Protagonists: Micah “Mics” Margieson and Blake “Neka” Neka, two Aussie aerialists, had the perfect platonic meet-cute. This is the kind of ocean-themed bromance-cum-gromcom they’d make into movies and market as T.S.S. (True Surf Stories). Except, every Hollywood scriptwriter knows conflict drives story—and to date, after hours of surf sessions, overseas travelling, late nights and early starts—our two heroes, Mics and Neka, don’t tiff, tantie, tube-taunt or leash-tug. Weird, we know!
Their character arcs should begin woefully, so they can learn their lesson and transform into the flawed super-surf humans we love to worship, like Huey himself. Some tear-jerking and heart-tugging tales seem too utopian to be true—aaaaahhh, but this one undoubtedly is.
Back-surf-story: Sixteen years ago, dark-haired grubby-kneed Neka and blond-mopped snotty-nosed Micah would dress daily in royal blue. All chummy, this nonidentical inseparable pair were stuck in a system founded in the Industrial Revolution ... an institution still imprisoning the “inner child” of future travel-bug-bitten groms.
Micah, now twenty-three, remembers it like it was 5,845 yesterdays (’cos it was).
“THE LOVE OF SURFING QUICKLY TURNS STRANGERS INTO FRIENDS.”
“Neka and I met probably in Grade 3 at school,” he says in that Bill & Ted’s Excellence Adventure gnarly way, “so, like, age seven or eight. I hated surfing when I was that age—just wasn’t a fan [laughs], and I’m pretty sure Neka wasn’t a fan either.”
“Back then, we were both definitely more into our skating,” Neka pipes in. “Think we even did a competition together at Caba [Cabarita].”
“Oh, what the Caba skate comp?” Mics asks and laughs. “I remember that—holy crap! We loved skating a lot more, and eventually, we had a big crew of mates from Grade 4, 5, 6 who loved surfing, so we kinda got hooked and all surfed before school at Kingy ’cos our school was walking distance from the beach.”
Neka and Mics are skateboarding down memory lane, bombing the hill—speed-wobbling together.
“We could see the waves from [the] classroom on the hill there, too—was mental,” Micah says, picking up the pace. “Skating definitely got left behind.”
Imagine seven-year-olds at Kingscliff Primary School in a taunting location for surf-addicted groms—their school overlooking the ocean where glossy waves roll in during the long gruelling “learning” hours.
“I might’ve
