My QSL Card Saga  

Bill Cody
K3CDY QSL Card

Now that's a pretty cool card, right?  If you're a "ham" (a.k.a. amateur radio operator), you know exactly what this is.  For those unfamiliar, it's a traditional way to prove you've had radio contact with another ham.  Before the Internet, these cards were the only way to establish proof of contact, and hams would exchange these via snail-mail.  They were useful for ham contests (of which there are still many) to help rack up points for recognition and rewards.  This is officially called a "QSL card."

With the advent of electronic logging, these cards have become a novelty – a nod to the quaint slower-paced past.  Today, confirmations can happen within minutes using tools like Logbook of the World and QRZ.com.  As a relatively new ham (licensed since 2020), I used these tools extensively.  However, some old-timers never migrated to Internet logging, and I though it would be cool to actually exchange cards with these interesting people.  

Thus began creating my own QSL card.  With the help of ChatGPT, my own card was born.  I chose a standard postcard-sized template, using a USPS-friendly format complete with all required contact info.  I promptly uploaded my design to Canva and within a week had 50 of these beauties.  Here's a look at the back:

K3CDY QSL Card Back

My thinking was "just fill out the card, slap on a cheap postcard stamp, and drop it in the mail.  No silly SASE required."  Sound reasonable.  The USPS, however, had other ideas.

That gray square (hiding my secret identity) is my return address.  BUT the USPS thinks this is the destination address.  Forget the "to:" heading.  Apparently USPS scanning machines don't understand that concept.  Bottom line, I ended up mailing the card to myself, and it arrived in my inbox.  Thinking this was a one-time glitch, I just placed it in the outbox again.  No joy – back it came.

Ultimately I abandoned the whole concept, and resigned to modern (albeit boring) QSL confirmation techniques.  I really didn't want to spend another $25 to get it right.  Sometimes, nostalgia just isn't worth it.