2006 ARRL Field Day
07/02/2006 |
W8VPV
I present my epic poem memorializing the 2006 Field Day with the Cuyahoga Falls ARC.
Twas the Night Before Field Day 2006
Twas the night before Field Day and up at the Park,
The towers are up quite a bit before dark.
The rain didnt stop us it quit just in time,
Mother Nature this year is gentle and kind.
No heads stuck this time in an aluminum trap,
The Vets tell the story of the unfortunate sap.
But still the big beam was a test of our skill,
next time well run coax while its on the ground still.
The arrangement is blessed by Bruce Almighty,
The towers aligned, the wires are tidy.
Except for the vertical, alone and forlorn,
From which many troubles would later be born.
The wires are hung by the ground hogs with care,
In hopes that Saint Elmo soon will be there.
With great hopes we prep for the Radio Day,
We plan to kick butt and have it our way.
Ye Olde Timers set up their stuff and their tents,
They'll shepherd the site thru the weekend's events.
They wheeze and they grumble "It's not like it ought",
Their warnings brushed off in the end they yield naught.
The digital tent is a white foodstuff stall,
But viewing the screen will require our all.
The SSB stations are this year but one,
They'll have to go fast if our section is won.
Iron Man Anthony is up in the ERV,
He never once wavers, or loses his nerve.
The Fist Shack is located down on the end,
Their paddles will smoke, the ionosphere bend.
Six meters is added to manys surprise,
Nestled amongst the towers and guys.
No PC logging for this crew this day,
pencil and paper the old fashioned way.
The setup brings Dennis and digital gear,
The Geezer Fists stare with amazement and sneer.
They laugh and they giggle when the rig won't transmit,
It seems a small cable was left out of his kit.
The SSB rig is quite smarter than Steve,
To set the controls he must ask Bruce's leave.
An accident bump of a button or two,
Will shut them right down til the fix he can do.
Larry comes by and blows us away,
its possible we could be called out today.
the raining and flooding have caused a big mess,
the Red Cross downtown may require our best.
Art passes messages though it is tough,
200 points gained before the net cried Enough!
But this year the mayor is not heard or seen,
the Chairmans cousin is not this years queen.
Bob makes us dinner of burgers and dogs,
others brought stuff so we all can be hogs.
Salads and weenies and pastas abound,
And desserts of every kind all around.
Stories and legends and lies are brought out,
and foisted on rookies, let there be no doubt.
A good time is had by all at this meal,
but soon it is time for more Field Day for real.
Our antennas are friendly, too much if you ask,
The signals are shared which increases our task.
What voice in the PSK deep in the night,
It's our own sideband station, just off to our right.
The SSB has a great hash in their ear,
The Amp, The Amp, it's the Amp I fear!
The Amp isn't running - it isn't that trite,
An uneasy truce settles over the night.
Old Sparky has served us quite well all these years,
This time he wheezes, he feeds all our fears.
Save your logs often, the cry goes about,
You never know when all the lights might go out.
Dennis and Bob share the digital station,
Thank goodness for all the PC automation.
They freeze during the night but at least they can see,
By morning they look like corpses they be.
The morning brings warmth and a breakfast done right,
Saint Debs reprieve from a long cold night.
The haggard looks brighten with pancakes and eggs,
Some life is restored to their voices and legs.
By the end we are tired, and sleepy and keen,
Like an angry tower toppling machine.
Like bowling pins down they all go to the ground,
where we tear them apart like some wild rabid hound.
Our aches and our pains and our sleep deprived brain,
make us determine next year we'll abstain.
But by the time we've had some sleep and some rest,
we're already plotting how to make next year the best.
Dennis Conklin AI8P -- AI8P
Twas the Night Before Field Day 2006
Twas the night before Field Day and up at the Park,
The towers are up quite a bit before dark.
The rain didnt stop us it quit just in time,
Mother Nature this year is gentle and kind.
No heads stuck this time in an aluminum trap,
The Vets tell the story of the unfortunate sap.
But still the big beam was a test of our skill,
next time well run coax while its on the ground still.
The arrangement is blessed by Bruce Almighty,
The towers aligned, the wires are tidy.
Except for the vertical, alone and forlorn,
From which many troubles would later be born.
The wires are hung by the ground hogs with care,
In hopes that Saint Elmo soon will be there.
With great hopes we prep for the Radio Day,
We plan to kick butt and have it our way.
Ye Olde Timers set up their stuff and their tents,
They'll shepherd the site thru the weekend's events.
They wheeze and they grumble "It's not like it ought",
Their warnings brushed off in the end they yield naught.
The digital tent is a white foodstuff stall,
But viewing the screen will require our all.
The SSB stations are this year but one,
They'll have to go fast if our section is won.
Iron Man Anthony is up in the ERV,
He never once wavers, or loses his nerve.
The Fist Shack is located down on the end,
Their paddles will smoke, the ionosphere bend.
Six meters is added to manys surprise,
Nestled amongst the towers and guys.
No PC logging for this crew this day,
pencil and paper the old fashioned way.
The setup brings Dennis and digital gear,
The Geezer Fists stare with amazement and sneer.
They laugh and they giggle when the rig won't transmit,
It seems a small cable was left out of his kit.
The SSB rig is quite smarter than Steve,
To set the controls he must ask Bruce's leave.
An accident bump of a button or two,
Will shut them right down til the fix he can do.
Larry comes by and blows us away,
its possible we could be called out today.
the raining and flooding have caused a big mess,
the Red Cross downtown may require our best.
Art passes messages though it is tough,
200 points gained before the net cried Enough!
But this year the mayor is not heard or seen,
the Chairmans cousin is not this years queen.
Bob makes us dinner of burgers and dogs,
others brought stuff so we all can be hogs.
Salads and weenies and pastas abound,
And desserts of every kind all around.
Stories and legends and lies are brought out,
and foisted on rookies, let there be no doubt.
A good time is had by all at this meal,
but soon it is time for more Field Day for real.
Our antennas are friendly, too much if you ask,
The signals are shared which increases our task.
What voice in the PSK deep in the night,
It's our own sideband station, just off to our right.
The SSB has a great hash in their ear,
The Amp, The Amp, it's the Amp I fear!
The Amp isn't running - it isn't that trite,
An uneasy truce settles over the night.
Old Sparky has served us quite well all these years,
This time he wheezes, he feeds all our fears.
Save your logs often, the cry goes about,
You never know when all the lights might go out.
Dennis and Bob share the digital station,
Thank goodness for all the PC automation.
They freeze during the night but at least they can see,
By morning they look like corpses they be.
The morning brings warmth and a breakfast done right,
Saint Debs reprieve from a long cold night.
The haggard looks brighten with pancakes and eggs,
Some life is restored to their voices and legs.
By the end we are tired, and sleepy and keen,
Like an angry tower toppling machine.
Like bowling pins down they all go to the ground,
where we tear them apart like some wild rabid hound.
Our aches and our pains and our sleep deprived brain,
make us determine next year we'll abstain.
But by the time we've had some sleep and some rest,
we're already plotting how to make next year the best.
Dennis Conklin AI8P -- AI8P
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