After sharing the news about finally reaching the state of Hawaii, I decided to make a map showing all of my long-distance contacts thus far in 2026. I was pretty proud of it… right up until I realized I had to explain that it does not include my contacts inside the continental United States. If it did, the map would just look like I sneezed ink all over North America.

What really caught my attention, though, is something that makes absolutely no sense to me. I can sit down, turn on the radio, and talk to someone in Italy like they’re sitting across the street. No drama. No struggle. No begging the radio gods for mercy.

But North Dakota?
Alaska?
Hawaii (until recently)?

Apparently, those are protected by an invisible force field.

I’ve tried to come up with logical explanations for this, mostly so I don’t have to accept that radio waves are just messing with me personally.

First — The Antenna
My antenna slopes from East to West. That probably means something very scientific and important. I’m not an antenna expert, though. I’m more of a “put it up, see if it works, and if it doesn’t… stare at it like it betrayed me” kind of guy.

Second — Operator Population
Some states just don’t have as many HAM operators. That makes sense for Alaska and North Dakota. Hawaii is small, and I honestly don’t know how many operators there are. For all I know, there are a handful of guys rotating shifts between operating radios and living their best life on the beach. And honestly, if I lived there, I might not be inside talking on the radio either.

Third — Time Zones (The Real Culprit)
Most of my hunting happens in the morning. There’s about a four-hour difference between Hawaii and me, and about three hours between Alaska. So when I’m wrapping up radio time and moving on to things like work, errands, or pretending to be productive, they’re just waking up and figuring out where they left their coffee mug.

Meanwhile, when I’m making contacts in the East — Belgium, Italy, places like that — it’s the middle of the night over there. Apparently, those operators are either serious night owls, incredibly dedicated to the hobby, or avoiding sleep like it owes them money.

The longer I do this hobby, the more I realize HAM radio is this weird mix of science, timing, geography, luck, and occasionally sacrificing a little dignity while calling CQ for the tenth time in a row.

But that’s also what makes it fun.

Because at the end of the day, I can bounce a signal off the atmosphere, talk to someone on the other side of the planet…
…and still get ghosted by North Dakota.

And honestly, that feels personal.