Got my N3ZN Single-Lever Paddle out of storage, along with most of my POTA station. Despite being homeless and living in the hotel for the last few months (see my personal story on my website), I am trying to keep my brain active and that includes Morse code practice. Why? Besides the health benefit, I want to start getting out into the hotel parking lot and set up to work POTA stations.

Eventually, I will get to an official POTA-registered park, too. We became homeless just as I was planning on activating Ohio parks. Now, I am in Nebraska, and as a disabled veteran, can get into some parks without any big fees.

What is left before I can activate a POTA location? I need to find the antenna and coax assembly that I put together for the whole station. In the meantime, I am practicing to get the cobwebs out of my brain and re-learn that muscle memory. Will also do a lot of receiving practice. Gotta get my brain in gear! Read more about POTA, here. For live POTA on-air spotting, go here.

The Spark in the Wire: How Re-Learning Morse Code Rewires the Brain

There is a unique rhythm to Continuous Wave (CW) amateur radio. As I sit at the key, shaking off the cobwebs and practicing to regain that deep muscle memory, I can feel my brain kicking into a higher gear. It isn’t just about nostalgia or the thrill of making a contact through the static using nothing but tones. There is real, hard science behind why copying and sending Morse code feels like a cognitive tune-up.

In preparing to share this journey, I dove into the research surrounding how learning and practicing CW impacts our neurology. What I discovered confirms what many of us experienced operators have long suspected: Morse code is a powerhouse for brain health and cognitive longevity.

The Cognitive Science of CW

When we sit down for a session of receiving practice, we aren’t just listening to dots and dashes. We are engaging in a complex, multi-sensory cognitive exercise. Research shows that mastering Morse code alters the brain’s structure and functional connectivity in profound ways.

* Neuroplasticity in Action: Studies in neuroimaging have revealed that learning Morse code increases the microstructural integrity of the white matter tracts connecting the auditory and motor cortices. By translating sound directly into physical movement (sending) and physical movement or mental text into meaning (receiving), we are literally forging new neural pathways.

* Bi-Hemispheric Engagement: Unlike ordinary speech, which is heavily localized in the left hemisphere of the brain, processing Morse code recruits areas across both the left and right hemispheres. The left side handles the structural, analytical translation of the code, while the right side processes the rhythmic, musical elements of the pitch and timing.

* Enhancing Working Memory: Receiving CW at higher speeds requires a robust “audio buffer” in your working memory. You must hold the sounds of the characters in your mind, decode them, and write them down or copy them in your head, all while the next characters are already pouring into your ears. This builds tremendous cognitive reserve.

The Koch Method: Training the Brain the Right Way

When I first learned Morse code, and now as I work to bring that muscle memory back, the method of training matters immensely. Trying to count dots and dashes visually or memorizing a chart is a trap. It creates a cognitive bottleneck that falls apart at higher speeds.

That is where the Koch method comes in, a technique that aligns perfectly with how our brains naturally process fast, rhythmic information.

* Full Speed from Day One: Invented by German psychologist Ludwig Koch, this method dictates that you listen to characters at your target speed right from the start, typically 20 words per minute or faster.

* Preventing the “Counting” Habit: By keeping the character speed high, your brain is physically incapable of counting the individual dots and dashes. Instead, you are forced to learn the overall rhythmic “sound basket” or shape of the letter.

* Incremental Success: You start with just two characters. Once you can copy them with 90% accuracy, you add a third, then a fourth. This builds immediate, reflexive muscle memory rather than analytical translation.

CWops, CW Academy, and LICW: Modern Gold Standarda

In my exploration of modern training tools that honor this science, I found that the amateur radio community has perfected this instructional approach. Organizations like CWops, through their renowned CW Academy, have taken the core principles of the Koch method and elevated them for the modern era. Another adaptation from the Koch method is the Long Island CW group (LICW) website and support structure.

* Rhythm and Spacing: CW Academy utilizes effective spacing methods related to the Koch philosophy. They send characters at a high effective speed so your brain learns the correct sound patterns immediately, while widening the space between the characters to give your mind time to process them.

* Structured Discipline: Their programs offer the exact kind of structured environment required to overcome writer’s block or training plateaus. It combines the rigorous discipline of daily practice with the support of a community.

* Interactive Learning: By pairing rigorous receiving practice with peer interaction, they stimulate the social and cognitive centers of the brain simultaneously, maximizing the neuroplastic benefits of the hobby.

Final Thoughts: Getting the Gears Turning

Re-learning CW is more than just a return to a beloved pastime. It is a deliberate act of cognitive preservation. Every evening spent copy-practicing and burning those pathways back into my hands is an investment in focus, memory, and mental sharpness. The science proves it, but sitting at the desk, feeling the cobwebs clear as the code starts to flow naturally once again, is all the proof I truly need.

Here’s just some practice after adjusting the key gap spacing and tension.

I started in the ham radio and shortwave listening hobby in 1972. By 1975, this was my first real receiver. It heard very well, and ignited my lifelong passion for radio.

The R-366/TRR-5 military receiver.

This old radio, the R-366/TRR-5, which is clearly identified on the faceplate in this picture of the military rig, had great ears. It was what I used to hone my Morse code copying skills and to get the hang of how amateur radio operators conducted communications with each other, with CW, AM, or SSB. I hope someday to own one once again.

The R-366

The R-366/TRR-5 is a significant piece of military history manufactured for the Navy Department Bureau of Ships by the Espey Manufacturing Company. Built during an era when the United States Navy required absolute reliability for ship to shore and ship to ship communications, the unit is a testament to the rugged industrial design of the mid-twentieth century. Often referred to as part of the TRR-5 receiving set, this equipment frequently incorporated high quality components and precision engineering including the gold standard Collins Radio Company designs of that period. These internal components were vital in providing the remarkable stability and selectivity needed to pull weak signals out of the dense electronic noise environment found on a crowded naval vessel. It did have heterodyne squeals on a select few frequencies, which any old tube receiver was prone to have, but those did not detract from the excellent capability of the radio.

The Service

For the sailors and radio operators serving aboard ships in the 1950s and 1960s these receivers were far more than just tools for duty. In the often cramped and isolated conditions of life at sea these radios served as a critical psychological anchor. Access to the bands meant hearing the familiar sounds of home or tuning into MARS stations where amateur radio operators facilitated phone patches that reconnected sailors with their families. This bridge to the outside world was essential for maintaining morale and supporting the mental health of military personnel who were otherwise cut off from the rhythms of civilian life for months at a time. Sitting in the radio shack and slowly tuning that large central dial while listening to the crackle of the ionosphere was a meditative escape from the constant hum of shipboard operations. Many ships would pipe ball games and news shows, or music programs, over the ships intercomms, providing health and morale to the personnel.

Operating the Radio

The tactile experience of operating this specific receiver remains vivid in my memory. The layout with its distinct knobs for selectivity phasing and BFO control was designed for the hands of a professional radio operator who needed to manipulate the signal in real time. It required a disciplined ear and a steady hand to copy Morse code through heavy atmospheric conditions but that struggle made every successful reception feel deeply rewarding. It taught me the patience and technical appreciation that have defined my amateur radio hobby for decades. Owning and using a piece of history like this represented a connection to the generations of operators who stood the watch before me.

Traveling the World…

With this historic military receiver, I discovered an entire world as a child in the mid 1970s. I spent countless nights in the quiet darkness of my room with only the warm orange and yellow glow from the vacuum tubes leaking out of the back and top grills and slots of the radio enclosure, as those hot tubes cast soft light on the ceiling and walls. That radio allowed me to travel the globe from my listening position often sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of this big rig. Those late night listening sessions, when I should have been sleeping, ignited a lifelong passion for understanding the vast and interconnected world of shortwave radio as well as medium-wave DXing. I heard International Shortwave Broadcast stations as well as AM broadcast stations from Europe, Asia, the South Pacific, the Atlantic regions, South America, Central America, and North America–all over the world! I listened to amateur radio operators on Morse code, SSB, and AM modes. Ships at sea, aircraft doing transoceanic flights, fishing vessels comms where fishing captains would chat with other boat captains, and even military communications were all at my fingertips on the dial of the radio as I listened to these exotic places by headphones. I even picked up a station from Peru, South America late one night, on the mediumwave broadcast band. That is how great that receiver could hear. Of course, I had a very excellent outdoor dipole antenna that was cut for 160 meters.

What Receiver Was Your First?

What was your first major receiver? Was it just a receiver, or was it a transceiver? When was that? What did you hear that captured your imagination? Do you still have that radio?
I hope to someday have this R-366/TRR-5, once again.

~ Happy DX!
NW7US

The photograph, below, captures a compelling moment of technical mastery during the formative years of American broadcasting, set deep within the inner workings of the Crosley Radio operation in Cincinnati, Ohio, during the 1930s. This was not just a studio but a nerve center for one of the most ambitious radio experiments in history. In the frame, an unidentified announcer sits with a quiet, practiced focus before a sensitive microphone, his presence framed by a formidable wall of equipment that served as the control interface for Powel Crosley Jr.’s broadcasting empire.

WLW, W8XAL, and WSAI

The machinery in front of him represents the sophisticated control panels for three distinct stations, labeled for WLW, W8XAL, and WSAI. These panels were the operational gateway to a signal that redefined the reach of radio. WLW, in particular, earned the nickname The Nation’s Station, and for a brief but legendary period in the mid-1930s, it was granted special authorization by the Federal Communications Commission to experiment with a massive power output of 500,000 watts. This made it the most powerful radio station in the United States, a true technological titan of the era. The signal was so incredibly potent that listeners across North America and beyond often reported hearing the broadcast under unusual circumstances, such as through the metal teeth of fillings, in the coils of mattress springs, or even through the humming of household plumbing.

Beyond the standard AM broadcast of WLW, the inclusion of W8XAL in this control room highlights the critical role shortwave technology played in the Crosley vision. While the standard AM signal was meant for domestic reach, W8XAL served as an experimental shortwave companion, designed to project the Cincinnati broadcasts far beyond the limitations of local and regional airwaves. Shortwave radio waves possess the unique ability to bounce off the ionosphere, allowing signals to travel thousands of miles and transcend national borders. Through W8XAL, the Crosley organization was testing the feasibility of true international broadcasting, turning the modest studios in Cincinnati into a point of origin for listeners located as far away as South America or Europe.

This shortwave capability was a significant leap in the evolution of mass media. It represented a deliberate attempt to overcome the geographical isolation that had defined the earlier, more fragmented era of radio. By operating on shortwave frequencies, the announcers and engineers were participating in a grand experiment to see if a single localized voice could truly become a global one. It was an ambitious pursuit that demanded even greater precision than standard broadcasting, as atmospheric conditions and solar activity could frequently disrupt the long-distance transmission path.

Working in this control room was a task that required both the poise of a performer and the precision of an engineer. Each dial, needle gauge, and switch was a critical element in maintaining the integrity of the broadcast, as the announcer had to carefully monitor the modulation levels to ensure the signal remained clear and stable for millions of listeners. A lapse in focus could mean a technical failure or a broadcast error that reached a massive, dispersed audience in real time. It was a high-stakes, high-pressure environment, yet it functioned as the primary, and often only, window to the wider world for families weathering the depths of the Great Depression.

Powel Crosley Jr. was a man of intense vision, and he understood better than most that radio was the ultimate tool for domestic and international unification. These transmitters were the engine that bridged the vast geographical distance between his studio in Cincinnati and the living rooms of families scattered across the continent and beyond. When people turned their dials to find the station, they were connecting to a piece of engineering that stood at the very cutting edge of the twentieth century. Looking at this image today, it is easy to feel a sense of awe for that era, when the simple act of turning a knob could bring the world into a home, effectively shrinking the vastness of the country and changing the way society experienced culture, news, and shared humanity forever.

On this day in 1844, a quiet revolution in human communication took place. Samuel Morse, the American inventor, sat in the Supreme Court chamber in Washington, D.C., and tapped out a short, profound message on his experimental telegraph system. The message — “What hath God wrought?” — was sent across nearly 40 miles of wire to the B&O Railroad depot in Baltimore, Maryland, where it was received instantly by his partner, Alfred Vail.

A Historic Landmark in Maryland: “The First Telegram, What Hath God Wrought?” Location 39° 6.157′ N, 76° 50.526′ W. Marker is near Laurel, Maryland, in Prince George’s County.

The morning of May 24, 1844, stands as one of the most pivotal turning points in the history of human civilization. Before this day, information could only travel as fast as a human could ride a horse or a vessel could sail across an ocean. The physical limitations of distance dictated the speed of politics, commerce, and war. When Samuel Finley Breese Morse tapped out the message “What hath God wrought?” from the U.S. Capitol building to Baltimore, he did not just demonstrate a new machine; he permanently dismantled the tyranny of distance.

The Struggle for Recognition

Samuel Morse was not a professional scientist; he was an accomplished, world-renowned portrait painter. However, his life took a tragic turn in 1825 when, while painting a portrait of the Marquis de Lafayette in Washington, D.C., he received a letter via horseback messenger informing him that his wife was ill. By the time he returned to his home in New Haven, Connecticut, she had already died and been buried. The delayed news haunted him, sparking an obsession with finding a way to transmit information instantaneously across great distances.

For years, Morse labored in near-poverty, facing skepticism from the scientific community and indifference from Congress. He was forced to sell his paintings to fund his experiments and relied on the technical brilliance of Alfred Vail, a young machinist whose family provided the financial backing and the workshop space (the Speedwell Iron Works) necessary to refine the electromagnetic telegraph system.

The Message and Its Meaning

The phrase chosen for the demonstration, “What hath God wrought?” (Numbers 23:23), was far from arbitrary. It was proposed by Annie Ellsworth, the young daughter of Henry Ellsworth, the U.S. Commissioner of Patents, who had been a staunch supporter of Morse’s application for funding. The biblical quote was an expression of wonder, a recognition that the telegraph was a divine-like power in the hands of mortal men–a tool that could bridge vast physical divides with the speed of electricity.

At 8:45 a.m., Morse sat before the apparatus in the Supreme Court chamber. When the signal reached the B&O Railroad station in Baltimore, Alfred Vail confirmed receipt immediately. The feat was so startling that even at the time, many observers found it difficult to grasp that the words were not being physically transported, but rather transformed into electrical pulses and reconstructed on the other end.

A New Era of Global Connectivity

The success of the 1844 demonstration was the catalyst for the rapid expansion of the telegraph network across the United States and eventually, the world. Within two decades, the telegraph had become the backbone of the American Civil War, allowing for the rapid coordination of troops and the dissemination of news. It also revolutionized journalism–giving birth to the “news wire” services–and changed the financial sector forever by allowing stock prices and market conditions to be synchronized across cities.

By replacing physical couriers with electrical signals, the telegraph created the first global “nervous system.” It set the stage for the invention of the telephone, the radio, and eventually the fiber-optic networks of the modern internet. When we send an instant message today, we are utilizing the same fundamental principle that Morse proved: that information can be decoupled from physical travel.

Reflection

The telegraph was the precursor to our modern digital age, proving that humanity’s greatest potential lies in our ability to connect, communicate, and share knowledge at speed. As we look back on that day in 1844, we are reminded that every monumental shift in technology starts with an attempt to solve a simple, deeply human problem–in Morse’s case, the agonizing delay of a message that arrived too late.