Working The RARE One
Finally! You can't believe it, but there he is...and for once his signal's booming in! "Gotta turn on the juice," you think to yourself as you jab the power switch on the linear. "Y'know, this time I just might have a chance," you muse out loud.
The object of your intense attention: one of the rarest, most sought-after, stations in all of hamdom--even more exotic than Naucents Atoll--it's the weather station on the mysterious Isle of Sqwot, callsign 12AX7 and the operator, Mario, is in rare form:
"Lima Victor, what is your problem? I said the "Zulu" station only! QRZed, 12 Alpha X-Ray 7?"
The ensuing pile-up sounds like about a hundred Indy racers warming up in a two-car garage...the roar is deafening. Mario picks 'em out deftly and responds in crisply accented English:
"Golf Alpha, 5 and 9, 73..."
As the tubes heat up in the amplifier, you quickly check the beam heading and tap the rotor controls to get that last possible extra degree you'll need to get the edge. Then you double check the heading once more, just in case.
"12 America X-Ray 7, QRZed stateside..."
Working 12AX7 is a particular challenge because Mario's job at the weather station leaves him little time for hamming, and when he does get on the air, there's almost never propagation from your QTH. Not this time, though. He's 20 over 9...and he's working by call districts! Two more, and he'll be on yours!
"Foxtrot Hotel, I did not call you! Please do not transmit! The Lima Whiskey station, go ahead..."
You're hands tremble just a bit. You clear your throat and rehearse your phonetics. You've waited years for this. Suddenly, a bit of trouble--some goofball asks if the frequency is in use and 213 band policeman simultaneously key up, generating enough RF energy to cook a meatloaf. Undeterred, Mario presses on:
"12-A-X-7 on the Isle of Sqwot, QSL via Callbook address, QRZed..."
Mario's signal has dropped a bit, but he's still blasting in. Your call district is next. Your palms are moist. Then...more trouble: an old timer, clueless to the hypoxic multitude waiting to work 12AX7, has snagged him: "Okay, mighty fine, there Martin. Name here is John, Jig-Oboe-Henry-Nan, and you're putting in a pretty darn good signal into the old Hallicrafters...pretty darn good, indeed! The weather here was mighty hot and we sure could use some rain...." You want to scream at the old guy to shut up, but you know that you'll be rattling on about nothing in particular yourself in a couple of years. Instead you double check the beam heading one more time.
"73 John, best to you and your family...QRZed, this is 12-Alpha X-Ray 7..."
Oh, no! Mario's stopped going by call districts! You'll have to duke it out with the rest of the known world! To top it off, his signal's down to an S-7. No matter--the plate's fully dipped on the amplifier and the beam heading is...well, better check it again. Then it happens.
Murray comes up on frequency. You know Murray--after 40 years in the garment industry, he's retired...has one of everything in the AES catalog. Tonight he's using the FT-1000MP driving the Henry driving the Alpha. With Murray's 6-over-6-over-6-over-6-over-6-over-6-over-6 monoband array, he doesn't have to wait for band openings--he makes them! As Murray's nasal, New Yawk tinged voice comes through the speaker, you notice that your porch lights are flickering in time. Meanwhile, Mario's down to S-4.
"Nice to talk to you again, Marry-O. Your signal is very, very nice. It's quite strong tonight, but not as strong as it was last night, but much, much louder than the night before. Okay, Marry-O, it's always a pleasure to hear your voice. Won't hold it; many are calling you. All the best, Marry-O. Take care. 73, my friend. There are many people who would like the opportunity to exchange reports with you Marry-O, so I will sign. Oh, and just one more thing, Marry-O, did you get the key-lime pies I sent you?..."
...and so on...and on...and on. Murray transmits for another ten minutes, all the while repeating, "won't hold it; many are calling you." When Murray finally lets up, 12AX7's signal is like a whisper about a memory about a wish. You stare at the rig in disbelief; your mouth tastes like copper.
Disgusted, you turn off the linear, then the transceiver. You go to bed and try to sleep, but a voice in your head keeps repeating, "won't hold it; many are calling you...."
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