The Day I Stopped Crawling Under the Desk to Change Antennas
It was just after three on a Saturday afternoon; twenty meters had opened towards Europe, and I was on my knees under the operating desk with a torch between my teeth. The radio was calling. The coax I wanted was somewhere behind a power supply. Two PL-259 plugs looked identical in the half-light; one label had fallen off, and the back of the desk contained the sort of wiring arrangement that begins as “temporary” and quietly celebrates its fifth birthday.
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It was just after three on a Saturday afternoon; twenty meters had opened towards Europe, and I was on my knees under the operating desk wit



















