DAVID ELDER

During the offseason, David’s dog, Lilly, can also help keep watch.

Kill Devil Hills Ocean Rescue Supervisor

Photo by Cory Godwin / Story by Amelia Boldaji

NOT MANY PEOPLE CAN SAY THEY’VE SEEN A WHALE JUMP OUT OF THE OCEAN FROM THEIR OFFICE WINDOW, but David Elder is one of them. Though it was never exactly his plan to spend the majority of his career by the shore, the outdoors always did call to him – from whitewater rafting in southwest Pennsylvania where he grew up to a two-year stint as a Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya, and then another two years as a climbing guide on Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, it was only a chance encounter in Nags Head that sent him down an entirely different path than he’d ever imagined – and now 30 years later, he’s one of the most familiar faces on the beach. Literally.

How did you get involved with ocean rescue?

I had just come back to Pennsylvania after four years in Africa, and had reverse culture shock when I went to buy some toothpaste – there were too many choices! [Laughs] The phone rang later that night, and it was a friend inviting me down to Nags Head for the weekend. One morning we were there, Sandy Sanderson – the father of Nags Head Ocean Rescue – was out on the beach when we went for a run. At the time, the test for lifeguards was to run from Bonnett to Bladen Street, swim out around the Huron wreck, and then run back to Bonnett – so I did it, and Sandy said something like, ‘You can swim, do you want a job?’ [Laughs] I swallowed the hook, and I don’t even know if it had bait on it.

How did you end up in Kill Devil Hills, and what kinds of things are you responsible for as supervisor?

I worked for Nags Head Ocean Rescue for several years in the early ‘90s, then started Kitty Hawk Ocean Rescue and ran that for a year. That winter, the town of Kill Devil Hills was looking to bring ocean rescue in-house as a municipal service, and I’ve been here now since 2000. As far as I know I’m the only year-round lifeguard on the Outer Banks, so this is my primary concern…I have to have an understanding of [things like] planning, contingencies, expenses, recruiting, training and equipment – everything from trucks to guard stands and more. But at the end of the day, if you ask me what I do? I’m a lifeguard. [Laughs] I don’t need a whole lot of words to say it.

Has a lot changed in the three decades you’ve been working in ocean rescue?

Last year we didn’t have one fatality in the ocean in Dare County – and we also had the largest crowds anybody had ever seen. While I’d love to say we’re better informed now, it’s still about problem-solving and preventing…and making information approachable. There are a pretty crazy number of levels that factor into that, but I think that the biggest thing that’s changed is communication. I don’t educate; I prepare and then inform. The job is still a person with a buoy and fins, but I always tell my staff that it’s important to be approachable…that’s how we can make sure people have access to good information.

What are some of the most important things to know about your job?

During the offseason, I’m an army of one, and in peak season we have a staff of close to 60 on stands about 400 yards apart from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. every day – plus a bunch of ATVs, and more than two people with communication devices on 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Wind, swell, tide: That’s the total safety package; that’s what I look at every day. In life, and in this job, if you’re observant, you’ll see things. But it’s constant, and it’s definitely a calling. A [cautionary] flag is only as good as the guard who put it there, and I don’t make the waves – I just have to figure out how to deal with them.