Job with Sea Tow a necessary day in paradise

Ripcurl board shorts, a yellow Sea Tow T-shirt and a life vest are the work attire for the 35-year-old fleet captain of Sea Tow Wrightsville Beach.

"No shirt, no shoes, no service" doesn't apply here.

Nearby, a fishing rod is tied to the side of the boat, for idle times. He casts when he sees fish splashing or jumping near the boat, catching drum, flounder, Spanish mackerel or bluefish.

When waves cooperate, Collins brings his surfboard as well, to catch quick waves off Masonboro Island.

To the outsider, it seems like paradise. For Collins, it's his job.

Sea Tow Wrightsville Beach is part of an international marine assistance organization, which functions on the water like AAA does on land. Rescuing grounded boats, jump-starting batteries, towing broken-down vessels and responding to water emergencies are typical calls. Collins has worked for Sea Tow for four years after service in the U.S. Coast Guard and work on research vessels in Bermuda and locally.

On Fourth of July weekend, Sea Tow was busy off the coast of Southeastern North Carolina, logging about 50 calls in a three-day span. That ranked the Wrightsville Beach business second-busiest of about 120 Sea Tow franchises for the holiday weekend. Only Fort Myers, Fla., reported more activity, according to a Sea Tow news release.

Collins said the busy weekend demonstrated that boating is alive and well in this area, despite fuel prices. Many area boat owners have the means to keep their vessels on the water.

"They enjoy boating, and they're willing to pay the price for the fuel," Collins said.

But Collins said he isn't responding to as many offshore calls because boaters are staying closer to the coast to save fuel. He said newer, more expensive boats are largely replacing old fishing boats in local waters, a sign that boating - because of high fuel prices - is becoming more of a rich man's hobby than a poor man's passion.

Collins is also responding to more boats out of fuel, which he attributes to boaters stretching their tanks as far as possible.

On a steamy, mid-July Thursday, Collins steers away from the dock on the Intracoastal Waterway off Airlie Road where Sea Tow keeps its three boats. Membership costs $149 a year.

Sea Tow Wrightsville Beach, which covers the waters between Sunny Point and the New River Inlet and up the Cape Fear River to Castle Hayne, has about 4,500 members.

About 10:40 a.m., the first call comes in. A boat is grounded in the New River Inlet on the north side of Onslow Beach. The tide went out and left the Gunfighter 26 from Sneads Ferry stuck on the sand.

As he turns around to head north, a fisherman in a small boat flags down Collins to ask where to find bait fish. He obliges, pointing to a nearby creek, and motors north at 30 knots.

About 90 minutes later, Sea Tow arrives at the grounded boat, occupied by two couples and two dogs. In the sky above, military personnel cling to ropes dangling from helicopters, an apparent training exercise from the base not far to the north.

Collins slowly maneuvers through several feet of water, taking care not to get stuck himself.

When within range, he throws a line to boat owner Bob Martino, who hooks it onto a ring on the bow of his boat. Collins puts the Sea Tow boat in reverse, easily pulling the vessel from the sand and back into deep-enough waters. The entire sequence takes only a few minutes.

Martino is originally reluctant to talk to a reporter, saying he would never hear the end of it from his neighbor.

Eventually, he offers positive words about Sea Tow.

"I swear by it," Martino said. "I have it every year. You're an idiot if you don't get it."

On the way back to Wrightsville Beach, another call comes. After responding to the far northern end of his territory, Collins now must to go to Sunny Point, the far southern end, to tow a boat with a malfunctioning water pump to Carolina Beach State Park. Another long ride lies ahead.

He drops a reporter and photographer back on the dock at Wrightsville Beach, poses for a photograph and continues to the south.

Collins isn't married. He says he can't plan anything during the summer because he's almost always on call and never knows when he'll get off at night.

But he wouldn't trade life on the sea for different work.

"I could never be in an office," Collins said. "Inside stuff, I'd go crazy. I guess I'm claustrophobic."

But don't you get lonely on the water all day?

"I mean, I don't have to put up with anybody," he said. "You can't ask for a better place to be by yourself."

And he doesn't have to wear shoes.