Austin Appelbee’s courage

Joanne Appelbee knew she could be sending her 13-year-old son to his death, but she had no choice. On Jan. 30, what began as a fun ocean outing turned into a nightmare, as the mother of three found herself floating in a storm-tossed sea with her children. Austin was her oldest and strongest, and like many young Australian boys, he had been a natural in the water since toddlerhood. But there were over two miles of troubled ocean between them and the shore, enough to make the most seasoned swimmer blanch. Joanne couldn’t leave the children behind to make the journey herself, which left her only one terrifying option: Send Austin for help, and pray.

A shy, soft-spoken boy, Austin would later describe his own ordeal in understated plain language. He recalls how he made the gutsy executive choice to ditch his life jacket, realizing it was slowing him down. For four hours, tossed by “massive” waves, he tried to concentrate his mind on “the happiest things,” from thoughts of his girlfriend to Thomas the Tank Engine. Finally, miraculously, he found his feet touching the bottom. Even then, it wasn’t over: Finding the beach full of distracted foreigners, he had to sprint yet another mile to find a phone. In press photos, he appears on crutches, his legs not yet ready to bear his own weight again.

Austin’s story has gone internationally viral, for good reason: The postmodern West is starved for heroic stories. In particular, we are starved for stories of masculine heroism. 

On X, men’s issues writer Anthony Bradley points out an Australian media headline about “toxic masculinity” that depicts an innocent young boy as a potential “monster.” “How do we stop this?” the story is asking, as if toxicity is every boy’s default trajectory unless schools follow the state’s prescribed reeducation protocol. We see the same underlying presumption behind television shows like the popular Adolescence, about a psychopathic young killer who murders a female classmate. The writers behind such shows earnestly believe they’re being “relevant.” In reality, what culture really needs is more stories like Austin’s, more reminders that boys like Austin are real. While we get yet another adaptation of Lord of the Flies (from the same writer who penned Adolescence), no one has ever dramatized the inspiring true shipwreck story of a group of Catholic schoolboys who kept themselves alive and thriving for 15 months until rescue. 

It wasn’t always like this. Up to the recent past, the Boy Scouts of America put out a monthly magazine that regularly featured true tales of boyish derring-do. But in 2018, the magazine announced its name change from Boys’ Life to Scout Life, in parallel with the decision to eradicate the old Boy Scouts as a single-sex space. Today, while a quick look around its website does turn up bits of the magazine’s old oeuvre, like this classic Jack London story, the dominant impression is genderless blandness. The cover of the magazine’s latest issue features a girl in a pink coat climbing up a snowy mountain.

In her book The Dignity of Dependence, Leah Libresco observes that as modern life has become more comfortable, young men increasingly do not have greatness thrust upon them in the form of situations that demand physical courage. The average American male is unlikely to be drafted into a war or forced to learn a risky trade where one false step could kill you. This has contributed to a collective loss of distinctly male identity. Boys know their bodies are stronger than girls’, but they are no longer sure what that strength is for. They need to be reminded, given tasks that teach them what they owe to the vulnerable in their communities.

Still, danger will never be eradicated from everyday life, be it the danger of the natural elements or violent human threats. As stories of boys and men who confront such threats break through, there can be a tendency in some online spaces to put them on almost too high a pedestal, turning figures like Kyle Rittenhouse or Daniel Penny into idealized icons of masculinity in an emasculating world. Young Austin has become a similar kind of icon, his daring deed translated into the language of memes that praise the “chad” male. Some find this off-putting, but one can see it as a collective stumbling towards what has been collectively lost. Men will always seek leaders to follow, kings to crown (or “stan,” as the kids say). Austin gives them hope that the line of kings lives on.

There was something else Austin did as he swam: He prayed. Like many men in desperate straits before him, he made a pledge to God. If he made it, he promised to get baptized. Looking back now, he doesn’t believe his strength was purely natural. “I don’t think it was actually me did it. It was God the whole time.”

May Austin’s story endure as a profile of the best kind of masculine courage—courage that comes not with a swagger, but with the humility to recognize the true source of a man’s strength.