Both freelance writers, father and son team Tim and Finn Rainger talk about their relationship.

FINN RAINGER: SON ON FATHER

My Dad, or Munter as I more frequently call him, is far from your average human being. He’s a self-described outsider with an affinity for the strange. Surfing, he reckons, brought purpose into his life as an alienated and vexed youth. The memory of my first proper wave, aged 16, at Taupo Bay with him hooting from the beach, drifts into my consciousness every so often. “No wife, no career, no mortgage – it is not a lifestyle that many live, and thank fuck for that,” he stated during lunch recently. I admire his resolve in pursuing a lifestyle that suits him.

This year I indulged our shared obsession for chasing waves by joining him for the season in Indonesia, where he has spent the last four years away from the New Zealand winter. We have many similarities: a psychotic tendency to twirl strands of our hair when concentrating, and a passion for reading, writing, and taking photos. One of my earliest memories is sitting in the passenger seat of his van in Cornwall, England, probably on the way home from the beach, with Sublime playing loudly and smoke billowing out the window.

Like the surf, Dad can be fickle and stubborn, and hard to contact, but when you do have his attention he usually brings something to the table, whether it’s a plan, story idea, or advice on the age-old question of what is the point? He is adept at putting life into perspective, and it was his advice combined with my Mum’s that convinced me to take a job working as a reporter for the Gisborne Herald in 2015.

His capacity to impart advice and wisdom to people who want to hear it, as well as those who do not, earned him the nickname “The Sheriff” from the Canngu, Bali, locals. He patrols the line-up in the water, always on the lookout for a snake (someone who commits the cardinal sin of paddling inside other surfers and not waiting their turn for a wave), and does not shy from the confrontation that ensues (never violent in my experience).

The nickname is applicable on land, as he has a sharp moral compass that he willingly extends beyond his own periphery. A group of European “hipsters,” as he labelled them, were drinking and listening to dodgy music at around 10pm at our homestay in Canngu and around 10pm at our homestay in Canngu and Dad, wanting to sleep, got out of bed with a grim smile on his face and headed over to sort them out. “This is a homestay. There are plenty of places to party in Canngu without keeping me awake. Live and let live!” They were not happy and got a few digs in, “This is what happens in Canngu now. It’s not the 70s anymore old man.” But he had a point, and they vacated the premises soon after, honking the horns on their scooters as they hooned down the driveway.

All those hours spent battling his two brothers at home, and bullies at Auckland’s Kings College have toughened his edges and he can be an intimidating, yet compelling character. Dad’s a softy at heart though, and has a tender spot for the underdogs of life. A couple of German girls recently told him that if he were to write a story on his life, they would read it. Me too - if I hadn’t heard most of it already.

TIM RAINGER: FATHER ON SON

To commit to print my thoughts and feelings for my son is hard. Relationships are so fluid and print is pretty final. Every word scrutinised for each subtle nuance. Plus I’m sharing a room with him as I write this; we have been for eight weeks. Surfing together every day, eating, drinking, hanging out. There is no luxury of distance. But here we go.

Let’s start with the bigger picture. We are more like an older and a younger brother than most fathers and sons. Most of the time. There are obviously moments when I have to lay down an ultimatum but they’re pretty rare. Ever since he did a milk-puke down a cold Kronenberg I was drinking (without me noticing), and which I subsequently gagged on, I’ve cut him a bit of slack. He’s always been quite determined to do stuff by himself, and certainly never wanted my advice.

When he was about two, his mum was on the phone so he flipped over a bucket, got up on the bench and merrily began chopping potatoes, which apparently was going fine until it wasn’t. By the time I got there to take him to hospital, there was blood sprayed all round the kitchen walls. He’s very close to his mum and his young brother, as well as his step-dad and all their extended family. There is a sixteen-year age gap between him and his little bro, and it’s funny observing how their patterns of behaviour mirror ours. At times he parents him hard, and others they josh around and have lots of fun.

He’s always loved reading and music, and especially loved being read to as a kid. “One more story dad!” was a line I heard a lot. It’s a great pleasure now, sharing books and bands, picking the guts out of movies and so on.

We’ve done a lot of surfing together since the beginning and it’s been a great thing for our relationship. Setting the clock. Getting up in the dark. Trading waves. It’s our mutual happy place. It’s our second season in Indo; this time we’re here for 6 months, and that’s a lot of time living cheek by jowl.

A few people raise their eyebrows when we tell them what we’re up to, like I’m being irresponsible letting my kid quit his job and spend all his savings on a surf trip. My take is: well, he’s qualified, and he works for his own dough, saving for a year to get here. And now he’s really focused on surfing hard, doing yoga, eating well. This is an experience that will shape him physically and mentally in really positive ways, and is one he’ll never forget.

He’s a good kid. I’m proud of him. And I like hanging out with him. Most of the time.