Camp Wilderness Amateur Radio Club

'Twas the night before Christmas,

And all through two-meters,

Not a signal was keying up

Any repeaters.

The antennas reached up

From the tower, quite high,

To catch the weak signals

That bounced from the sky.

The children, Tech-Pluses,

Took their HT's to bed,

And dreamed of the day

They'd be Extras, instead.

Mom put on her headphones,

I plugged in the key,

And we tuned 40 meters

For that rare ZK3.

When the meter was pegged

By a signal with power.

It smoked a small diode,

And, I swear, shook the tower.

Mom yanked off her phones,

And with all she could muster

Logged a spot of the signal

On the DX PacketCluster.

While I ran to the window

And peered up at the sky,

To see what could generate

RF that high.

It was way in the distance,

But the moon made it gleam -

A flying sleigh,

With an eight element beam,

And a little old driver

Who looked slightly mean.

So I though for a moment,