The following poetic adaptation is by Will, AA4NC. I’m just preserving for posterity.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through PVRC, Not a creature was stirring, on CW or eS eS Bee; The antennas were strung from the chimney with care, In hopes that some sunspots soon would be there; The contesters were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of Top Ten scores danced in their heads; And 'QPL with his Orion, and I with my FT, Had just settled down for a QSO on 40, When on the bottom of the band there arose such a clatter, I tuned the VFO to see what was the matter. Into the pileup I flew like a flash, Fired up the amp, sent a dot and a dash.
The glow from the 3-500s, on the snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
With a strong HF signal, and eight QRP reindeer,
A fast old operator, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his QSOs they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, NX9T! now, '4CIA! now, N4AF and AL4T!
On, 'KAZ! on 'YDU! on, 'CW and 'UCE!
Now N1LN, 'ARB and NT4D, On 'TL, K4HA and 'CZ;
To the Top band! Contesters wall to wall!
Now dash away! dot away! dash away all!"
As PVRCers before the wild pileups fly,
They beat the QRM, antennas high in the sky,
So up to the tower top, the callsigns they flew,
With the sleigh full of new radio toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the tower
The erection of new antennas of higher gain and power.
As I drew in my keying hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his climbing belt was all tarnished, with ashes and soot;
'TMC's new K3 he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a DXpeditioner just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, he'd been drinking the sherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
>From too much phone contesting, don't you know;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his headphones like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when the rate got high, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I heard his QRP signal, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Rare callsigns filled his logbooks,
adding double mults with a jerk,
And laying his finger, aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up to 20 meters he rose;
He then sprang to the mult station, giving his team a quick whistle,
And the score soon increased, like it was tied to a missile.
I later heard him exclaim, on 3830 that same night,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all 'a contesting good-night."
73, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,
Will AA4NC
(with apologies to St. Nick, Rudolph and the other North Pole
multi-multi ops)
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