Ham Radio For Kids

ham radio for kids

A question about train watchers?

I was in a town the other day and strolling past a railroad crossing. I thought that something weird or bad was going to happen because all of these guys were standing around with walkie talkies and cameras. I asked one guy if something had happened and he said no they were “railroad-fans”. he said they did this every weekend. The guyz seemed freindly enough, but wow were they incredibly weird. Sort of like my dad’s ham radio buddies except with really bad hygiene.

Are train watchers mostly introverted middle aged guys? Some ladies strolled by, looked puzzled and then were giggling to themselves as they walked off—–obviously amused by these men. Are these guys married and have kids and everything? Is this some sort of club or gang or something for men who dont deal with women ?

Thats a very unfortunate stereo-type – unfortunate because its true for some railfans (the bad hygiene and the women thing). I don’t much appreciate it at all.

To address the first thing, they weren’t “walkie-takies”, rather scanners (receive only radio) set to railroad frequencies. It gives you a heads-up for when the train is coming. Second, its also perfectly legal and normal to photograph trains. Plenty of people photograph aircraft, ships, birds, classic cars – an interest (specifically a photographic one) in trains is no different.

At any rate, I’m in the 18-25 demographic, have good hygiene, a very normal interest in women (I like every hot one I see), and am pretty much prefectly normal.

I don’t railfan every weekend. Maybe just a couple times a month. I take my Nikon SLR with my 70-300mm Zoom telephoto lens, along with my 28-80mm Fisheye Zoom lens, and expose some Kodak Ektachrome 200 to some trains.

Some railroad’s have company calendars and accept photo submissions. There are lots of train magazine and even more books that need pictures. Pictures that railfans in the 1800′s-to present are considered priceless especially for history books and publications.

I plan to marry a woman, have kids, and continue photographing trains. There’s nothing odd about it.

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A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to

I lived in Colombia for eight years with my Colombian partner and our daughter. We lived in Cartagena, so close to the airport that we could hear all the airline flight announcements. Our neighbour was the chief of police and our daughter used to play with his kids so we spent some time in each other’s homes.

I am a licenced amateur radio operator (ham radio). There were a group of us, all radio operators, who used to hang around together. One day we decided to drive to another city. As one of our little group lived on a farm, we arranged to pick him up on the way. The driver was not too sure of the way to our pal’s farm and managed to take the wrong turning. A couple of miles up this country lane, he realized his mistake and turned the car around. Unbeknown to us, a group of narcotic police had staked out the area because at the end of the road was a building that was being used to manufacture illegal drugs. The police were waiting for the operators to return and, seeing out jeep turn around, they thought that we were them and that we had spotted them. So, they gave chase and surrounded us with guns drawn. Seeing that we all had hand held radios only reinforced their suspicions. They placed one of their officers into our car and ordered us to drive to the police headquarters. When we arrived, they proudly escorted us into the chief’s office.

“Hello Sheldon,” said the chief. “What are YOU doing here?”

“Ask your stupid officers,” I remarked, glaring at them, as they began to look very uncomfortable.

“I know all these people,” explained the chief. “What seems to be the problem?”

A short discussion followed whereupon the arresting officers all apologized and coffee was served to us. On the way out, the chief had his arm around my shoulder. I looked around and just about every policeman in the area was there on parade. They stared at us and afterwards I was known as a friend of the chief and nobody ever bothered me again.

When I was living in the US I was approached by a government agent one day. They were looking for someone and found out that I knew this person so asked me if I would assist them in locating him. They asked me to try to phone him and some of his friends in an attempt to locate him and requested that I record the conversations. So, there I was in a public phone booth making the phone calls. Someone passing noticed me there and thought that I was hacking the phone so called the phone company, who called the police. The next thing I knew was that two cops were outside the booth signaling for me to come out which I did.

“What exactly are you doing?” demanded one of them.

“I’m sorry officer,” I replied. “I am unable to discuss it with you.”

“Well, let me see what is on that tape,” he said

“I’m sorry again officer but I am unable to do that,” I stated.

“Well then,” he said. “I’m going to have to arrest you,” he told me.

“Look officer,” I sighed. “You are going to have to do whatever you feel you have to do but before you get too excited, will you please call this person.”

I handed him the business card of the agent who I was working with and he retuned to his car with it. A couple of minutes later he returned, shaking his head.

“OK,” he said, “You are free to go.”

The very next day, I was a little late driving to my daughter’s school to pick her up and was going a little fast in a 20 mph zone. I heard a police siren and pulled over. It was the same two cops. They looked at me aghast.

“Oh no,” said one of them. “Not you again. What name are you using today? It’s a waste of time giving you a ticket. You’ll probably just call someone and get it cancelled.”

With that they got back into their patrol car and drove off.

I was a pilot for many years. In my early flying years in the 60s I was living in Montreal Canada. One day I decided to visit the US so took off from Dorval airport heading for Plattsburgh. I was flying a little wooden airplane called a Culver V which was made around 1942. The radio was very old and had only about six different frequencies. After I crossed the border, I called air traffic control and told them I was heading for Plattsburgh.

“Which airport are you heading to?” he enquired. “The municipal airport or the military base?”

I thought that he was giving me an alternative so asked him which one was nearest to the town.

“That’s the military base,” he informed me. I looked on the map and headed that way. Approaching the airport I was impressed by the huge size. I tried all the various frequencies that were in the radio but could get no response. I was getting close now so decided just to land, rocking the aircraft wings to indicate that I had no communication with them. As soon as I landed, a couple of jeeps came screaming over and I was surrounded by armed soldiers. An officer strode over to me and demanded my passport. I handed him the British document. He sighed and shook his head, handing back the passport to me.

“Look Son,” he said brusquely, ”This runway is about ten thousand feet long. You have used two thousand which leaves you eight thousand feet. Just keep going…and don’t ever come back!”

It doesn’t matter how many flying hours experience you have, it’s easy to screw up. One day I was flying my Piper Tripacer airplane. Every airplane has a compass in it. I had fitted a special electric one in this plane. It was located at the rear of the airplane to avoid any magnetic influences and had a remote indicator on the panel. Somehow, as I was flying south and adjusting the radio frequency I managed to hit the compass switch. So now the indicator was stuck on south. Approaching Fort Lauderdale, Florida I gave them my position and they gave me twenty four right as the landing runway. For those who don’t know, the runway numbers are assigned by their magnetic headings so twenty four would be pointing to 240 degrees, almost west. When they gave me that runway I glanced at the compass which of course indicated south or 180 degrees. Immediately my brain calculated that 240 must be to my right. As I approached the airport I noticed something very strange. All the aircraft appeared to be going the wrong way! I turned away from the approach to think this out. I again looked at the compass not realizing that it was stuck and worked out everything again.

“These people are all crazy,” I thought to myself. Suddenly the radio came to life.

“Eastern 614 hold position, Delta 456 hold short, National 364 negative, we have a Tripacer at two thousand feet and we are not sure what he’s going to do next!”

“They’re talking about me!” I realized. I saw some light aircraft circling below and just decided to follow them in. As soon as I landed, I glanced at the compass and realized what had happened. The radio came to life.

“Tripacer three five whiskey, congratulations, you have now carried out a successful landing on runway twenty four left. Unfortunately we gave you twenty four right. Will you please report to the control tower.

“They’re going to pull my licence for this,” I thought. “Screwing up airline traffic at an international airport.”

I taxied over to the control tower, exited the plane and picked up the intercom.

“This is the Tripacer driver,” I sighed.

“Do you realize what you just did?” asked one of the controllers.

“Yes Sir,” I answered politely. “I must explain,” I lied, “That I am new to this. I am a student pilot and this is my first cross country flight.”

“Oh, I see,” came the reply. “Well, that’s a bit different. Please be more careful in future.”

I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even ask for my name. I called a pilot friend of mine and asked him to come over and park the plane, not wanting to be seen with it and left the airport hastely.

I lived for a few years in Colombia.I had a Piper Aztec airplane there, parked at the Crespo airport in Cartagena. There were lot of mountains in the area and, when the visibility was really poor, they would shut down the airport. I used to make myself look like an airline captain with white shirt, gold braided cap and shoulder stripes. This had the effect of making me appear important and it was easier to get things done at the airport. All the control tower operators knew me also. One day I took off for Baranquilla to visit some friends. It was a beautiful day with unlimited visibility. One the way back to Crespo I contacted the tower about twenty miles out and told them that I would be landing there.

“Zee airport is a closed,” came the reply.

“What do you mean closed?” I enquired. “There isn’t a single cloud in the sky.”

“Zee president coming,” he answered.

“Oh no,” I exclaimed. “I’m almost there. What do you expect me to do?”

“Who fly zee airplane?” they asked and I gave them my name.

“Oh Senor Sheldon. OK you come muy fast.”

I pushed in the throttle and headed for the runway. After landing I taxied quickly over to the tower and switched off the engine.. As I got out of the plane, there was a sudden noise: a band right behind me started playing and hundreds of people started waving flags and cheering. Startled, I turned around. I knew it couldn’t be for me and suddenly realized that they thought that I had delivered the president. I waved my arms wildly and shouted “No presidente, no presidente!” After about thirty seconds the band stopped playing and the crowd became quiet and I crept silently away.

In Canada I lived in a town called Three Rivers. I used to fly from a small airport near to there. The guys in the control tower were friends of mine and we used to joke together a lot. One day as I was about to land and I was in the only aircraft in the area they fired off a red flare which is a signal that the airport is unsafe and one should not land. I knew that they were joking, so just continued. The joke backfired as the flare set fire to the grass and they had to call the fire department to put it out.

Another time, I left there to fly to a combined military/commercial airport. My friends had advised me that the visibility was bad there and for me to be careful. They also said that they would call the tower there and ask them to look out for me. As I approached the airport, I saw a large group of soldiers lined up by the runway. I decided to show them what a wonderful pilot I was and land right in front of them. Somehow I managed to totally misgauge the landing and hit the runway hard, bouncing all over the place. I crouched down and taxied to a remote part of the airfield before getting out so that nobody would see me.

When I returned to Three Rivers, the tower asked me to come up and see them. When I arrived, they were hysterical, practically rolling on the floor.

“OK” I asked, “What’s so funny?”

They rewound the tape and said “You’ve got to listen to this.” The tape started…

”What’s that Harry, a Cherokee? No, haven’t seen one. Wait a minute there’s someone approaching…Yes. low wing, looks likw Cherokee. It’s your traffic…he’s OK…he’s on final now…no problem, he’s landed…HE’S LANDED AGAIN…HE’S LANDED AGAIN!”

About the Author

I am from Sheffield in the UK and have lived in several other countries including France, Canada, USA, Bahamas, Jamaica and Colombia. I am now living in Indonesia which I personally believe is the best of the bunch. I am married to a much younger girl and we are so happy together that we started a webpage to introduce Western men to Indonesian women wwww.indonesian-wife.com Email exbrit69@yahoo.com Yahoo Messenger ID is exbrit69