Von Altona im Paddelboot nach Australien
Author
Edgar Walsemann
Subject or historical figure
Oskar Speck
(1907 - 1993)
Date10 January 1936
Object numberANMS1249[037]
NameNewspaper clipping
MediumInk on paper
ClassificationsEphemera
Credit LineANMM Collection Gift from John Ferguson
DescriptionPhotocopy of a newpaper page titled 'Von Altona im Paddelboot nach Australien' (From Altona to Australia in a canoe. The adventures of an intrepid water sportsman from Altona). Shot at by Bedouin bandits, Pursued by Arab smugglers, Suspected of espionage, Racked by hunger and thirst for days on end.'
Relates to the voyage of Oskar Speck.
HistoryFrom Altona to Australia in a canoe
The adventures of an intrepid water sportsman from Altona Shot at by Bedouin bandits / Pursued by Arab smugglers / Suspected of espionage / Racked by hunger and thirst for days on end
Four years will soon have passed since an enthusiastic young canoeist left his home town of Altona on 13 May 1932 to set out in his small craft upon the most daring journey imaginable. Hardly anyone would believe it possible to overcome the thousands of miles of sea that stretch between the continents of Europe and Australia in little more than a nutshell, but our man from Altona, Oscar Speck by name, saw things differently. He had suffered a shipwreck after starting a small but promising electrical store and he didn’t have the courage to founder again in the turbulent maelstrom of the business world, so hopelessly uncertain at the time. He had envisaged a safe shore in a life in business but had lost faith and decided to venture out into the world in his little kayak, the only property he had left, to paddle his way towards new possibilities in life.
Admittedly he did not initially intend to navigate halfway around the world. At first he wanted to get to the south of
Europe following the course of rivers and canals. Once he reached the Mediterranean Sea an opportunity would present itself, so he hoped, to return to Germany assuming that an opportunity to start a new life did not come up somewhere along the way. And so he made his way upstream past the twin branches of the Elbe River and continued ever southwards through Germany. He glided along rivers large and small through Bohemia and Yugoslavia and one day found himself rocking gently in his boat on the gentle, blue waves of the Aegean Sea. He had had a wonderful journey. The hoped for opportunity to start a new life in a Europe that was torn apart [LINE NOT VISIBLE ON PHOTOCOPY] a fair degree of despondency. But then a fantastic plan came to him and by the time he reached the island of Rhodes in good spirits, this plan grew into a firm idea.
Three years later
Our story continues with the publication of a major AngloIndian newspaper, the Ceylon Observer, which on 18 August
1935 published an extensive article on the adventurous journey of our young man from Altona. According to the article, Oscar Speck paddled into the harbour at Colombo, the capital of Ceylon, on 13 May 1935. In doing so he had completed half of a journey from Germany to Australia that he was endeavouring to complete in his canoe relying on nothing other than his small boat and the strength of his will. The newspaper man in Colombo spoke about the first impression that Oscar Speck had made upon him with unmistakable appreciation for the man’s sporting and human qualities: he had left Germany at a time of bitter despondency. Today the bitterness has vanished, washed away by the waters of the ocean and nothing remains other than a sunny disposition and an unwavering confidence in reaching journey’s end as planned. He is not in the least inclined to talk up his achievement; he is quite simply a friendly, obliging young man in excellent physical condition. He stayed in Ceylon for three months and being a good cocktail waiter – cocktail waiters are sought after and well regarded in tropical, hard-drinking India – he quickly became known in all of Colombo’s circles and he made several good friends who took an enthusiastic interest in his endeavour.
The sailor’s stories
On the shady veranda of a bungalow, Oscar chats with our colleague in Colombo about his journey.
“Adventures?”
“Yes, there are a few stories to tell: Shot at by Bedouin bandits, chased by Arab smugglers, close to death with an unexpected attack of severe malaria, arrested as a spy, days on end at sea without food or drinking water, capsized three times, to name a few. None of these events, as exciting as they were, left such a terrible mark on my memory as the numerous desperate hours that I spent in storms in the isolation of the sea, particularly at night, the time I did most of my travelling due to the unbearable heat of the day. The sea is the biggest danger for me. I experienced all the terrors of being alone and being helpless at the mercy of the storm-churned sea in total darkness, racked by fever, struggling with exhaustion, unable to use a single muscle in my body. I grew familiar with hours of rage at myself and hours of despair in which I cursed my boat and my adventure. Those are my most terrible memories.”
It’s a long way to India
“It may be of interest to you in Ceylon to hear that I met the Governor of Ceylon, Sir Edward Stubbs, and his lovely wife in Cyprus. They were very interested to hear about my journey, gave me every assistance and wished me a felicitous journey when I left. They said they hoped to meet me in Colombo and I greatly regret that I have yet to encounter His Excellency and Lady Stubbs again.
You want to hear about my journey? I came to Cyprus from Rhodes, paddling along the Turkish coast. From Cyprus to
Syria, 93 miles across the open sea, I set a long-distance world record. I lost my compass on this trip and paddled along off course for two nights. As dawn broke I saw on my left in the clear morning air way off in the distance the very faint outline of the peaks of the mountains of the Syrian coast. They disappeared in the haze as the sun rose but I had found my way again and I managed to reach Syria the next morning. It took me 48 hours to get across.
My next goal was the Euphrates. It was here that one night as I was paddling along near the coast, wandering Bedouins shot at me. My poor little terrier, given to me as a nine-day-old pup six months earlier in Turkey, was hit by a bullet. He fell overboard, whimpering pitifully, and drowned.
Tragedy
I then reached the lower Euphrates without further incident. Not so fortunate were the fates of an American journalist
named Fischer and a German canoeist named May. When they heard that I had travelled down the Euphrates they headed out on the same course. They were attacked by Bedouins while resting on the riverbank. The German, although wounded, initially got away by swimming across the Euphrates but he later died; the American, who underestimated the bandits’ marksmanship and put up a fight confident in his great physical strength, was later found in the river with four bullets in his body. The murderers did not escape the punishment they deserved. Three Bedouin were hanged; one was sentenced to life imprisonment.
Under normal circumstances to get from Basra to Bushehr would have taken me eight days; due to heavy seas, it took me 35 days. I was forced to spend seven days on a small desolate island waiting for an opportunity to continue my journey even though I had only four days’ worth of meagre supplies with me. The only company I had was a half-decomposed body that had been driven between the cliffs and the smell was unbearable. In Bandar Dilem, a Persian village, I was entertained with a meal by police officers. Later, they stole absolutely everything from me.
In Bushehr, raven-like birds swarmed around my boat. Going to sleep was out of the question. In Bandar Abbas I signed a contract to do some electrical work for the customs authority. However, the terms of the contract were not adhered to and this resulted in court proceedings. Just as the case was due to begin, the judge went away on three months’ summer holiday and I was instructed to obediently await His Lordship’s return. This was just about the most miserable place on the Persian Gulf – hot, dirty, barren – and I was forced to wait there for six months. It was here that I collapsed under a severe attack of malaria.
Pursued by smugglers
Bribery and corruption are commonplace along the Persian coast and there is a hardly a single customs officer who is not happily making common cause with smugglers. One day I was pursued by smugglers for hours. They fired at me from a breech-loader until I managed to get out of range. Their gun was a pretty nice piece. When I made a complaint about this harassment in Kangun, I was told that the incident was nothing unusual in these waters and that unfortunately there was nothing that could be done for me.
There are a lot of sharks in this area. I saw them in groups of up to eight and twelve often in shallow water close to land contrary to the claim that they are exclusively deep water fish. My canoe was never attacked by sharks. Many times I paddled amongst the creatures, barely ten feet away from them, trying to take a photograph but they always stayed underwater. I came across swordfish too. In the sun these animals provided a colourful sight. Every possible combination of blue, violet, red, brown and grey would appear – the most beautiful colours I have ever seen.
In Balochistan my canoe had become too damaged to continue the voyage. Nobody could believe that I had made it to the harbour in this vessel. I repaired the boat as any true craftsman would.
Another unpleasant part of my journey was the trip from Karachi to Kathmandu in the cold days of late January. I didn’t
have anything to eat and I lived on oysters that I caught. I had oysters for breakfast, oysters for lunch, oysters for dinner.
Along the Persian coast I had lived on hardboiled eggs as there was no tinned food to be found. As I travelled along the Porbandar coast, racked by malaria and not having slept in a long time, I capsized for the first time in the heavy swell. I managed to make it to land; I was taken in at the hospital of the Maharaja of Porbandar and was treated for
malaria by his personal physician. In the Gulf of Cambay, I was arrested and held for two days on suspicion of espionage. It was believed that my canoe could be used as both a submarine and aircraft and was therefore ideally suited to the purposes of spying. Released without punishment, I crossed the Gulf of Cambay to Surat where a massive tidal range of 35 feet makes for extremely difficult navigation conditions.
Bombay
I spent a most unpleasant nine days in Bombay. Then I paddled on to Goa and Mangalore where I capsized for the second time and lost all of my equipment. I later reached Cochin and then Camorin where I capsized for the third time. This time I had the great fortune to not lose anything – all I had to lose was already gone. Passing Tuticorin, Adams Bridge, Talaimannar, Puttalam, along the canal, I reached Colombo. On various occasions I tried to use inland waterways but every time I would be held up by teeming masses of people who wanted to see the crazy German who lived on pills and travelled in a boat that could, as the story went, go underwater and fly. And so I was always driven out into the clear open sea with all its additional dangers.
I have been in Ceylon for three months now and find it beautiful beyond all measure. Next Sunday I will leave Ceylon
and try to reach Australia within perhaps three years. Half of my journey is complete. I have had wonderful experiences and although it was difficult in the beginning I found that as I achieved more and more the task I had set myself became much easier.
From Colombo I intend to paddle on to Galle, Dondra, Batticaloa, Trincomalee, Madras, Calcutta and continue south
to Akyab, Rangoon, Singapore, Batavia and then across the sea from island to island all the way to Australia. The furthest distance between any two islands is 60 miles.”
Final objectives
This is as far as the Ceylon Observer’s report goes. A copy of the newspaper found its way to Germany, to Altona, to Oscar Speck’s relatives. After that, nothing was heard from the brave young man from Altona for a long time. Until one day rumours surfaced that English papers had reported his death. No further information could be obtained but [line not visible on photocopy) (India) to home, dated 10 November 1935:
“Am safe and sound and on my way to Calcutta and will be there for Christmas. It will be quite a job, 1200 km against the wind and current. I reckon it will take five weeks. If all goes well I will celebrate the four-year anniversary of the paddling trip in Singapore in the spring. After that, Australia.”
The goal has not been reached yet. Oscar Speck still has many miles of ocean to cover in his bobbing boat. Best wishes from home are with him, and with courage, perseverance, a sense of humour and a little bit of luck, we can see that even these days it is possible to conquer half the world.
Edgar Walsemann
PHOTOGRAPHS
Top left: Oscar Speck, an Altona boy.
Top right: Repairing my boat.
Centre: My biggest danger is the stormy sea. My boat with sail.
Bottom left: Working elephant on the coast of Ceylon
SignificanceThe remarkable story of Oskar Speck is one of extraordinary endurance. He undertook an epic seven-year, 50,000 km voyage from Germany to Australia in the 1930s in a five-and-half metre collapsible kayak SUNNSCHIEN. It is also a story of the hostilities of WWII and of those who made Australia their new home.There are no works to discover for this record.