Odyssey 11 is by far the earliest extant example of this tale-type. There was a poem dating to some decades after the Odyssey which may have told a form of the story, but we’ll come back to that at the end.

Other exemplars of the tale-type are modern, but they’re widespread enough and independent enough to be treated as a distinct folktale. It’s catalogued as Aarne-Thompson-Uther taletype 1379 (‘The sailor and the oar’). The standard study of this taletype — and it’s an extremely high-quality study — is William Hansen’s essay ‘Odysseus and the oar: a comparative approach to a Greek legend’, which appeared in Approaches to Greek myth, ed. Lowell Edmunds (John Hopkins UP, 1990, 2nd edition 2014). There’s a more surface treatment in Hansen’s own book Ariadne’s thread (2002), pp. 371-378.

Hansen cites 26 exemplars of the folktale in the 1990/2014 study. Many of these are from modern Greece, where it is a story about St Elias or Ilias (= Elijah) retiring inland after a life on the sea; Hansen states that there are also variants about St Nikolaos. The other exemplars he gives are from the anglophone world: from England, the United States, and Canada.

In none of the examples is there any justification for supposing familiarity with Odyssey 11. Here for example is number 16, reported by a classical scholar (Cedric Whitman) in a 1975 letter, about a conversation he had with an old sailor on a train:
The old seaman of my story was a U.S. sailor who sat next to me on a train going to New York many years ago. He was reading a comic book and I was reading Paradise Lost. Presently he began to read over my shoulder, then nudged me and asked: ‘Hey, you like dat stuff?’ I said I did, and a conversation began. I asked how long he had been in the Navy, and he said something like twenty-five years. I remarked that he must have liked it to have stayed in it so long. His answer was: ‘Look, when I get out of dis Navy, I’m gonna put an oar on my shoulder and walk inland; and when somebody says, “Where d’ya find a shovel like dat?” dat’s where I’m gonna build my house.’ He made no mention of a sacrifice to Poseidon; he was shamelessly secular about it all, but clearly the inland journey spelled release from, and forgetfulness of, the hardships of the sea, peace at last. I didn’t ask him if he’d read the Odyssey, but I doubt it; he had not read Paradise Lost. He seemed, in fact, pretty nearly illiterate — perhaps a bard? Anyway, that’s all I remember, except that the experience gave me a pleasantly creepy feeling that I was talking to One Who Was More Than He Seemed.
Here some more American examples in the form of newspaper cartoons:

And here are two examples which nicely illustrate a surface metamorphosis in the story. First, from Whitehorse, Yukon Territory:
Some of the boys in a saloon here the other night were talking about a local woman who had won $1,800 in a lottery. The consensus was that her decision to put the money in the bank showed a sorry lack of ambition.

‘What I’d do,’ said one, ‘is to tie a snow shovel to the hood of my car and drive south until nobody had the faintest idea what the damn thing was.’
And from Uvalde, Texas:
A story went around that a person said he was going to put a tortilla on the aerial of his pickup and drive straight north, and when he gets to a place where someone says, ‘What’s that thing?’, then that’s where he’s going to stay and live.

Those are just surface modifications. Hansen divides the variants into two subtypes with a much more fundamental distinction: their tense. Subtype A is a third-person story set in the past tense, subtype B is first-person and set in the future tense. The future tense ones are typically jokes (as in the newspaper cartoons). As Hansen puts it, the version in the Odyssey
is a form of subtype A, but Homer’s treatment of it resembles some of the spareness of subtype B because he transposes the story into the future to permit it to be foretold by a seer.
The point of the story, then, is that it’s always framed in a different tense to the immediate context: subtype A is a story told in the past relative to the context where the story is being told, subtype A is in the future. It would actually betray the point of the folktale for it to be set in the primary temporal frame. This is a subtle point so I won’t insist on it, but essentially what it means is that if this folktale appears in the middle of an ongoing story, it’s normally going to be framed in the past or the future of that story.

Now, there is one possible exception: Eugammon’s Telegony. This was an early (7th-6th century BCE?) epic that told the story of the end of Odysseus’ life in two parts, synthesising stories about his death and burial-place from two different regions, namely northwestern Greece and central Italy. The Telegony is lost, but a summary survives. In the northwestern Greece segment, Odysseus makes two voyages, one to Elis (NW Peloponnesos) to check on the flocks that he owns there, and one to the mountains of Thesprotia (NW Greece).

The second of these would be a good fit for the setting of ‘the sailor and the oar’, and there are isolated references in unrelated sources to Odysseus building an altar (as per Teiresias’ instructions) and founding a town or towns in Thesprotia. The trouble is, the surviving summary of the Telegony states very clearly that Odysseus performed the sacrifices prescribed by Teiresias back on Ithaca, in between these two voyages.