After the contest, I started noticing something I had always ignored. In certain parts of the radio bands, there were no voices. There was only a rhythmic, musical beeping. It was Morse code, or "CW" as the hams called it. To me, it was an annoying noise, a secret language I couldn't understand.
"Why would anyone still use that?" I asked Gregory one day. "It's so old-fashioned."
He smiled. "Purity, Haruka. A CW signal is a tiny, sharp whisper. A voice signal is a big, broad shout. When conditions are bad, the shout gets lost in the noise, but the whisper can still get through. With just a few watts of power, I can talk to Japan on CW when a thousand-watt voice station can't even be heard."
The idea of whispering across the globe was beautiful. It was the ultimate in efficiency. But learning it seemed impossible.
Then Samuel issued a challenge. "I bet you can't learn to have a basic CW conversation in two months." The rivalry was back on. I couldn't resist. "You're on."
So began my journey into the land of dits and dahs. It was like learning a new instrument. I downloaded an app that used a special method to teach the characters by their sound, not by counting dots and dashes. Every day, for twenty minutes, I'd listen to an endless stream of beeps, slowly training my brain to hear 'K' and 'M' and 'R' as unique musical notes.
Gregory coached me on how to send, using a heavy brass key connected to a practice oscillator. "It's all in the wrist," he'd say. "Relax. Let the code flow." My first attempts were a clumsy mess of sounds.
After two long months of practice, I was ready. I was slow, maybe five words per minute, but I knew the alphabet. I found the "slow code" section of the 40-meter band, my hand sweating as I held the key. I tapped out my first call.
"CQ CQ DE 9W8ABC K"
A reply came back, slow and perfectly formed, from an old timer in a nearby state. He was patient and encouraging. We had a ten-minute conversation that would have taken thirty seconds on voice. But it was the most satisfying contact I had ever made. I had unlocked the secret language. I had won the bet, but more than that, I had gained a new skill and a deeper connection to the very roots of the hobby.