Voight’s voyage: The German immigrant who tried to kayak from Seward to New York City for fame and fortune

Part of a continuing weekly series on Alaska history by local historian David Reamer. Have a question about Anchorage or Alaska history or an idea for a future article? Go to the form at the bottom of this story.

June 7, 1929, Albert Voight, a round sailor’s cap atop his head, paddled his kayak away from the dock at Seward. An American flag hung from the rear of the watercraft while German colors waved in the front. The choppy seas of Resurrection Bay licked at his sides. Around 200 locals and tourists turned out for the occasion, enjoying the impromptu social gathering. For Voight’s sake, they waved and cheered. To amuse themselves, they also mocked and muttered. “He’ll never make 20 miles in that thing,” they surely thought. “There’s no way he’ll make it to New York.”

Voight, a 45-year-old German immigrant living in Los Angeles, had understandably grown tired of traveling from place to place, grinding at menial jobs to support himself. He wanted that American dream, that golden road to fame and fortune he heard was available in his adopted country. Though young-looking, he was middle-aged, and opportunities for advancement seemed to drift further away.

He wanted the magical outcomes seen in movies. Moreover, he wanted to be in those movies and was confident that a big stunt was his way into Hollywood. As he saw it, if he sailed a kayak from Seward, Alaska to New York City via the Panama Canal, producers would beat down his door with offers. Charles Lindbergh was an American hero for his solo flights, so why not Voight for his own solo journey, never mind the newness of airplanes versus kayaks.

The vessel itself was a collapsible, 16-foot kayak made by a fellow German. It was 30 inches wide and weighed 60 pounds. Canvas, rubber, and walrus hide coverings sealed the top of the craft. Two inflatable tubes, looking like boat fenders, lined the sides as a defense against foundering. If the weather allowed, a small sail could be hoisted, though the Seattle Star newspaper compared it to a child’s toy. When tired, he planned to beach the boat and invert it as a makeshift shelter. His original cargo included three blankets, a teapot, a saucepan, a cup, a can opener, a dozen cans of food, a box of crackers, six gallons of water, a rubber mattress, and precisely zero navigational instruments or maps. And he expected the journey to take five months. As the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner described him, Voight was “entirely unmindful of the dangers involved.”

On June 6, he stepped off the steamer Admiral Watson at Seward. Within two hours of disembarking, the kayak was in the water, and he was telling everyone who passed about the journey, though he never explained why he picked Seward as his starting point. In true Alaskan fashion, passersby publicly wished him well and privately expected him to die. Seward Mayor P.C. McMullen was optimistic enough to give him a letter for New York Mayor James Walker.

By June 10, rumor placed Voight at Latouche Island, then home to a copper mine and small community, at the entrance to Prince William Sound. However, on June 14, he limped back into Seward, tired and battered, claiming he never made it out of Resurrection Bay. Every time he tried to exit, the swells swamped his tiny vessel. His ambitions were in tatters after failing to enter, let alone cross the Gulf of Alaska. More than anything, he needed rest and a new plan.

After a long sleep, Voight considered his options. He could use an actual ship to pilot him out of the bay and into the open water or change his starting point to somewhere in Southeast Alaska. The former option undercut the individualistic spirit of the endeavor and was not the sort of detail he would want to publicize. While slightly safer than beginning in Seward, the latter choice still represented something of a failure. On June 22, he boarded the SS Yukon for Juneau.

By then, he had reimagined his loose schedule and hoped to arrive in New York by late April or early May. He reached Juneau on June 25 and departed from there in his kayak on June 27. Within 12 hours, he hit his first major storm, which battered him and kayak. On the morning of July 5, he pulled in Petersburg, where he spent the next few days making repairs before leaving on July 9.

From Petersburg, he battled headwinds to Wrangell, then moved on toward Ketchikan, which he reached on July 19. While approaching Ketchikan, his kayak sprang a leak, prompting a desperate last push into town, where he made the necessary repairs. On Aug. 27, he paddled into Vancouver, followed by Seattle on Sept. 9.

Voight and his story received more national coverage with his arrival in the Lower 48. Eager for the attention, he remained focused on the ultimate goal. He told the Seattle Star, “I want to get seamanship papers and then get into movies. If I get thru all right I think I ought to be qualified to work on any ship. And I also hope to make some money by getting into pictures.”

The idea of an extreme promotional journey either from or to Alaska is neither novel nor entirely without merit. From 1905 to 1907, mailman Eli Smith mushed from Nome to Washington, D.C., where he won a significant bet, found a wife, and met President Teddy Roosevelt. From 1932 to 1933, Clyde Charles “Slim” Williams mushed from Alaska to Chicago for the Century of Progress Exposition, then on to Washington, D.C., where he met the other presidential Roosevelt.

[How a mail carrier mushed from Nome to Washington D.C. to settle a bet]

In 1939, Slim Williams was at again. With John Logan and Blizzard the dog, Williams rode modified motorcycles from Fairbanks to Seattle to promote interest in a highway connection between Alaska and the Lower 48. Somehow, they were less prepared than Voight, without accurate maps, tents, sleeping bags, or even experience with motorcycles. Food frequently ran low, and they endured painful food poisoning from eating water lilies. Around seven months later, they finally dragged their much skinnier selves into Seattle.

In 1964, a team of drivers drove three unmodified 1965 Mercury Comet Calientes 16,247 miles from Ushuaia, Argentina to Fairbanks, a publicity stunt for Ford. The cars fared better than expected and required only routine maintenance, no real repairs. The next year, French automaker Renault one-upped Ford with four Parisian women who drove two Renault 4′s from Ushuaia to Anchorage. The women were allowed to share one suitcase. The rest of the room went for supplies, gas, car parts, film, ammunition, and guns.

Compared to the other extreme Alaska journeys, Voight’s voyage paled in concept and execution. To the bulk of the American public, a dog team was more interesting than a kayak, and four Parisian women certainly trumped a single German immigrant. Voight also lacked the skill and connections for self-promotion, instead relying solely on the inherent qualities of the journey to sell the story and himself. While news of the adventure indeed circled the country, it did not reach every newspaper and was rarely featured on the front page. A small paragraph on the second page of the small Ardmore, Oklahoma newspaper does not a star make.

In addition, Eli Smith, Slim Williams, and the rest sealed their narrative with a triumph, however hard-earned. On Nov. 17, Voight was paddling between Eureka and Crescent City off the coast of northern California when breakers cracked his kayak apart. He swam to shore, his belongings and journey abandoned. The Petersburg Press noted, “In reaching California, he has far exceeded the expectations of many who saw the start of the journey and predicted failure.” Even then, in a town visited by Voight on his way south, the news was buried on the sixth page of a six-page newspaper.

To anyone who would listen, Voight swore that he would continue the trip the following year, as soon as he could obtain a new boat. He had planned to arrive in New York City in April 1930. Per the 1930 Census, he spent that month working as a dishwasher in a Los Angeles restaurant instead of as a movie star. By 1935, he was working in a hospital kitchen. Five years later, he was still there, before drifting away from the historical record, not so much a dream deferred but shattered against the cold waters of reality.

Key sources:

“Canoe Trip of Voight Forced End for While.” Petersburg Press, November 22, 1929, 6.

“Daring German Sails From Seward, Small Craft, For New York.” Seward Daily Gateway, June 8, 1929, 4.

“Modern Jason Expects Tiny ‘Ship’ to Sail to Fame, Fortune.” Seattle Star, September 10, 1929, 1, 2.

“Sailing 5000 Miles in a Skin Canoe, Alaska to N.Y.” Los Angeles Record, September 16, 1929, 5.

“To Use Small Boat on Long Trip to East.” Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, June 6, 1929, 1.

“Voight Heading Out.” Seward Daily Gateway, June 22, 1929, 2.

“Voight Leaves Today in Open Boat on New York Voyage.” [Juneau] Daily Alaska Empire, June 26, 1929, 8.

“Voight Planning to Resume Journey.” Anchorage Daily Times, November 25, 1929, 1.

“Voight Starts Ocean Voyage in Small Boat.” [Juneau] Daily Alaska Empire, June 26, 1929, 1.

“Voight Unsuccessful Start Long Voyage.” Seward Daily Gateway, June 14, 1929, 7.