April 2026
Why I hate FT-8
22/04/26 09:49
WHY I HATE FT8…
(…and why I’m also kind of in awe of it)
By Greg N5XO
Let me just say it right up front so nobody accuses me of dancing around the issue:
I hate FT8.
There… I said it.
Now before the pitchforks come out and someone fires up a 1.5 kW legal-limit keyboard response, let me follow that up with something equally true:
FT8 is one of the most brilliant things ever created in Amateur Radio.
And that, my friends, is the problem.
First — Credit Where It’s Due
The software behind FT8, developed by Joe Taylor (yes, a literal Nobel Prize-winning physicist… not your average weekend code hacker), is nothing short of astonishing.
FT8 can:
👉 Signals you cannot hear… FT8 casually logs for you like it’s ordering lunch.
From a technical standpoint, it’s jaw-dropping.
The Part Where I Start Grumbling Like an Old Guy
Now here’s where I probably sound like those guys back in the day saying:
“When they dropped the CW requirement, the hobby was doomed!”
…and I used to laugh at them.
Well guess what…
I’ve become that guy.
“The Band Is Wide Open!”
…and nobody’s there
I cannot tell you how many times this has happened:
Crickets.
Dead silence.
Meanwhile, you slide over to FT8…
…and it looks like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
The Contest Problem (This One Hurts)
During VHF/UHF contests, something has shifted — and not in a subtle way.
But FT8?
Packed. Wall-to-wall signals.
It’s like everyone showed up to the party… but they’re all texting each other from different corners of the room.
What FT8 Gets Absolutely Right
Let’s be fair — because this matters.
FT8 has:
👉 FT8 is a massive win for Amateur Radio.
No argument.
What It Gets… Questionable
Here’s my issue — and it’s not technical.
It’s cultural.
FT8 contacts are:
👉 You’re not really communicating.
You’re exchanging:
No personality. No conversation. No “Hey, what antenna are you running?” No “Where are you located?” No “Man, the band is on fire tonight!”
Just:
Beep… decode… log… done.
The “Texting” Effect on Radio
This is where I get myself into trouble…
FT8 is doing to Amateur Radio what texting did to society.
We used to:
We send:
Efficient? Yes. Impressive? Absolutely. Satisfying?
…eh.
My Unpopular Opinion
I would love FT8 if it stayed in its lane:
The Reality Check (Because I Have One)
Here’s the part where I have to be honest with myself:
FT8 isn’t destroying the hobby.
It’s evolving it.
And whether I like it or not:
👉 A lot of operators love it 👉 A lot of new hams start with it 👉 A lot of stations depend on it
And that matters.
Final Thoughts from a Grumpy Weak Signal Guy
So where do I land?
This hobby isn’t just about making contacts.
It’s about:
The Challenge
Next time the band opens:
👉 Slide up to 144.200 👉 Or 50.125 👉 Or wherever your weak signal calling frequency is
And instead of clicking “Enable TX”…
Pick up the mic.
You might be surprised who answers.
— Greg N5XO
(…and why I’m also kind of in awe of it)
By Greg N5XO
Let me just say it right up front so nobody accuses me of dancing around the issue:
I hate FT8.
There… I said it.
Now before the pitchforks come out and someone fires up a 1.5 kW legal-limit keyboard response, let me follow that up with something equally true:
FT8 is one of the most brilliant things ever created in Amateur Radio.
And that, my friends, is the problem.
First — Credit Where It’s Due
The software behind FT8, developed by Joe Taylor (yes, a literal Nobel Prize-winning physicist… not your average weekend code hacker), is nothing short of astonishing.
FT8 can:
- Decode signals 20–24 dB below the noise floor
- Complete contacts in about 15 seconds per exchange
- Allow stations with modest antennas and low power to work the world
- Perform reliably under conditions where SSB just throws its hands up and goes home
👉 Signals you cannot hear… FT8 casually logs for you like it’s ordering lunch.
From a technical standpoint, it’s jaw-dropping.
The Part Where I Start Grumbling Like an Old Guy
Now here’s where I probably sound like those guys back in the day saying:
“When they dropped the CW requirement, the hobby was doomed!”
…and I used to laugh at them.
Well guess what…
I’ve become that guy.
“The Band Is Wide Open!”
…and nobody’s there
I cannot tell you how many times this has happened:
- 6 meters is wide open
- 2 meters is rolling with propagation
- Conditions are screaming “GET ON THE AIR!”
Crickets.
Dead silence.
Meanwhile, you slide over to FT8…
…and it looks like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
The Contest Problem (This One Hurts)
During VHF/UHF contests, something has shifted — and not in a subtle way.
- SSB activity? Thin
- CW activity? Even thinner
- Actual conversation? Practically endangered
- a rover
- a die-hard weak signal operator
- or one of us stubborn holdouts
But FT8?
Packed. Wall-to-wall signals.
It’s like everyone showed up to the party… but they’re all texting each other from different corners of the room.
What FT8 Gets Absolutely Right
Let’s be fair — because this matters.
FT8 has:
- Opened the hobby to people with limited space, HOA restrictions, or modest stations
- Made DX accessible to folks who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance
- Provided a powerful tool for propagation testing
- Enabled scientific-level weak signal experimentation
👉 FT8 is a massive win for Amateur Radio.
No argument.
What It Gets… Questionable
Here’s my issue — and it’s not technical.
It’s cultural.
FT8 contacts are:
- Automated
- Structured
- Efficient
- Predictable
👉 You’re not really communicating.
You’re exchanging:
- callsigns
- grid squares
- signal reports
No personality. No conversation. No “Hey, what antenna are you running?” No “Where are you located?” No “Man, the band is on fire tonight!”
Just:
Beep… decode… log… done.
The “Texting” Effect on Radio
This is where I get myself into trouble…
FT8 is doing to Amateur Radio what texting did to society.
We used to:
- call people
- talk
- laugh
- share ideas
We send:
- 👍
- “k”
- “ok”
Efficient? Yes. Impressive? Absolutely. Satisfying?
…eh.
My Unpopular Opinion
I would love FT8 if it stayed in its lane:
- Bad band conditions? YES
- Testing antennas? YES
- Pushing weak signal limits? ABSOLUTELY
- the band is open
- conditions are good
- and people still choose automation over interaction
The Reality Check (Because I Have One)
Here’s the part where I have to be honest with myself:
FT8 isn’t destroying the hobby.
It’s evolving it.
And whether I like it or not:
👉 A lot of operators love it 👉 A lot of new hams start with it 👉 A lot of stations depend on it
And that matters.
Final Thoughts from a Grumpy Weak Signal Guy
So where do I land?
- I hate FT8 for what it’s doing to conversation
- I respect it deeply for what it can do technically
- I use it occasionally (don’t tell anyone)
- I wish more people would get back on SSB and actually talk
This hobby isn’t just about making contacts.
It’s about:
- sharing knowledge
- experimenting
- learning
- and yes… actually communicating
The Challenge
Next time the band opens:
👉 Slide up to 144.200 👉 Or 50.125 👉 Or wherever your weak signal calling frequency is
And instead of clicking “Enable TX”…
Pick up the mic.
You might be surprised who answers.
— Greg N5XO
How It All Started – Or, How I Accidentally Jammed Half of Texas
20/04/26 17:14
How It All Started – Or, How I Accidentally Jammed Half of Texas
If you’re looking for a story about how I carefully studied electronics, followed all the rules, and respectfully entered the world of Amateur Radio… you’re going to be disappointed.
My journey started in the mid-1960s with a screwdriver, a curious mind, and absolutely no adult supervision worth mentioning.
I grew up fascinated with electronics. Back then, if a TV or radio stopped working, it didn’t get recycled—it got thrown out. Which, to me, meant free parts store. I spent my days dragging home old sets and tearing them apart like a mad scientist, collecting tubes, resistors, capacitors, and anything else that looked important.
The beauty of those old tube circuits? They actually made sense. You could see what was happening. Solid state came along, and I hung in there. But when integrated circuits and surface mount showed up… well, let’s just say somewhere along the line the electrons started hiding from me.
Fast forward to late 1960s small-town Texas. In science class, we were learning about Guglielmo Marconi and spark gap transmitters. Most kids probably thought, “Well, that’s interesting.”
I thought: “I bet I can build one of those.”
Now, as luck would have it, another thing that was easy to find back then was Model T spark coils. Why? No idea. But they were everywhere—probably just waiting for two unsupervised kids to make poor life decisions.
A buddy of mine, Bryan, and I got our hands on a couple of those coils and did what any responsible young scientists would do:
We built our own spark gap transmitters.
Now depending on your perspective, this was either:
A long barbed wire ranch fence running behind my house.
Perfect? No. Effective? Oh… absolutely.
One cold, rainy Thanksgiving weekend, Bryan and I spent the entire day “communicating” between our houses. We used standard AM radios to listen to each other, and here’s the key detail:
No tuning required.
At the time, we thought: “Man, this is incredible!”
What we should have thought was: “If we don’t need tuning… what is this doing to literally every radio, TV, and electronic device within a 10-mile radius?”
But we were young. And apparently, not that bright.
Around 6:00 PM Saturday evening, there was a hard knock on the front door.
My father answered.
Standing there was a police officer… and two men in suits.
From the other room, I heard my name—loudly—and in a tone that suggested my life choices were about to be reviewed in detail.
I walked to the door, heart pounding, brain racing: “What did I do? What did I break? Who did I interfere with?”
Answer: Everyone.
The two guys in suits turned out to be ham radio operators who had tracked down a source of massive interference. The police officer was there… just in case this turned out to be something more serious than two kids accidentally recreating early 1900s radio technology across half the county.
After a brief investigation, it was determined:
Instead of shutting me down and walking away, those hams did something unexpected:
They talked to my father… and convinced him to let me live.
Then they did something even more dangerous:
They started mentoring me.
They introduced me to the world of Amateur Radio the right way—licenses, proper equipment, real operating—and I was hooked from that moment on.
Fast forward about eight years: I graduate high school and join the United States Navy as… you guessed it… a radioman. Apparently, once RF gets in your blood, there’s no getting it out.
After my Navy tour, life kicked in hard—in a good way. I married my high school sweetheart, we bought a house, started careers, raised a family… and somewhere along the way, Amateur Radio took a back seat.
At one point I decided to get back into it, only to discover my license had expired four years earlier. That was discouraging enough that I set it aside again.
Life stayed busy.
Then, about 15 years later, I finally had the time—and this time, I came back with a vengeance.
For years, I operated almost exclusively on HF, running my trusty old Heathkit HW-101, which I was convinced would outlive most modern radios. But in 2006, everything changed.
I bought my first new radio in decades… and for the first time started playing around on 2 meters and 6 meters.
And then…
Fate stepped in.
I discovered VHF/UHF Weak Signal operating—and suddenly, a whole new world opened up. Distance, propagation, antennas, takeoff angles… it was everything I loved about radio, turned up to eleven.
And that brings us to today.
From tearing apart junk TVs… to accidentally jamming half the county… to getting “caught” by the very people who would shape my future…
I didn’t just find Amateur Radio.
It found me—and never let go.
If you’re looking for a story about how I carefully studied electronics, followed all the rules, and respectfully entered the world of Amateur Radio… you’re going to be disappointed.
My journey started in the mid-1960s with a screwdriver, a curious mind, and absolutely no adult supervision worth mentioning.
I grew up fascinated with electronics. Back then, if a TV or radio stopped working, it didn’t get recycled—it got thrown out. Which, to me, meant free parts store. I spent my days dragging home old sets and tearing them apart like a mad scientist, collecting tubes, resistors, capacitors, and anything else that looked important.
The beauty of those old tube circuits? They actually made sense. You could see what was happening. Solid state came along, and I hung in there. But when integrated circuits and surface mount showed up… well, let’s just say somewhere along the line the electrons started hiding from me.
Fast forward to late 1960s small-town Texas. In science class, we were learning about Guglielmo Marconi and spark gap transmitters. Most kids probably thought, “Well, that’s interesting.”
I thought: “I bet I can build one of those.”
Now, as luck would have it, another thing that was easy to find back then was Model T spark coils. Why? No idea. But they were everywhere—probably just waiting for two unsupervised kids to make poor life decisions.
A buddy of mine, Bryan, and I got our hands on a couple of those coils and did what any responsible young scientists would do:
We built our own spark gap transmitters.
Now depending on your perspective, this was either:
- A brilliant early experiment in RF engineering
or - A clear warning sign to society
A long barbed wire ranch fence running behind my house.
Perfect? No. Effective? Oh… absolutely.
One cold, rainy Thanksgiving weekend, Bryan and I spent the entire day “communicating” between our houses. We used standard AM radios to listen to each other, and here’s the key detail:
No tuning required.
At the time, we thought: “Man, this is incredible!”
What we should have thought was: “If we don’t need tuning… what is this doing to literally every radio, TV, and electronic device within a 10-mile radius?”
But we were young. And apparently, not that bright.
Around 6:00 PM Saturday evening, there was a hard knock on the front door.
My father answered.
Standing there was a police officer… and two men in suits.
From the other room, I heard my name—loudly—and in a tone that suggested my life choices were about to be reviewed in detail.
I walked to the door, heart pounding, brain racing: “What did I do? What did I break? Who did I interfere with?”
Answer: Everyone.
The two guys in suits turned out to be ham radio operators who had tracked down a source of massive interference. The police officer was there… just in case this turned out to be something more serious than two kids accidentally recreating early 1900s radio technology across half the county.
After a brief investigation, it was determined:
- Not a Russian plot
- Not a military experiment
- Just two kids with spark coils and zero understanding of RF containment
Instead of shutting me down and walking away, those hams did something unexpected:
They talked to my father… and convinced him to let me live.
Then they did something even more dangerous:
They started mentoring me.
They introduced me to the world of Amateur Radio the right way—licenses, proper equipment, real operating—and I was hooked from that moment on.
Fast forward about eight years: I graduate high school and join the United States Navy as… you guessed it… a radioman. Apparently, once RF gets in your blood, there’s no getting it out.
After my Navy tour, life kicked in hard—in a good way. I married my high school sweetheart, we bought a house, started careers, raised a family… and somewhere along the way, Amateur Radio took a back seat.
At one point I decided to get back into it, only to discover my license had expired four years earlier. That was discouraging enough that I set it aside again.
Life stayed busy.
Then, about 15 years later, I finally had the time—and this time, I came back with a vengeance.
For years, I operated almost exclusively on HF, running my trusty old Heathkit HW-101, which I was convinced would outlive most modern radios. But in 2006, everything changed.
I bought my first new radio in decades… and for the first time started playing around on 2 meters and 6 meters.
And then…
Fate stepped in.
I discovered VHF/UHF Weak Signal operating—and suddenly, a whole new world opened up. Distance, propagation, antennas, takeoff angles… it was everything I loved about radio, turned up to eleven.
And that brings us to today.
From tearing apart junk TVs… to accidentally jamming half the county… to getting “caught” by the very people who would shape my future…
I didn’t just find Amateur Radio.
It found me—and never let go.