Vintage Postcard from Fort Lauderdale: A Tribute to the Boating Life

This vintage postcard, postmarked 1971 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, is more than a nostalgic photograph; it distills the timeless ingredients that draw people to the water. In a single frame—boat, fish, water and sky—it captures why boating remains such a compelling way to spend time: movement, possibility and quiet connection with nature.

At the center of the image is the boat itself. Whether it’s a simple open fisherman like the one shown here, a sleek motor yacht, a classic downeast cruiser or a small sailboat, the vessel is the means by which we reach those places that feel removed from daily life. Boats are practical tools, yes, but they are also symbols of freedom: a way to leave the shore, explore new coves and anchor in a sheltered inlet for a sunset swim or a quiet night under the stars.

The fish in the photograph stands as the emblem of activity on the water. For some of us, the draw is angling and the chase—the patient work of reading tides and currents, the thrill of a strike on the line. For others, the appeal is entirely different: a day cruise, wake sports, gunkholing among mangroves, wildlife watching or simply letting the horizon drift by. The water supports all of these pursuits, and each person brings their own purpose and pleasure to it.

And then there is the water itself—vast, changeable and endlessly soothing. The movement of waves and the touch of wind are reminders that we are part of something bigger. Even when conditions are demanding, that same expanse can calm the mind and lift the spirit. The sea and the inland waterways provide both challenge and consolation, inviting us to slow down, observe and feel small in a way that is, paradoxically, expansive.

The photograph also conveys a specific moment: a sunset. There is a distinct, quiet romance to trailing a hand through cool water while the sky shifts through gold and rose. Those concluding moments of a day on the water often become the memories we return to—the smell of salt and diesel mixed, the color of light on a hull, the hush as other boats slip into anchorage. Such images are personal and universal at once.

For me, this particular image marks the end of an era. This is the last back-page column I will write for Soundings, after more than 20 years and nearly 250 images selected for this department. The idea for the back-page feature came from an early inspiration—Life magazine’s back-page photo called Miscellany—and while planning a redesign for Soundings, I suggested to then-editor Bill Sisson that we adopt a similar approach: a single vintage photograph accompanied by a short piece that connects it to the wider nautical world. That suggestion gave rise to the department originally called “Passages,” later retitled “Just Yesterday.”

Searching out the images and researching each photograph has been rewarding work. I have dug through archives, traced postcards and followed small threads of local history to give context to a single picture. Those investigations often revealed surprising small stories: a boat builder’s detail, the name of a charter captain, the way a small scene mirrors larger trends in boating and coastal life. Readers’ responses over the years—letters, emails and conversations—have been an essential part of the experience. Hearing how a particular image sparked a memory or renewed a love for the water made the work richer.

My aim with this column has always been straightforward: find an interesting photograph, learn its story and write a piece that my father, Percy Knauth, who was also a writer, would have called “a good read.” I have tried to deliver stories that are informative, evocative and honest, celebrating the daily rituals and rare moments that make life on the water meaningful.

Boating is a patchwork of small rituals—preparing a breakfast sandwich in a galley, passing the time between tides, the shared laughter when a plan goes awry, the hush of a sunset approach to an anchorage. These are the details that the old postcard captures so well, and they are the reason the water keeps calling us back, season after season.

This article was originally published in the August 2021 issue.