train passed through the most desolate area of Texas.  It also went through Marfa, Texas, home of the famous and mysterious “Marfa Lights”.  These are lights that appear on the horizon, at night, in the foothills of the mountains.  They float, hover, and dart back and forth.  They have been documented for more that 120 years, and, to this day, no one knows what causes them.  In my heart, I knew that Marfa was the location of the Land of Nothing.  Unfortunately, the train was scheduled to pass through Marfa before sunset, unless it was delayed.

And it was.

The Union Pacific line is single track, with passing sidings every 30 miles or so.  As eastbound and westbound trains approached, one would pull into the siding to let the other pass.  Now, under the agreements Amtrak has with the freight lines, passenger trains have priority over freight trains.  In reality, it doesn’t work that way, especially on that particular line.  It takes a long time to stop a 100 car freight train, and a lot of energy to get it moving again.  Furthermore, the line from East to West climbs a continuous grade.  As a result, the Union Pacific dispatcher always put the Sunset Limited into the siding, and let the freight train pass.  Sometimes we would be in the siding for hours, while a parade of westbound freights went by.

We left El Paso at 11 pm, several hours behind schedule.  I was dozing in my roomette, the ICOM IC-T2H scanning the rail channels.  Somewhere around 2 am, we went into a siding to let a westbound freight pass.  Then the dispatcher called us and said he was keeping us “in the hole” for another westbound, about one hour away. 

Suddenly, I was wide awake.  This might be the moment!  I knew from monitoring the rail frequencies that we were near Marfa, and about 30 miles from Alpine Texas.  I quickly brought out all the radios, and assigned each on them a particular frequency range.  The Grundig YB-400 got the SW spectrum, while its little brother, the YB-300, was given the AM/FM broadcast bands.  The Radio Shack scanner was assigned 30 to 54 MHz as primary, with 108 to 138 and 440 to 512 MHz as secondary.  The ICOM IC-T2H was assigned the VHF high band, including 2 meters and the rail frequencies.  The Yaesu FT-60 was assigned 440 to 470 MHz as primary, with the aircraft band secondary.   The Midland CB got the 26.965 to 27.405 MHz range.  The Yaesu VX-5 was given VHF and UHF TV audio, the military aircraft band, and the 800 MHz segment.  Finally, the Yaesu FT-817 was assigned all its memory channels in the HF, 6 meter, and 2 meter bands.

For the first 10 minutes or so, I was busy.  The Midland and the VX-5 had to be manually tuned through their assigned ranges.  I was constantly switching radios from their primary to secondary assignments.  On some of the more esoteric frequencies, such as TV audio, military aircraft, and 800 MHz, I made only one sweep.  The AM/FM broadcast bands, CB, and the VHF low bands received three full searches.  Shortwave, aircraft, VHF high and the UHF bands received almost continuous coverage.  For the cellular frequencies, I pulled out my cellphone.  As expected, I got a “No Service” message.

After 10 minutes, I settled on the core frequencies of SW, aircraft, VHF high, and UHF.  The Midland was parked on CB Ch 19, and the FT-817 continued to march through its memory channels.  I put the radios on the folding table by the window.  I then shut off all the lights in my roomette, and even unplugged the night light.  It was now pitch black, inside and outside.  The train was absolutely silent.  I was in the last car, so I couldn’t hear the engine.

I leaned back in the chair and allowed the darkness and silence to embrace me.  I began to feel disconnected from the world, and even from my own senses.  I began to think that I was the last person on earth, and the blackness and silence would last forever.  At one point, a wave of fear passed over me, and I had to resist the urge to pick up the radios and start calling someone, anyone.   The fear passed, and once again I was at peace with my surroundings.  I lost track of space and time.  The darkness was my blanket, and the silence was a reassuring friend.  I convinced myself that this would never end.

Unfortunately, it did.  After 30 minutes of total sensory depravation, the ICOM IC-T2H jarred me back to the real world when it picked up the defect detector triggered by the westbound freight.  A minute later the dispatcher came on and contacted us.  Then, a low rumble that grew louder, as the freight passed us.  Finally, the dispatcher gave us permission to move.  I sat up, turned on the lights, and shut off all the radios except for the ICOM.  I was back in the real world.

Note:  Purists will claim that my test was flawed.  They will point out that I was in a steel railcar, and only using telescopic antennas.  If I were outside, with larger antennas, I would hear signals on MW and SW.  In addition, they will also say that I didn’t check any frequency higher than 900 MHz, and that I would have received satellite transmissions if I had the proper receivers.

I do not dispute the fact that the test was not perfect.  I will point out, however, that under the same conditions I received hundreds of signals on other parts of my journey.  This trip on Amtrak was almost 8,000 miles, and Marfa was the only location that I heard…..Nothing.

My only regret was that I did not see the Marfa Lights.  That would have made the surreal moment complete.

The rest of the trip, radiowise, was anti-climatic.  Once again, I was active on 2 meters, 70 cm, and CB, as well as scanning SW and the public service bands.  I even had a handful of 10 and 6 meter QSOs.  I had achieved the Land of Nothing; I had no desire to return.

When I finally arrived home, weeks later, many hams asked me what I had heard and worked on my coast to coast radio quest.  I smiled, and softly said “Nothing, absolutely nothing”.  They didn’t understand, and perhaps never will.

One final note:  This was my first time in New Orleans.  I loved the city, and toured it extensively.  I sat by the Mississippi River and listened to marine traffic.  I had numerous QSOs with the local hams.  And I left New Orleans on Friday, August 12, 2005 – just two weeks before Hurricane Katrina.  I would return to New Orleans 3 months later, but that is another story.

This is Bill Continelli, W2XOY, for “This Week in Amateur Radio”.