Brendan Cullen manages Kars Station, a 10,000-head sheep property 65 kilometres outside Broken Hill in NSW. In 2022, despite his nearest beach being more than 600 kilometres away, he swam the English Channel.
That simple fact doesn't quite capture the strangeness of the achievement, though. Look, here you've got a bloke tending sheep in the outback, surrounded by red dirt and mallee scrub, and somehow he's training for one of the world's most brutal ocean crossings. No ocean. No waves. No salt. Just commitment and inland lakes that would make most swimmers recoil.
Cullen had struggled with severe depression through drinking, overwork, and emotional absence for years until he sought help at Broken Hill Hospital. Then, in 2015, he watched his brother compete in an open-water swim, and a year later he was doing the same. Simple as that. One moment changed everything.
Despite it being exhausting and challenging, it made him feel vitally alive. That's the heart of the story, really. It's not about being a hero or a superhero swimmer. It's about finding something that makes you feel like you're actually living, not just existing.
In 2018, he saw an advertisement encouraging swimmers to take on the English Channel. Through COVID-19 restrictions, he trained for hours before dawn in the murky Menindee Lake system, and in icy local waters, determined to take on one of the world's most extreme ocean swims. You've got to hand it to him: the discipline required to do that, to wake before sunrise in the depths of winter and plunge into frigid inland water, knowing you're preparing for something that feels almost impossible from where you're standing.
He completed the Channel crossing in 17 hours, after strong currents dragged him off course and extended his journey to 64 kilometres—almost double the most direct route. That's the kind of performance that makes you fall in love with the sport. Not because it's pretty or clean or simple, but because it's gritty and real and harder than you imagined.
Cullen's story arrives at precisely the right moment. A post-study questionnaire found 81 per cent of participants felt 'recovered', and 62 per cent showed 'reliable improvement' to their mental wellbeing after completing ocean swimming courses, according to recent research. Open water swimming may lead to improvements in mood and wellbeing, reductions in mental distress symptomatology, and was experienced as a positive, enriching process for many.
The evidence is building steadily. Physical activity can be as effective as medication for some people experiencing mild to moderate depression, and can reduce the risk of depression by up to 30 per cent while improving a person's resilience and ability to cope alongside medication and other support such as talking therapies.
Now Cullen has written a book about it all. Taking up swimming was part of Brendan's recovery from severe depression. He is grateful for the opportunities that have been bestowed upon him as he continues to support the community through his roles in peer mental health and wellbeing initiatives. That's what happens when someone faces something head-on and comes out the other side: they become a beacon for others doing the same.
At the end of the day, Cullen's achievement isn't really about crossing the English Channel. It's about a bloke from the outback who found the strength to ask for help, discovered something that made him feel alive again, and then pushed himself to a place most people would think impossible. Fair dinkum, that's the kind of story that matters.