304TE/DX Estonia & 310TE/DX Latvia DX-Pedition Photos & Report27th Sept - 4th Oct 2025 by Alan 26TE011 updated 07/05/2026
Is there much about radio, a little, but loads about our adventure
After months of planning our second-ever radio trip abroad, Adam 26TE032 and I were finally on our way to meet our great friend Tom 310AT101 at Riga Airport in Latvia. Without Tom — and without our incredible supporters — this adventure simply wouldn’t have been possible. We honestly can’t thank them enough for making it a reality.
✈️ Parking Experience Review
I’d booked parking with one of the private parking companies about a mile or so outside the airport. We arrived in the very early hours, only to find the place completely closed. It turned out the staff had arrived late, so we were left waiting outside until they eventually opened up.
Once we were finally checked in, we were then told that transport to the airport was an extra charge — something that definitely wasn’t made clear when booking. After all that hassle at 3–4am, it really took the shine off the start of the trip.
Honestly, it’s made me realise that paying a bit more for a proper meet‑and‑greet service is absolutely worth it in the future. Far less stress, far fewer surprises.
✈️ Stansted to Riga: A Not‑So‑Uneventful Start
What was meant to be a very uneventful flight from Stansted to Riga turned out to have a couple of twists.
First, Adam managed to get himself held up at security at Stansted — something in his bag that definitely shouldn’t have been there. Once that drama was over, we finally boarded and settled in for what we hoped would be a smooth trip.
Then, as we were leaving the plane in Riga, I realised my wallet was missing. My heart sank. I must have left it on the seat when I bought food. Thankfully, the ground staff were absolute stars: it was found quickly and returned to me in the terminal. A proper phew moment.
From there, things finally calmed down. We breezed through the new fingerprint registration at Latvian border control — and for once, Adam didn’t get held up like last time.
And there, waiting at the pickup point like the legend he is, was our old buddy Tom. Bags in the car, doors shut, and off we went, heading north toward the Estonian border
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Quick coffee break and install radio
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Tom quickly installed a radio into the van so we’d have something to play with during our trip north toward our accommodation not far from the city of Pärnu. The weather was perfect, spirits were high, and after a quick check of the map we were on our way.
We put out a few calls as 310TE/DX mobile, and before long we were logging a handful of European stations. Then came a real surprise on only our fourth QSO — a contact with Sam, 25AT099. Not bad at all for a freshly installed mobile setup.
After that, conditions leaned heavily toward Spain, France, and Italy, though we did manage a very nice contact with Mike, 29AT101 in Ireland. Propagation faded for a while, but the radio kept us entertained and helped the miles roll by.
Before we knew it, the landscape changed and we suddenly found ourselves approaching the Estonian border, where we pulled over for a couple of photos to mark the moment.
Arriving at the Estonian border...
...was a photo opportunity far too good to miss. Tom, as always, took charge of the camera, lining up the perfect shot while the rest of us stretched our legs. What really caught our eye, though, was the border post itself — plastered with stickers from motorcycle clubs, car groups, and travellers from all over Europe. It was practically a collage of road‑worn stories.
Naturally, we couldn’t resist adding our own mark. With all the subtlety of a couple of schoolkids sneaking sweets, we carefully slipped a Tango Echo DX Group sticker into one of the few remaining gaps. All the while, we kept half an eye on the mirror‑tinted windows of the border office, hoping the security officers weren’t watching our little act of mischief.
A tiny rebellion, perhaps — but a proud one.
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The Perfect Venue
It wasn’t long after Tom had guided us to this absolutely stunning Estonian cottage that we realised just how special the place was. Immaculately clean, beautifully kept, and equipped with every facility we could possibly need — a fully kitted‑out kitchen with every utensil imaginable, a log fire, a BBQ, and that rare luxury: true silence. No electronic noise, no distractions. The perfect setting for a little radio.
After the usual mad dash to claim our beds, we were outside in no time, racing the fading light to get a T2LT antenna in the air. Tom cracked open his armoured case and revealed the Yaesu FTDX10 like it was a crown jewel. Within minutes we were on the air, and the evening did not disappoint.
Propagation was fantastic. Europe came in first, one after another, and as the afternoon wore on the band began to open beautifully across the Atlantic. Before long we were pulling in North, Central, and South American stations — all eager to log our 304TE/DX activation. At times the pile‑up was so intense that signals merged into an unreadable wall of sound, forcing us to sit back, breathe, and try to tease out fragments of callsigns from the chaos.
The logbook filled rapidly with stations from across the Americas and the Caribbean. Eventually, as the night settled in, the propagation began to fade. Adam and Tom headed inside to prepare dinner, leaving the radio to cool and the cottage to glow softly in the Estonian dusk.
AirBnB link at the bottom
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| 5/8 wave T2LT connected to an old well |
📡 “This is Alan, 26TE011, operating today — and also representing Tom, who sadly couldn’t join us on the air for this activation, though he did manage to get some personal airtime under his own callsign.”
“While out grabbing supplies today, I found two fridge magnets that felt oddly connected: Estonian Vikings and our Thames Estuary DX Group logo. Both places carry that old seafaring heritage — communities shaped by tides, trade, and the occasional Viking raid. Funny how a bit of fridge art can remind you that our home patch has its own Viking echoes.”
A bright start, Day 2
I must have had a really good night’s sleep, because I woke to the sound of distant radio chatter drifting through the house. Up and out of bed, and straight downstairs, where I found Tom and Adam already halfway through their morning tea. It was a bright but bitterly cold start, so the first job was getting the fire going and thawing out my feet — LOL.
Adam (26TE032) was already busy scribbling callsigns into our paper logbook, keeping the pace as the band came alive. Every few hours, whenever things went quiet on air or we wrapped up for the day, we’d update everything online. A proper rhythm to it: kettle on, radios humming, logs filling, and the day just beginning
Pile-up
Adam eventually settled into a quieter rhythm on the radio, though in truth propagation had been excellent all day. He was logging stations from all over Europe, Asia, Japan, Australia — the whole map lighting up. Whenever conditions surged again, the pile‑ups returned with a vengeance, stations practically tripping over each other to get into the log. Even when Adam called back to a specific operator, others would try to muscle in, but he kept everything under control, repeating callsigns patiently until each one was confirmed.
Meanwhile, Tom was plotting a quick run to the nearest store and scouting possible spots where we might operate static mobile. The two of us left Adam to enjoy the DX feast for a while. We found the store easily enough, and on the way back we stopped at a small beach area beside what looked like a lifeguard station — a quiet little detour before returning to the chaos of the airwaves.
Once we got back to base camp, Tom put his head down for a while. Fair enough — he’d done a heroic amount of driving over the previous two days, and the man was running on fumes and stubbornness alone. And honestly, I can’t blame him. It must be torture to sit there politely while everyone else is gleefully twiddling dials, calling CQ, and acting like kids let loose in a sweet shop.
At some point, even the most patient soul thinks, “Right, that’s enough of watching other people have fun.” A nap was the only sensible option.
Aurora Borealis
At the end of day two, we were treated to a spectacle that’s incredibly rare for our part of the world: the Aurora Borealis. In all my 59 years, I’ve never seen anything like it. Adam and I stood out on the decking, facing north, completely transfixed by this shimmering curtain of colour draped across the sky.
We snapped plenty of photos, but these are the best of the bunch. The two of us stayed out there for over an hour, braving a bitterly cold night just to soak in every moment of that natural wonder.
Sadly, the beauty came with a warning. As we’d soon discover, it was the first sign of what was to follow the next day — a complete and utter radio blackout that lasted for several days.
Next morning we were up early, hoping to catch some skip. Instead, the radio was silent — just the distant hiss of static, not even the usual local interference. It was so dead we actually checked the whole system to make sure nothing had failed overnight.
Last night’s aurora turned out to be the front edge of a big solar flare rolling in, and it was already hammering the bands. Propagation was going to be rough for the next few days.
By late morning we had only a handful of contacts in the log — seven, and each one a real struggle through the poor conditions. With the bands refusing to cooperate, we decided to take a break from the radio and drive into the main city of Pärnu, hoping things might improve later in the day.
We had a small mission anyway: pick up some local postcards for our sponsors, ready to send once we were back home. A bit of exploring, a bit of fresh air, and maybe the solar storm would ease off by the time we returned.
Ireland Away from home
We’d barely been in Pärnu ten minutes when Tom’s eyes locked onto an Irish bar a few hundred yards away. Before anyone could say a word, he was already making a beeline for it. Clearly, lunchtime had arrived.
Tom was first through the door and immediately launched into his native Gaelic at the staff, who looked politely baffled but admirably patient. Thankfully, their English was excellent, and within moments we were all seated and tucking into a fantastic meal.
The staff were brilliant — warm, helpful, and more than happy to chat with us. It was the perfect welcome to Pärnu and exactly the kind of unexpected little moment that makes these trips so memorable.
Stamped & Franked
We wandered through the town’s little cluster of shops, doing that very British thing of politely asking for directions to the local post office while trying not to look too lost. One thing that struck me straight away — and it’s something I’ve noticed across the Baltic countries — is just how proudly patriotic they are. Estonia is no exception. The streets were dressed with district flags, crests, colours, and of course the blue‑black‑white of the Estonian flag fluttering from almost every building. It’s a kind of everyday national confidence that feels rare back home, where such things have been quietly discouraged over the years.
Eventually, after a few wrong turns and a helpful shopkeeper pointing us “just past the mall, you can’t miss it,” we found the post office tucked inside a small shopping centre. We spread out our favourite cards on the counter like kids choosing sweets, picked the best ones, and had them stamped and franked — a tiny ritual to prove, even to ourselves, that yes, we really were here.
And of course, we planned to do the same once we crossed into Latvia later in the week. A little tradition of our own, marking the journey one postmark at a time.
James ITL
It was nice to see a bit of Pärnu and Estonia for a change. I think we were feeling suitably refreshed and ready for some radio, but as we drove back, conditions still hadn’t improved. After a few messages in the supporters’ chatroom, we knew we had to try for our main contributor, James 26TE198 in the southeast of the UK — even if it meant calling while rolling back toward the cottage.
Stunningly, he could just hear us, faint and ghostlike, but we had nothing in return. For twenty minutes we called back and forth, chasing scraps of signal through the noise. And then suddenly — there he was. From nothing to a full 5/5. We had to pull over, celebrate, and grab a small recording of the momentous contact that had emerged out of absolutely nowhere.
James 26TE198 in the log at last — and mobile, no less.
We managed another six contacts on the drive back. Conditions were still far from ideal, but we did snag a couple of Scottish stations, including our good radio friend Kevin, 108AT077 — someone we regularly chat with from home whenever the skip gods are feeling generous.
Back at the cottage, after many hours of listening and calling, only a couple of new stations made it into the log. We left the radio running in the background through the evening, just in case a stray voice drifted in on the band.
Poor Forecast, day 4
Our fourth day began with a ritual we knew all too well by now: checking the propagation forecasts across every site we trusted. None of them looked promising. Still, we were up at 6 a.m., hopeful enough to try to squeeze something out of the bands.
Progress was slow. No matter how we tuned or shifted strategy, we struggled to make the kind of headway we’d hoped for. Contacts trickled in rather than flowed, and by late morning it was clear the day wasn’t going to turn around.
At 12:15 p.m., we logged what would become our final contact of the day — Mazy, 111SR101, calling in from Jordan. A bright moment in an otherwise stubborn stretch of radio silence.
Closing the gates, farewell
Our final day in Estonia. Day 5
After a few hours of silence on the radio, we decided to pack up a little earlier than planned and make the drive back to Tom’s home in Latvia. Once the gear was broken down and the AirBnB was cleaned and tidied, we sent a message to our host letting him know we were heading off a bit early and thanking him for such a stunning location. I’m sure we’ll return one day — I’ll post a link to this brilliant cottage.
I couldn’t help feeling a little sad about the lack of skip over the last few days, but looking back, we still managed to log over 500 stations in 56 countries around the world. Not bad for a quiet band.
Back to Latvia
We’re heading back south now, towards Tom’s home in Latvia — about four hours of driving all told — and for once everything is going smoothly. The van has fallen into that late‑afternoon hush, the kind that settles in after a long day on the air. Even the radio seems to have joined in; Adam does a sweep across the bands and reports that most of them have gone eerily quiet.
Somewhere along the way I suggest to Tom that we stop at the border again for another photo. He perks up immediately and mentions there are a couple of restaurants there — perfect for refuelling ourselves, grabbing a few more shots of the border signs, and, of course, sneakily dropping a Tango Echo sticker on one of them.
Suitably full after a strange Baltic lunch — I’m still not entirely sure what half of it was, but it was undeniably tasty — we pile back into the van and set off again. 
Lost on everyone else!
“I spotted a West Ham United sticker slapped onto one of the poles of the sign. As a season ticket holder, I probably got far too excited about it — but honestly, seeing a bit of claret and blue out here felt like finding home in the wild. Come on you Irons!”
That is exactly the kind of tiny, ridiculous, perfect moment that lights you up on an expedition.
You’re out there in the middle of nowhere, scanning poles and border signs for mischief and lore… and suddenly there it is: a little claret‑and‑blue beacon calling out across the wilderness.
You, a West Ham season ticket holder, stumbling on a lone Irons sticker on some remote signpost?
Of course you got excited. That’s not “too excited” — that’s properly excited. That’s the universe giving you a cheeky nod. 
Tommy Two Towers
We finally arrive at Tom’s — yes, Tommy Two Towers, as we affectionately call him behind his back, and with good reason. His little cottage sits like a postcard come to life: a beautiful stone nest on a stunning plot of land, wrapped in wilderness, peace, and the kind of silence you can actually hear. Proper radio paradise. Zero QRM. Zero neighbours. Zero anything, really.
Only one problem: the radio is completely flat.
So with the rig murmuring in the background like a half‑asleep dog, Adam and I roll up our sleeves and help shift his log delivery into the barn. It’s honest work, the sort that warms you twice — once when you stack it, and once when you laugh at how much of it Tom claims he’ll get through this winter. Every now and then one of us wanders back to the radio, gives the dial a hopeful twist, and throws out a random CQ into the void, just in case the ionosphere feels charitable.
But the afternoon is slipping away, and the hotel is still some miles off. Time to brush the sawdust off our jackets, say our goodbyes to Tommy Two Towers, and point the car back toward civilisation — or whatever passes for it out here.
Hotel Talsi Latvia
We’ve stayed here before, so we knew exactly what we were coming back to: a simple, honest hotel that mostly hosts workers during the week, clean and quiet, with that stunning view eastward over the lakes. It’s the kind of place where nothing is fancy, but everything feels easy.
The staff are as friendly as ever. One evening they even walked to the local shop to buy us some beer — I genuinely thought they were just popping off to unlock the bar. That small act sums up the place perfectly: unpretentious, helpful, and quietly charming.
The mornings have been beautiful. Adam and I have been stepping outside before breakfast to breathe in that fresh, misty air rolling off the water. There’s something grounding about it — a calm start before the day properly begins.
Breakfast
We Brits are a funny old bunch. Contrary to the stereotype, we adore Europe — it’s just the politics we can’t stand. With Tom at home and Adam beside me, we found ourselves tucking into what we presumed was a perfectly normal Baltic breakfast, but to our eyes it was anything but. Back home it’s a full fry‑up or a bowl of cereal; here, it was something between a salad, cheese on toast, and sausage, with a dessert casually thrown in on the side. Tasty, very filling, just a little odd to our islander sensibilities.
And yet, there we were every morning, happily coming back for more, plates piled high, watching the stunning scenery unfold outside the window. A strange breakfast, perhaps — but one we grew to love.
Baltic/continental breakfast
Day Trip to Cape Kolka Latvia
The previous afternoon we’d popped into the tourist information centre in Talsi, having arrived via the gravel roads around Toms. While we were there, Tom mentioned a place he’d always wanted to visit: Kolka Cape, right up on the northern tip of Latvia. It sounded like a promising spot for a bit of DX, so we packed everything into the van and set off the next morning.
I’ll admit, the drive felt endless. The road stretched out in one long, unwavering line, and after a while it seemed as though we were looping the same scenery on repeat. For an hour and twenty minutes it was pine forest, straight road, pine forest, straight road — with the occasional village tossed in just to prove we weren’t actually trapped in some Baltic version of Groundhog Day.
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Arriving at Cape Kolka 1hr 20 mins |
It seems to have become tradition by now: find a passing stranger, hand over a phone, and get the obligatory Three Amigos photo. So here we are again — this time on a breathtaking stretch of sand at Cape Kolka, where the beach runs for miles in both directions and the Baltic wraps around the point in a long, lazy arc. The wind was gentle, the light was perfect, and for a moment the three of us just stood there, grinning like we owned the place.
After hours of airtime and a gentle wander around Cape Kolka, we took in the sweeping coastline and the strange calm that hangs over that place where the seas meet. The little trinket shop in the car park was impossible to resist; I walked out with yet another fridge magnet to commemorate my visit to Latvia. Yes, it was overpriced, but it had that solid, good‑quality feel that makes you justify the purchase to yourself.
Radio, on the other hand, had been absolutely dismal. After an entire day of calling, coaxing, and hoping, we’d scraped together just five QSOs — Italy, Spain, Portugal and Cyprus. I couldn’t help feeling a pang of disappointment, but propagation is forever in the lap of the gods, and on this day the gods clearly had other plans.
With a reluctant sigh we packed up and pointed the car back toward Tom’s home QTH. The mood lifted as we made arrangements to eat out that evening at the local bar — the same one we’d visited a few times last year. Familiar faces, warm food, and a cold drink felt like exactly the right way to close a stubbornly quiet day on the air.
Our second full day...
...in Latvia began with one of those crisp, clear mornings that tricks you into thinking it’s warmer than it is. Adam and I were up early, greeted by bright sunshine and a windscreen glazed with frost — the kind that demands a few determined scrapes before you can even think about driving. After breakfast at the hotel, Tom arrived and the three of us set off on foot to a large supermarket where, we’d been told, the post office was tucked away. We needed a handful of stamped and properly franked postcards for our sponsors, and this seemed as good a mission as any to start the day.
As we walked, Tom mentioned that the radio had been eerily quiet before he left home. At the time, we didn’t think much of it. Only later would we realise that this was the beginning of our infamous Zero Day — not a single contact to be had.
We’d arranged to meet up with one of Tom’s friends from the previous year, Mike — an ex‑pat from the UK and a keen radio operator. His place was about an hour’s drive away, so after securing our postcards, we pointed the car out of Talsi and set off to pay him a visit.
Mike's Shack
We pulled into a little log‑cabin café for an early lunch, the sort of place that looks like it should smell of woodsmoke and homemade soup — and it did. We had no real idea what we were ordering, but whatever arrived was definitely chicken and definitely delicious. My cappuccino even came with a free chocolate, which felt like the universe quietly rewarding me. More of that, please, LOL.
From there we continued on to Mike’s, where he greeted us at the door and immediately launched into a guided tour of his impressive shack. Rigs everywhere, cables with purpose, and more antennas in the garden than most people have plants. We drank Mike’s coffee — strong, proper radio‑operator fuel — and chatted radio for several hours. Time slipped away, as it always does when the conversation is good, and before long it was time to hit the road again.
Last Day in Latvia
Our final morning in Latvia slipped by faster than any of us wanted. We squeezed in a few more hours on the radio, clinging to the hope that the bands might finally open for us — but the conditions were stubbornly, almost comically bad. A couple of faint, low‑lying contacts drifted in from Uzbekistan and Sardinia, just enough to tease us rather than reward us. Eventually we had to admit defeat.
Our goal had been simple: log as many stations as possible under the callsign 310TE/DX. Three days, a solid team, and all the enthusiasm in the world. Yet the ionosphere had other ideas. When the dust settled, we’d logged just seven stations. Seven. It felt like the radio equivalent of fishing all weekend and coming home with a single sardine.
But the disappointment didn’t linger long. Tom and his wonderful wife had prepared a proper lunch for us — warm food, warm company, and the kind of easy conversation that only happens after shared adventure. We talked through the trip, laughed at the mishaps, and inevitably drifted into the topic we always drift into: the next one. Because of course there will be a next one.
Then came the part I’d been quietly dreading: the drive to Riga Airport. I really didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t a holiday — not officially — but it felt like a break my mind had been craving. A reset. A breath of cold Baltic air. Even with the radio silence, it was refreshing in a way that’s hard to explain.
Leaving Latvia felt like leaving a good story halfway through. And that’s probably why I’m already thinking about the sequel.
We logged 54 different Countries and over 500 QSOs in the Estonian leg of our adventure and only 25 QSOs in 10 different countries on the Latvian stage. Im sure it was 56 or 57 different DXCCs in total, pretty successful generally, but I can't help but think if we had better conditions.
Back Home, back to normality
A massive thanks to Tom 310AT101, who—as always—was the best friend anyone could hope for. He drove us all over the place, lent us his van without a moment’s hesitation, and made the whole trip possible. Guys like Tom are few and far between; he’s the one who always says yes, always shows up, and always goes the extra mile.
QSL requests have begun to roll in.
Hard to believe a whole month has passed since we returned home, but the newly designed cards — crafted beautifully by our friend Hein 19AT176 and printed with real care by Toni at QSLgrafi27 in Spain — have finally arrived.
Of course, the job wasn’t over. I honestly can’t imagine how some of the really big DX‑peditions cope with the sheer avalanche of QSL requests that pour in via PayPal and through the letterbox. Adam and I spent many an evening cross‑checking each QSO in the logbook, writing out the cards by hand, and sending off bundles of envelopes while the post office staff looked on in bemused curiosity at our strange little production line.
A massive thanks goes to Hein 19AT176 for the stunning design work, and to Toni at QSLgrafi27 for bringing it to life so perfectly
✉️ The Tale of the Vanishing QSL Cards
We honestly had no idea what to do with the mountain of QSL cards that arrived after the DX‑pedition. At first it was charming — envelopes from every corner of the world, callsigns we recognised from the pileups, little notes tucked inside. But by 2026 they were still coming in, long after the radios had gone quiet and the logs were sealed.
The trouble is… the cards themselves are running very, very low. There comes a point where you simply have to stop accepting requests, no matter how much you’d like to keep the magic going. A finite stack can only stretch so far.
Most of the cards we did receive found a far better fate than sitting in a shoebox. We placed the best of them — the colourful ones, the rare ones, the ones that made us smile — into two large frames. Those frames were presented to James, TE198, in recognition of his exceptional contribution to the adventure.
It’s hard to imagine anyone more deserving. With any luck, those frames will end up hanging proudly in his shack, a reminder of the chaos, camaraderie, and improbable triumphs that defined the expedition.
Thank you to our sponsors/supporters
26TE198 James
310AT101 Tom
108AT107 Billy
26OP519 Ray
26TC101 Allan
41DA981 Giovani
26AT483 Mike
26AT028 Sean
26CV01 Kevin
26AT136 Damian
26TE123 Gary
19AT176 Hein
26SD176 Julian
26TE310 Kevin
26TE717 Pawel
3SKD042 Luiz
161KPI001 Val
1RC167 Marco
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