I have been spending some winter time in Tasmania for a number of reasons and this is one of them – to finally visit this isolated place called Little Musselroe Bay.
This is where my uncle Alf Altmann, from Warrnambool, pushed off in his home-made kayak to try and become the first person to row solo across Bass Strait from the very top of Tassie to the bottom of Victoria.
He set off from Little Musselroe Bay on 25 February 1970 and died 10 days later, less than 2km from shore off the Gippsland Lakes, after being caught in a storm and knocked unconscious.
He almost made it.
Alf was 56 years old, two years older than I am now. I cannot imagine the courage, the fitness, and the sense of determination Alf must have had to push off from that isolated shore almost 50 years ago.
I think I am the first member of my family to visit this spot since Alf’s death.
It is so ruggedly beautiful, with Cape Barren Island visible in the distance. It takes hours of slow driving to get there and I cried when we did.
Even though I barely remember Alf, his journey has long been something of an obsession with me.
The last photo taken of Alf alive, making his way across Bass Strait from Tasmania to Victoria in his home-made kayak. Image: The Herald, March 1970.
In recent years, I tracked down the kayak which was found to be in a shed at Flagstaff Hill. Unfortunately, Flagstaff Hill had no long-term plan for the kayak, which was pulled from the water intact, but which has since suffered substantial damage.
The kayak is now back in my garage in, of all places, Altmann Avenue, not far from where it was built.
Later this year, it will be restored by Port Fairy master boat builder Garry Stewart to the point where it can be put on display at what will be the Warrnambool Motor Museum, hopefully by next year.
I am a journo, but I am also a writer and this is one story I am determined to keep alive. Not because Alf was my uncle, but because he – to me – embodies what life is about: taking a chance, pushing your boundaries and being true to your self.
On we go.
Confronting our brutal and bloody past
Confronting our bloody past: The Missing, by artist Julie Gough, Bett Gallery, Hobart.
Carol Altmann – The Terrier
I wasn’t planning a post tonight, but today I saw an exhibition by Tasmanian-based artist Julie Gough about the attempted annihilation of Aboriginal Tasmanians/Palawa – an attempt which, as we know, was carried across Bass Strait to the colonial invasion of south-west Victoria, our home.
The murders. The kidnaps. The thefts. The near annihilation. Julie’s work is sobering and absolutely heartbreaking.
And I came away with one repetitive thought: what can I do?
What can I do?
One thing I can do is to use what I know best – words – to tell indigenous stories from south-west Victoria and to help illuminate our real history, not the white-washed version I grew up with.
South-west Victoria is saturated with rich indigenous stories, both contemporary and past.
I recently applied for some funding to help me do this by bringing others into The Terrier to help tell these stories.
I am still waiting to hear how my application has gone – fingers crossed – but with or without this support, this is one path The Terrier will be taking as it heads into its second year.
On we go.
Drawing deep for a long, tough journey
Original painting, oil on canvas, Graeme Altmann. (Altmann Studios, Highett, Melbourne.)
Carol Altmann – The Terrier
On days like this, we need hope.
On days like today, when we see laws passed that allow even greater damage to our wild coast than what we have already inflicted, it would be so easy to just give up, because the battle is exhausting.
But on days like today, when I need to draw deep on hope, I think of my late uncle Alf Altmann.
In March 1970, almost 50 years ago, Alf attempted to become the first person to row solo across Bass Strait, from Tasmania to Victoria, in a home-built kayak.
He built that kayak piece-by-piece in his garage under his home on Riverview Tce, here in Warrnambool.
To train for this epic journey of more than 200km, he would row out to Deen Maar, (Lady Julia Percy Island) and, once or twice, he carried native saplings in his boat to plant on the barren island.
The saplings never survived. Neither did my uncle. His attempt to cross Bass Strait ended just 1.5 miles from the Victorian coast. So near. So close.
And when I think of his story, I think of an anecdote that stays with me each day as I do my bit to try and turn around decisions that hurt our local environment more than protect it.
“Why do you bother taking those saplings with you?” someone asked Alf. “Nobody will see them out there.”
“I see them,” Alf replied. “I know they are there, and that is all that matters.”
This painting is how my artist brother, Graeme Altmann, often captures the essence of Alf’s journey: a boat, suspended above the turbulent sea, with the proud thylacine pointing toward an unknown future.
We can’t change the mistakes of the past. Alf never came home. The thylacine is gone. But I keep trying to do what I can, whatever I can, to turn other mistakes around.
Because we know. And we see. And that is what matters.
Reviving Alf Altmann’s epic adventure
Alf Altmann’s attempt to cross Bass Strait solo in a home-made kayak in 1970 is the stuff of legend. Bluestone has pieced together the full story about this Warrnambool man’s brave quest …
The last shot taken of Alf alive, photographed by The Herald and published on March 4, 1970, as he powers from Hogan to Cliffy islands – just 58km from the end of his 300km journey.
By Carol Altmann
The recent Bass Strait crossing by three men on paddleboards has revived memories of an epic feat by Warrnambool’s Alf Altmann, who became the first man to row solo across the same treacherous passage – at the cost of his life.
Precisely 44 years earlier, on the morning of February 25, 1970, Alf set out to do the same perilous journey.
He pushed off in his home-made, 4.5m kayak from Little Mussel Bay, north-east Tasmania, and headed out for what he thought could be up to a two-week journey to Port Albert, Gippsland, depending on the weather.
It was a trip for which Alf, a builder by trade, had meticulously prepared both mentally and physically, and followed many years of experience on the water.
The kayak Alf made for his journey was plywood over a timber frame and declared by Alf to be unsinkable.
Indeed Alf, who was my uncle, had sailed for 18 years and had crossed Bass Strait eight times before in various motor-powered craft, many of which he built himself.
It was during one of these crossings that his engine failed and he was forced to row his boat to the safety of an island, after which he was so exhausted that he vowed to learn to row properly and promptly joined the Warrnambool Rowing Club upon his return.
Unlike the paddleboarders, who were all aged in their 30s, Alf Altmann was 56 years old – and a grandfather – when he decided to take on rowing across Bass Strait entirely on his own. There would be no support crew or anyone to rush to his aid if he struck trouble.
He also had none of the high-tech, water-resistant, fail-proof navigation and flotation equipment that is now commonplace in marine sports.
Boat maker: Prior to rowing his kayak across Bass Strait, Alf had crossed the strait eight times in various powered boats, including this home-made vessel.
Instead, Alf made his own bright-orange kayak from a timber frame and plywood shell, with a 30cm long, 27-kg steel keel and various sealed compartments so that if one area sprung a leak, it would not sink the boat.
His on-board equipment included a small sail and portable mast, a tent, flares, waterproof matches, a sea anchor, a radio transmitter, a compass and a life jacket that, by today’s standards, was more likely to leave you floating face down than face up.
No wonder everyone, including his wife, Isobel, thought he was mad to attempt to cross a stretch of water notorious for its high seas and battering winds.
Alf, however, was used to such scepticism and loved to live on the edge.
When he left from Melbourne in a powerboat to circumnavigate Tasmania in 1968 – a total distance of 1930km – the local fishermen thought he was crazy, but he simply responded: “what challenge is there in retracing common routes?”
Bass Strait is the ultimate challenge, even for those in maxi yachts, let alone a plywood, home-built kayak, but Alf was convinced that his kayak was unsinkable.
“This is a survival boat, not a luxury one,” he told reporters in the days before his departure.
Everyone was gripped by Alf’s voyage, especially people from Warrnambool: here YMCA radio club leader Bill Wines tunes into an update, surrounded by eager listeners.
Alf arrived in Burnie, Tasmania, on board a trading ship and made his way with his kayak to the north-east of the state via train and then friendly locals who were prepared to give him a lift to Little Mussel Bay. Isobel, who was home with three of their four sons (the youngest, Philip, was 16), would meet him at the finish.
Once on the high seas, Alf – like the paddleboarders have done since – planned to island hop his way across the strait, from Cape Barren to Flinders, up the coast of Flinders and across to Deal, to Hogan, to Cliffy and then the 45km run home to Port Albert.
And while some of these islands were inhabited, if only by a lighthouse keeper, Alf intended to mostly camp and live off his supply of nuts, dried fruits, honey, powdered milk and special bran biscuits that Isobel always made for him.
It takes a special courage to push off into the ocean knowing that you will be utterly alone at sea, but the first days of Alf’s journey could not have gone more smoothly.
Setting off in beautiful weather, Alf ploughed through the water: far from taking up to two weeks, he was soon on track to make the crossing in a week.
Australians were riveted by the unfolding story as Alf checked in with lighthouse keepers at each island: first one, then another, then another…
Although born in the bush, Alf adored the ocean and always set himself new sea-faring challenges, like circumnavigating Tasmania in this powerboat in 1968.
It was only when Alf reached Cliffy Island, the last island before home, that the weather began to turn sour. Despite being so tantalisingly close to the finish – so close that Isobel was already waiting on the wharf at Port Albert – Alf was forced to bunk down at the lighthouse for two nights.
The acting lighthouse keeper, Sjoerd Boontra, would later say that Alf, despite having just rowed more than 200km, helped with odd jobs around the lighthouse while itching to get back on to the ocean.
Come the morning of March 6, Alf was determined to start out early for the last 45km of his journey, even though the weather forecast suggested rough conditions for a kayak and Sjoerd urged him to wait.
“His reason for leaving was that he wanted to surprise his wife…who was not expecting him until 3pm,” Sjoerd later recalled.
“It will have to be pretty bad for something to go wrong now,” Alf said.
These were among his final words. A minor storm blew in an hour after he left Cliffy Island, whipping up 25 knot winds and 4m waves.
Alf failed to arrive at Port Albert by his expected time of 11.30am, and the crew of the Marjorie Phyllis, a lighthouse supply boat that was assigned to meet him offshore, began to worry.
By 1pm, the local police launched a full-scale air and land search, with Isobel still holding out hope that he had taken refuge on a scrap of an island.
But at 5.58pm, the Marjorie Phyllis received a crackled radio call from the search plane: “It’s all off”.
The adventure comes to a tragic end: Alf’s kayak was retrieved just 2km from land.
Alf’s body, wearing the top half of a two-piece wetsuit and a spray jacket, was spotted less than 2km from Snake Island, part of the Gippsland lakes. His kayak was found nearby, intact, but for the splintered oars: it really was unsinkable.
How Alf came to drown is still not known, but abrasions across his face suggest he capsized and was knocked unconscious by hitting his head, perhaps on one of the oars. From there, it was over. A life packed with determination, daring and adventure had come to an end.
More than 500 people crowded into the Warrnambool Presbyterian Church for Alf’s funeral, where he was described as a man of great courage and a “pilgrim adventurer”.
And Isobel, even within her own grief and that of her sons, Keith, Ken, Philip and Alan, reminded us that Alf would have wanted to die knowing he had pushed the boundaries.
“Where would we be if nobody had taken a risk?” he once told her.
* Bluestone Magazine would like to thank Alan and Philip Altmann for their assistance in researching this story. Other details have come from original media reports and documents housed in the Public Record Office Victoria. Alf’s widow, Isobel, passed away in 2003.
