Magnus is a raconteur; a master storyteller. Volume snowballing, arms articulating, his reenactments accelerate.  Some sentences are delivered with such force he runs out of air.  His cadence gallops towards a crescendo, demanding every last ounce of breath. Mag sometimes has to gasp for air before charging onwards.  His tales are told with such energy and animation, you’ll be drawn across the room into his forcefield.

Magnus is discerning about where he spends his fucks. He is Switzerland (his words, not mine): he lives intentionally, spending his one wild and precious life with care. He says no-way-Jose to taking sides or suffering fools; he is one of the rare humans you won’t hear complain or talk smack about people. Mag lives life on the balls of his feet, scanning for fun, ready to move towards it. He sees to the heart of things, is generous with praise, and is easy on the earth. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think, deep down, he may be a hippy.

Mag lives life with a wide aperture: he lets all the light in. His character is old-soul, and if he was a band, he’d be Kora. An appetite for reading has shaped his delightful vocabulary.  Book reading, a decade in the Antarctic, years sailing the world with his dad, have been baked together to yield a lovely lexicon, and some curiously pronounced words for extra flavour. His wide and deep knowledge means he will chime in, peppering a conversation with historical facts, geographic details, or biological anecdotes. He’s smart. Once, for fun, he read his favourite book, This Thing of Darkness, aloud as a bedtime story to his two mates during a remote sea kayaking trip in Fiordland. This is gold.

Magnus is the skipper of the R. Tucker Thompson and I can’t think of a better human to be at the helm, guiding our young people into the future. Writer Maya Angelou said that people won't remember what you said, but they'll always remember how you made them feel. Mag makes people feel seen - this goes for his leadership, his fatherhood too, and his friendships too I reckon. Although he does a lot of talking, he also does a fair bit of listening. If I know anything at all, I know Magnus impacts all the young people in his care, and everyone that he meets. Whether it’s our precious Northland rangatahi, the stunning young crew of The Good Ship, or his two very own beautiful, high-vibration kids (or his lovely wife Anais, or his lovely sister Sophie), he leaves an impression in his wake.

Mag and I are in the throes of lobbing voicemails back and forth across the oceans. It’s a fun way to communicate. One recent message was full of excitement as he explained he had Tessa Duder on the ship for the day. They became fast friends, and Mag and his family are now off to stay with Tessa in Devonport. This is Mag all over. He puts the mag in magnificent, and if you’ll spare me this cheesy trick twice, he is also magnetic. He is smart and thoughtful, and he radiates good vibes and gratitude.

One day Mag lent me a scrapbook of cuttings and articles his father had published in various yachting magazines about their misadventures during their global voyage. His Adventure Almanac you could say. This was a taonga (treasure) so special I hoped the house wouldn’t burn down. I won’t tell you about the time he nearly got eaten by a polar bear; I won’t tell you about the night he was stranded ashore with hypothermia as his father battled a fire on board; I won’t tell you about the time he was scared for his life in a colossal storm deep in the Atlantic Ocean. He can tell you himself when you sail with him on the R. Tucker Thompson.

Because standing ovations make me cry, I’ll offer Mag’s parents a slow clap, a virtual high-five. Well done my friends. Bravo, your son is Good People.