For the first time since … well, actually, I think it’s the first time ever, we went to Swiss Days in Midway—as a couple. Without any kids!
It was a nice change.
We didn’t have to deal with strollers. We didn’t have to deal with diapers. We didn’t have to deal with runny noses, lost kids, or panicking shop-holders.
It was a very nice change.
Well, they got after me and wouldn’t let me participate passively tonight for the local Morse code practice session. They teased and cajoled and mocked and brow-beat and … well, actually they just gave me a bit of a bad time.
You know, we’re not going to take your excuses of “Oh, I can’t find my paddles.” for very much longer. You can’t keep saying “I still need to get the wiring fixed.” or “I need to find that adapter.” And we’re all not-very-good, so you can’t use that excuse at all. You’re going to have to just jump in, so I’ll start and hand it over to Chris, and Chris will hand it over to you, then you hand it back to me, and we’ll just keep going until we’re done. [Did you see how smoothly he did that?] Now QSY down to frequency …
And that was that.
One of the perks of being an active Ham in the community is getting to work some fun assignments. Among the several groups I volunteer with is TERT. We basically sit up on the mountain on weekends during the summer and help folks that get themselves into trouble. [You wouldn't believe how many people think sliding down the rock-strewn snow-field found on the back (north) side of Mt. Timpanogos is good idea. Talk about "road rash!" Well, rock rash, anyway.]
Each weekend we have a group of about a half-dozen TERT members who hike up and camp near the basin below the summit. They’re there to help folks who are up on the mountain. We have two trail-heads stations, Aspen Grove and Timpooneke (tim-poo-NEE-kee). We help the folks on the way up, and on the way down.
Many of those up at High Camp are amateur radio operators, many are medically trained (EMTs, First Responders, we even have an ER doctor on the team), and many are both. We also have rock-climbers and runners to round out the skill sets. The radio operators at Trail-head are support for High Camp, responsible for communications with the Sheriff’s Office (in case SAR has to be called out, or to call for emergency helicopter extraction), to apprise hikers of conditions on the mountain, and gently suggest that they might want to take more water, clothing, etc. before setting out.
I usually man Timpooneke Trail-head on my weekends. I find myself saying things like
“The weather up high is pretty bad today; do you have jackets you could take with?”
“Those flip-flops don’t look like they would be very comfortable crossing the scree fields; do you have better footwear?”
“There isn’t any drinkable water on the trail; you might want to take more [than that half-empty 16-oz bottle] with you.”
“Well, our 9-am weather report from the summit this morning was ‘horizontal rain, with wind-chill to 30° Fahrenheit’ …” [that was the real weather report from my last weekend] “…so you might not want to go very high in your tank-top, shorts, and sandals.”
“Are you planning on hiking very far today? Your three year-old looks study enough to make it to Scout Falls—a little over a mile up the trail—but it gets pretty steep after that.”
“Oh, really; just in from California? Today? And you’d like to summit? Well, OK then. The summit is at 11,749 ft so let me give you a couple of pointers about altitude sickness and what the symptoms are. …”
“Hydrate or die!”
I was on duty a couple of weekends ago (17.-19.Jul.2007). We had some good storms roll in; lots of thunder and lightning early Saturday, heavy rain with high winds, and the like. (There’s a saying we have on TERT, “If you don’t like the weather on the mountain, just wait twenty minutes; it will be something completely different.”)
Anyway, I spent most of the day watching cold, tired, soggy hikers come down off the mountain. (Did I mention a popular thing for the students from the local university to do is start up around 0100h [yes, 1:00 a.m., as in one-hour-after-midnight] so they can be at the Summit for sunrise. I think it’s supposed to be romantic to take your significant other. It gives you a common—sometimes traumatic—experience to share. I guess.
By early afternoon, most of the sodden hikers and soggy campers had made it down. I had brought a spy novel up to read, and was making good progress, as there were few folks to talk to. [It also helped that this 290 page novel only had about 150 pages worth of material. It was spread as thin as a Junior High School report: double spaced with large margins; each chapter number thingy was on a page by itself.] I had spent most of the day in the Trail-Head shack—a little six-foot square deal with a couple of antennas on top, and windows to look out and watch folks on the trail. The rain had let up and it was turning into quite a nice day.
I was sitting in the doorway reading when I felt something on my shoe; it was a brazen little chipmunk looking for something to nibble. He came by several times all afternoon, so I would toss him a few sunflower seeds; he would nibble for a minute or three, and then disappear for an hour or so.
It was during these breaks that I had the most unusual encounter I’ve ever had with wildlife—and the point of this entry, for which I’ve made you work so hard.
During one of the quiet moments, one of the hummingbirds that had been zipping past trail-head on and off all day long came for a visit. He flitted about the doorway, about an arm’s length away. He was in no hurry, and gave the impression of just sight-seeing. He was so calm about it that I gently raised my arm to see if he would lite. He hovered near, maybe two inches above my palm, buzzed over to the other side once more, then took his leave.
A little later I was standing in the shack, leaning against the door jamb. Suddenly, another hummingbird buzzed up and stopped about five inches from my nose. Just hovered there, nose to nose, staring at me for what seemed like a hummingbird eternity. It was probably only a second, maybe a second and a half, but for a hummingbird?! That’s a very long time. He buzzed from side to side, looked me square in each eye a couple of times, as though sizing me up, and then blitzed off. The whole thing lasted probably ten seconds, but it was a very surreal encounter.
Near the end of the afternoon, I think one of this friends was a little liquored up on nectar or something and came blazing in aimed right at my left eyeball! I ducked to the side, just as he came arrowing in, and he zipped around inside the shack, having himself a good look around. I stepped into the shack, up against the wall, and helped him find his way back out.
I wish I could have gotten photos of any of these little dare-devils, but the only camera I had was my cellphone. Since there is virtually no coverage, you don’t leave your phone turned on, because it drains the battery trying to find a cell tower to link to.
So, brazen chipmunks and cheeky hummingbirds. A “loverly” weekend all around.
OK, what idiot decided dumping left-over concrete and burying it in the yard of the house you’re building was a bright idea?!
So a bunch of guys from UDXA get together on one of the local repeaters a couple of nights a week and then drop down to the CW portion of the 2-meter band for a little CW practice. Tonight I finally remembered to tune-in in time to hear three of them head down for a practice session.
Oh. My.
If we had to use my transcript of the conversation, I think we would all get in trouble for sending what appeared to be codes and cyphers. Admittedly, when they slowed down enough (and sent things like their QTH twice … then I did OK. Even if one of them kept misspelling South Jordan.
I have a lot of work ahead of me.
I have just been told, in conversation here at work, that I am indeed not socially retarded; I am anti-social!
w00t! 
Last night [sic] was Simplex Night for our local ARES group. I was on the net frequency early and heard various stations from around the county getting ready: turning off the repeater, NCS and several other stations exchanging signal reports, verifying that a training item is ready. All proceeded like a well oiled monkey.
So, 2100h rolls around; time for the Net … then 2105h comes, and goes … I’m still not hearing Net Control. I glance over at the mobile radio I have in the kitchen, prepped and ready for the net, and see the S-meter jumping up and down like a three-year-old on Christmas Eve. (You have experienced a three-year-old on Christmas Eve, haven’t you? If not, can you remember when you were that frenzied child? 
)
That’s odd.
I think to myself. Why would it be jumping about so—
at which point I remember I had had to turn the squelch threshold up quite a bit while scanning earlier. Problem easily solved … but I’m still only getting a word here or there as the S-meter hits a high, every second or so. OK, squelch wide open: lots of hiss and a broken, ever-so-faint transmission (I would have given him a “21″ report), dramatically punctuated by various stations in the area booming in with full-quieting signals as they check in to the net. Well, since I can barely make out NCS, I crank up the power and wait for a pause to check in. Normally I can check-in — even on simplex night — with just 5 Watts. I have a decent two-element, colinear J-pole on the back of the house, and can hear south county stations easily (30+ miles away, through the Orem bench), so I’m surprised I’m having difficulty; NCS is in Lehi, probably only ten miles distant, and over flat terrain at that.
My brother-in-law was over with his brand new FT-60R, all eager to check in with his new acquisition, but he’s having the same reception problems as I. He wanders outside to see if he can find a sweet spot to get over to the neighboring city where NCS is located. He actually circumnavigated the house and could not find a spot where reception of NCS got any better … until he wandered out into the street in front of the house. Viola! Nice clean, strong signal from NCS.
So there you go. I have a Black Hole hoovering somewhere over my house that prohibits communications with Lehi. 
I hope the Black Hole decides it likes my neighbor’s house better and goes to hoover there for a while; they don’t care as much for radio waves, and I don’t care for ye olde Black Hole, so I think that would be a perfect match. What say you?
[Sheesh! It took me so long to write this that it's now tomorrow. Well, at least according to the clock.]