A HAM RADIO OPERATOR'S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS...
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,
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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 thought for a moment,
That it might be Wayne Green.
But no, it was Santa,
The Santa of Hams.
On a mission, this Christmas
To clean up the bands.
He circled the tower,
Then stopped in his track,
And he slid down the coax
Right into the shack.
While Mom and I hid
Behind stacks of
CQ,
This Santa of hamming
Knew just what to do.
(Continued on page 3)
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