Calvin & Phineas Hamming It Up^®™
The Phantom QRM

Being a long-time fan of John T. Frye's "Carl & Jerry"  technodrama™ series, I have been intending to attempt a contemporary version which has a Ham radio theme. Its purpose, as with "Carl & Jerry," is to encourage young people to adopt electronics as a hobby and even as a career, while using Amateur Radio as an enticement. Ham radio offers practical experience in electronic theory, fabrication, and operation in an environment that encourages community service, mentorship, camaraderie, and self discipline. In the U.S., there are approximately 760,000 licensed amateur radio operators; worldwide, the estimated number is around 3,000,000. The American Radio Relay League (ARRL) and the International Amateur Radio Union (IARU) track these statistics.

This title of the series is, for now anyway, "Calvin & Phineas Hamming It Up," and the first adventure is called, "The Phantom QRM." Call signs are fictitious, chosen to hopefully not step on someone's real call sign. The boys' names derive from my grandson's name. You might also notice the inclusion of a couple advertisers' names here, done in appreciation of their support.

Calvin & Phineas Hamming It Up - The Phantom QRM^®™

By Kirt Blattenberger

Calvin Nolten didn't so much enter a room as invade it. The front door of his house slammed open with a bang that rattled the frame, his slight frame darting across the threshold as he clung to the knob to halt the door's recoil. At 15 years old and pushing five-and-half-feet tall, he was a wiry bundle of energy, his backpack - stuffed with ham radio manuals, his late-model Galaxy smartphone, and a half-eaten PB&J - flew onto the couch with a practiced toss. He zipped into the kitchen, raided the fridge for a root beer, chugged it in three gulps, and let the can clatter into the sink. He was out the back door before the fizz settled, a miniature tornado in sneakers. Upstairs, Mrs. Nolten adjusted her sewing machine bobbin, unfazed by the familiar chaos. It meant Calvin was home safe - and likely bound for Phineas Thornin's basement "shack" next door, where both assembled their gear worked their contacts.

Down the concrete steps he bounded, bursting into Phineas's QTH like a 1,000-watt signal on a quiet band. The room buzzed with tech: LED lamps cast a glow over a cluttered workbench, a soldering iron smoked faintly, and their homebrew portable transceiver - a sleek box of etched PCBs and hand-wound coils - sat wired to a Arduino microprocessor board and a Windfreak SynthUSB3 programmable synthesizer. QSL cards peppered the walls.

 Phineas, 5'11" and built more for power than speed, loomed over his base station, call sign PH1NES scrawled on a workbench plaque. His Amateur Extra license hung beside Calvin's CA1VIN, a pair of testaments to late-night study and fierce determination; both boys were good students. A dual-mode spectrum analyzer / oscilloscope, borrowed from their high school's electronics lab, glowed nearby, its screen flickering with a jagged trace.

"QRM city, huh, Fin?" Calvin grinned, perching on a stool too tall for his short legs. "What's our homebrew rig sniffing out today?"

Phineas removed the safety glasses he was still wearing when soldering a PL-259 connector to a length of coaxial cable. His deep voice steady as he tweaked a knob, Phineas replied, "Not QRM, Cal - something real. Check this." He tapped the portable spectrum analyzer, on lease from Transcat | Axiom for a special project, showing a wobbly 146.000 MHz signal - sharp, then mushy. "Caught it dead in the middle of 2 meters with our transceiver. The synthesizer's stable signal keeps us locked in tight. It seems to be Morse, but garbled."

Calvin plugged into the audio jack, ears perked beneath his mop of blondish-red hair. A faint dit-dit-dit, dah-dah-dah, dit-dit-dit sputtered through static, then a choked, barely audible "HELP." His eyes widened. "That's no DX - contact - someone's in trouble. Battery's dying, or worse. Where's it coming from?"

"Dunno," Phineas said, as he tuned the KR Electronics bandpass filter at the receiver input in order to cut out as much ambient noise as possible. "Signal's local - 20 miles tops. Filter's cutting the noise, but it's still messy. Maybe a park hiker, post-storm. Cell towers are toast since yesterday's deluge of wind and rain."

Calvin's brain kicked into overdrive, his technical mind racing. "State park's south - perfect for a stranded ham. Our rig's got exceptional range with pinpoint tuning. Storm's cleared, but night's falling. Gear up, big guy."

Phineas gathered a few lengths of copper tubing and a piece of plastic pipe. "Portable Yagi - three elements. You spec it; I'll build it, and we'll hunt this phantom fox."

Calvin whipped out his smartphone and called up an antenna design app, then scribbled on a notepad, sweat forming on his forehead. "Driven element's 0.986 meters for 146.000 MHz. Reflector 1.028 meters, director 0.945 meters. Reflector to driven element distance is 0.514 meters; driven element to director is 0.411.

Phineas made quick work of sawing PVC for the Yagi boom and copper pipe for the elements, while Calvin soldered a 2:1 toroidal balun to match the 26-ohm Yagi antenna to the 50-ohm RG-58 coaxial cable.

Calvin, more adept at precision building of mechanical parts, soldered the copper elements into place at the determined spacing and connected the feed line and balun, then Phineas lifted the rig into position to check its integrity. A quick check of the VSWR showed good enough to hit the trail.

"DC power plan?" queried Phineas.

"5 Ah sealed lead-acid pack salvaged from Dad's old UPS, not fully charged, though," Calvin said, wiring extensions onto the leadout wires to supply the transceiver, synthesizer, and spectrum analyzer." "We're good to go."

"Using a sold state synthesizer for the LO," Calvin said, "sure beats the fixed frequency crystal oscillators Carl & Jerry fiddled with in those vintage Popular Electronics magazine stories." "Ours tunes sub-Hz steps via USB. We'll sweep 145.80 to 146.20 MHz in 10 kHz intervals to track that shaky signal."

They hauled the gear to Phineas's bike trailer, the Yagi and equipment lashed tight, with Calvin pedaling his bike furiously to keep up with Phineas's powerhouse legs. The park loomed ominously under a twilight sky, wind rustling the trees leaves as they ditched the bikes at the trailhead. Phineas planted the Yagi on a tripod, his bulk steadying it against a gust, while Calvin fired up the transceiver. "Sweeping now - 146.010 MHz peak," he said, eyeing the spectrum analyzer display. A faint blip flickered, then faded.

"Drifting," Phineas said, rotating the Yagi with a steady grip. "Null's at 12 degrees - signal's southwest of us. SA's pegging 146.018 now - battery's fading." The null on a Yagi is definitely much sharper than the peak, so we use that for fine direction finding, then take the reciprocal.

Calvin adjusted the synthesizer via laptop. "Let's CW a CQ back - see if he bites; weak Morse signals get through better than phone in severe QRM and QRN." He keyed a slow "CQ CQ CA1VIN" through their rig. The spectrum analyzer showed their clean carrier, then a weak "BLØ… HELP… CAVE" sputtered back.

"Cave?" Phineas's protective instincts flared. "Pilot Mountain area - 2 miles away. No bikes from this point. I'll carry the rig; you navigate."

The trail was muddy, Phineas bulldozing ahead with the Yagi, transceiver and battery pack, his strength a shield against branches snapping in the wind. Following close behind, Calvin clutched the laptop and analyzer, his slight frame dodging puddles, breath puffing in the chilly air. Rain from the storm lingered, making progress slow. At a ridge, Phineas replanted the tripod, wrestling it into place against the weather. "Second bearing - go."

Calvin spun the Yagi as Fin steadied it; the transceiver locked on 146.030 MHz now. "Null's at 65 degrees - triangulates to High Rock cave, old miner's spot. He's trapped." The transceiver's homebrew front end - crafted by Calvin - kept the signal crisp despite the fading signal's drift, its preamp boosting the faint cry.

Phineas grabbed their handheld VHF rig from his pack - a compact brick with a stubby antenna - and keyed 146.52 MHz simplex. "CQ CQ, PH1NES, emergency traffic." BLØST, a ranger net monitor, crackled back: "Go ahead."

"Hiker in distress, 2 meters, 146.030 to be exact," Phineas boomed, his voice steady. "High Rock cave on Pilot Mountain, 36.34°N, 80.48°W - rockslide must have pinned him. Signal's nearly gone - battery kaput. Rangers needed."

"Copy, PH1NES," BLØST replied. "Team's rolling. Stand by."

The spectrum analyzer flickered - down to 10.5 volts on the supply. "Battery's dipping," Calvin said, paralleling in a spare pack with a quick twist of his hands. "Synthesizer's LO held - locked tight. Scope's FFT nailed the frequency drift."

Phineas nodded, hefting the Yagi like it was a toothpick. "Scope's dual-mode was clutch - oscilloscope caught timing, analyzer tracked the signal. Preamp boosted that whisper - our rig's a champ."

Calvin grinned, wiping the rain from his eyes. "Homebrew transceiver's the star. Our low-noise front end beats a commercial job any day."

Phineas smirked, brushing mud from his jeans. "Your brain, my brawn - fox hunting team supreme."

They slogged back to the trailhead, Phineas's long strides eating distance while Calvin panted behind, notebook computer bouncing in his pack. The sky darkened, stars peeking through scudding clouds, and the boys, greatly relieved of their high adventure escapades, swapped tales of their build.

"Took us three months of weekends," Calvin said, puffing. "Hand-wound the IF transformers - 10.7 MHz IF, tight Q on the filters. The USB-controlled synth is a game-changer."

Phineas chuckled, hauling the trailer. "I bent the chassis myself - 16-gauge aluminum, no dents. Drilled and nibbled the front panel - your layout was spot-on. Careful shielding clinched it."

"Preamp's my baby," Calvin added. "Low noise figure - 1.5 dB. Tweaked it with the school's network analyzer - clean as a whistle."

Back in the shack, soaked and triumphant, the VHF handheld crackled. "CA1VIN, PH1NES, BLØST. Hiker's safe - Tom, AM1NER, pinned by rocks. Been a Ham since World War II. Handheld died - your fix saved him. Thanks."

Calvin whooped, fist-bumping Phineas's massive paw. "QSL, Fin! Our rig's a beast." "Ham radio's awesome," boasted Phineas.

The next day at school, Jake - gangly and curious - cornered them at lunch, his tray clattering with nerves. "Heard you saved a guy with a homemade radio. How's it work?"

Calvin smirked a bit. "Get your ticket, Jake, and join the school ham club. Learn for yourself - you'll love it."

Phineas leaned in, his voice a low rumble. "We'll teach you - build your own rig or buy a commercial one. Amateur Radio's the real deal."

Jake blinked, wide-eyed. "You built that? From scratch?"

"Yup," Calvin said, pulling a crumpled schematic from his bag - transceiver guts inked in his tiny scrawl. "Synthesizer's the LO heart - tunes like a dream via a USB. Filter's the gatekeeper - keeps the junk out. Dual-mode scope's our window on the world. Add some cable, sweat, and stern determination, and you're ready for casual rag chewing, fox hunting, or contesting."

Phineas clapped Jake's shoulder, nearly toppling the kid's drink. "Start with a cheap handheld - VHF's easy and open to entry level guys." Calvin added, "No Morse code required to qualify these days, just learn some basic electronics, a few FCC rules and regulations, operational techniques, and you'll pass the Technician class exam easily." "Available study guides have the official question and answer pool actually used on the test. Someone like you with your photographic recall can ace it merely by memorizing the entire Q&A set."

Jake grinned, steadying his tray. "Deal. See you Saturday to get started."

Calvin leaned back, root beer in hand, savoring the fizz. "Another ham born, Fin. Our rig's a legend - wait'll they hear about the cave at the meeting."

Phineas stretched, joints popping like firecrackers. "Your brain's the spark, Cal - I just keep the wolves off. Next time, let's chase a moonbounce." "Our 2-meter rig should easily nail an Earth-Moon-Earth round trip, but we'll be needing more output power.

"Done," Calvin said, already sketching on a napkin.

Later, in the shack, Calvin fiddled with the transceiver, tweaking the synthesizer's sweep via laptop. "LO's rock-solid - PLL keeps it tight. Filter's skirt's so steep, I'd need pitons and rope to climb it."

Phineas hauled a box of spare parts, sorting capacitors and coils. "It's time to build a power amplifier for launching a signal to the moon." "I'm on it," returned Calvin, as he scrawled a schematic in his notebook. "Get you soldering out."

The shack was a frenzy of activity for the rest of the day - another tale for RFCafe.com brewing.