Amateur Radio

A Tale of Cryptic Signals

One late evening in the mid 1980s, when 7 MHz signals from the west coast stations began to boom in, I was tuning to around 7.2 MHz when all of a sudden, a strong CW signal blasted from my headphone. The CW signal was outrageously strong, and it almost bent the needle of the S-meter. Reflexively, I turned the RF gain control knob down to protect the needle, and this also made it easier to listen to CW when the audio wasn't cropped by AGC. Whoever was transmitting it, he had to be running a kilowatt and lived nearby. I could think of a few amateur radio operators in the Hudson area who could be running a kilowatt, but who would be doing so in the middle of a phone band segment? Unfortunately, I couldn't copy his call sign, the CW was too fast for me. It was unbelievably fast, 50 words per minute? or maybe 100 wpm! I couldn't even catch the familiar sounds like "bk," "de," or anything like that. This operator could be using QSK because I didn't hear any call sign at the end of transmission. The transmission abruptly ended. I waited for a while but he didn't come back. It was very late, so I decided to not wait or peruse to find out who he was.

The next night, just a few minutes before going to bed, I remembered the CW, so I ran to my radio shack. As soon as the radio was turned on, I heard the loud pinging CW - a familiar sound. It was him again on the same frequency that was left from the previous night. Then, I realized that the VFO dial read 7.228 MHz - the same frequency as my favorite net on Sunday morning. Well, it could be one of the net members who might be transmitting. But it couldn't be, since all of them lived several hundred miles away. I determined to find the owner of this incredible CW. I listened very carefully, at full concentration, but still I could not copy any words. Oh Boy, was I slowdown, or was he too fast? I felt I needed some CW practice. So, I QSY'ed to the novice sub-band. After coping several CW chats at good speed, and I regained some confidence, and I returned to the net frequency. But the incredible CW operator did not show up again that evening.

The third night, I quickly finished dinner and skipped the TV news, and went to the radio shack. Hmmm, he wasn't up yet. So, I QSY'ed to the lower portion of the band for CW practice. After some practice of fast CW on 7.01 MHz, I switched the VFO to the net frequency. He wasn't up yet, so I went back to 7.01 MHz for more practice of faster CW. I was picking up CW speed amazingly fast, and felt tonight was it for copying his CW. As the evening went by, I became more anxious, and was switching the VFO back and forth between 7.228 MHz and 7.01 MHz to wait for him. Either he did not show up that night, or I might missed him when I was on 7.01 MHz. Very disappointing.

The fourth day, in the late evening, I put the headphone on, and just monitored 7.228 MHz quietly. The band was full of the usual unpleasant heterodyne noise. I set the volume control at low, however. Suddenly, a sound of loud pinging CW blasted out of the headphone, and it almost knocked my head off. I forgot to set the RF gain control down which was set at the maximum for the 7.01 MHz. I grabbed a pencil and started to write it down. My right hand was shaking and scribbling something on the paper but no particular letters or anything, my hand was trying to write the letter that my ear told it to do for each CW sound, however, I wasn't copying any words. It was reminiscent of my first QSO in my novice days - I didn't copy the call sign of my first contact! A few minutes later, he disappeared in a usual way - without signing off. All I copied was a few letters. I smacked the desk and yelled, "Geewiz! It could be the Russian alphabet at 100 words per minute!" Then, I realized that the other station with whom he was presumably communicating did not come back. Even with the RF gain set back to the full position, there was no CW signal from the other station. He made a brief one-way transmission and disappeared. What's going on? Were they operating a split? Why would anybody do that on this frequency? I waited for him to come back again. But he did not come back on 7.228 MHz that night at all.

The fifth day, I prepared a high-tech tool - a computer with Morse code decoding software! Why didn't I think about this earlier? I watched the computer monitor quietly, and waited, and waited. Suddenly, the cursor began to move wildly but irregularly across the monitor. Mostly blanks, but occasionally letters were spit out. The program should decode Morse code at any speed without adjustment. I pulled out the software manual and reviewed quickly to see if any parameters could be adjusted or changed to non-English codes. Nothing I could adjust or change. A few minutes later, he disappeared for the evening. Since I didn't hear it, I wasn't sure whether it was him or noise.

The sixth day, I beefed up with more high-tech weapons - an oscilloscope and a tape recorder! So I could see dots and dashes, and I could play it back at a slower speed. Don't tell me I was cheating! I was desperate and excited about a Soviet spy in my neighborhood. Quietly, I waited and stared at the S-meter while I was enjoying FM broadcast programs by the stereo headphone over my head. My mind was occupied by many thoughts - to whom should I report this if it was a real spy station: to the police, FCC, FBI, or CIA? Was CIA's phone number listed? Would KGB agents come after me?

Some small deflections of the needle were found to be a false alarm. It was easily confirmed by the sound as the headphone was switched from the FM radio to the rig. Suddenly, the S-meter started to swing wildly, so I switched the stereo headphone to the rig. Aha ha! That's him, he had a distinct fist that made very easy to identify him. After confirming the signal source, I put down the head phone and pressed the record button, and just watched the needle movement. Was I the only one to intercept this transmission besides the other secret station - perhaps aboard a phony fishing vessel near the east coast of US? Heck, I got more excited.

His transmission was always short, he was seemed to hurry and was not interesting in a rag-chew. After he disappeared, I rewound the tape, and played it at half the recorded speed. What! Oh no! I still couldn't copy his CW. So, I plugged it to the PC and played it back. Even at a half of the original speed, it printed only a few letters with a lot of blanks, it was about the same as the previous night. It didn't make any sense. Perhaps, it was not English Morse code or he had a lousy fist. It's always irritated me when I had to copy CW with a bad fist. Although it was late, I decided to read dots and dashes by eye even though this would take more time. The recorded audio was fed to the oscilloscope. Holy cow! I was half right - his fist was really rotten, wave forms showed many irregular lengths of dots and dashes. Who could copy this? Was he drunk? What was he doing there every night? How could I find him? A direction finding on 40-meter would not be easy. I couldn't think of anybody had a monstrous 40-meter beam antenna to take its bearing. Since he seemed to be nearby my house, I could locate him by using the S-meter as driving around the neighbors, if there was a suitable radio to put in my car . . . . . .

I had a small home-brew QRP rig which I had been using to check-in the phone net during vacation trips. The rig had a very stable VXO for the same frequency, 7.228 MHz. As a matter of fact, I had recharged its nicad batteries and tested the rig only a week ago, and placed it on the shelf in the closet in the radio shack. The rig was indeed found on the shelf, it was the next to the dry food stuff used for mountain climbing. I discovered that some of the dry food bags were chewed through and scattered. I also discovered the nicad batteries were somewhat discharged despite that it was fully charged only a week ago. I recharged it again over-night.

The following evening, I positioned the QRP rig at the same location - the next to the dry food. In addition, a fully loaded trap, looking like a telegraphic key, was placed at the next to the QRP rig's real telegraphic key. Then, I monitored the 7.228 MHz. I did so in absolute silence, as if it were a CIA's sting operation of the 90s. Lights were even dim. It seemed like I waited for all night.

Almost to the midnight, suddenly the S-meter started to swing wildly and pinged. A moment later, I heard a sharp sound of snapping. Abruptly, the transmission was terminated, perhaps forever. The unlicensed clandestine cryptic CW operator was finally seized. The operator became a silent key that evening. I wondered if it was enough time for him to send a distress signal to the others.

EPILOGUE

Since the week-long wild pursuit of the local clandestine station, I have made a habit to disconnect batteries from the QRP rig, and the power switch is turned off as well. In addition, all dry food are now stored in air-tight containers even though they are sold vacuum-packed.