Pila’a Beach is a remote area on the north shore of Kauai, the fourth largest of the main Hawaiian Islands. It is a common resting spot for Hawaiian monk seals, an endangered species.

RK-06, a healthy adult female monk seal was a Pila’a regular. She spent her days as most monk seals do – foraging in the shallow waters at night, sleeping on the quiet beach by day.

On May 21, 2009 a couple just arriving in the beach parking lot saw a man standing next to a pickup truck. Then they heard gunfire. As they looked to see what he was shooting at, a large Hawaiian monk seal limped slowly into the sea. Not long after, the couple found the dead seal’s body floating in the water.

RK-06 was the mother of five pups, a month from giving birth to her sixth, when she was shot four times at close range with a high-powered rifle. One round hit her side and landed in the womb next to her full-term fetus. Another bullet went through her lung and pierced her heart.

In less than a year, there were three reported monk seal killings on the main Hawaiian Islands. On April 19, RK19, a 5-year-old adult male seal, was found shot to death on Kauai’s west side. On December 14, the body of R019, a large male monk seal, washed up on the island of Molokai.

In the midst of the savage killings, a young monk seal, raised in captivity and released into the wild, swam into Kaunakakai Wharf on the island of Molokai and started playing with the local children.

Fearing for his safety, wildlife officials relocated the seal, known as KP2, 40 miles from the harbor. But two days later, KP2 swam back. Next, officials asked people to stop swimming with him in hopes he’d leave on his own. That didn’t work, either.

In early September, KP2 was swimming with an elderly woman when he grabbed her from behind and held her under the water. She was frightened by the seal’s behavior. Wildlife officials took the seal to an aquarium, angering the local community.

These two dramatic episodes while different, illustrate a growing problem: humans and wildlife competing for limited resources.

For over two decades the Hawaiian monk seal has steadily marched toward extinction. There are just 1,100 Hawaiian monk seals alive today and their ranks are dwindling. A fraction of them — 150 animals — live on the main Hawaiian Islands. These seals rest on popular beaches and forage for food alongside fishing boats and divers. Most Hawaiians are happy to have them around. But fishermen, who compete most directly with the seals, feel their livelihood is threaten. They say the seals are invasive and steal their fish. Many fishermen want the seals eradicated. Wildlife officials counter the animals are native and too small in number to impact human subsistence.

It is a familar story heard around the globe. On the Great Plains of the U.S., the black-tailed prairie dog population, like the Hawaiian monk seal, is declining because of longstanding hatred from the ranching community. In Uganda, primates in Kibale National Park compete with local communities for territory and resources.

The fate of wildlife depends on human tolerance for them.

Building a balance in Hawaii for the monk seal rests with a small group of federal workers and volunteers. They are up against a shrinking population of seals, a small budget, and alienated fishermen who feel their way of life is slipping away.

If this group of monk seal advocates can forge a peaceful coexistence between seals and humans, their success could prevent the seals’ demise and help other wildlife in similar circumstances. If they can’t make it work, the Hawaiian monk seal may be the next extinction because of human actions. (Read Chapter 2)

The origins of the monk seal genus known as Monachus go back 15 million years. Evolution has all but left them alone. Biologists believe the way they look today is the way they looked millions of years ago.

Monk seals are the oldest of all living pinnipeds — a family of fin-footed mammals that includes seals, walruses, and sea lions. There are three known species of monk seals – Hawaiian (Monachus schauinslandi), Caribbean (Monachus tropicalis), and Mediterranean (Monachus monachus).

Adult seals measure about seven feet long and weigh between 400 and 600 pounds. A thick layer of blubber insulates them from the cold, gives them buoyancy, and serves as an energy reserve. Generally, they forage at night and sleep the day away on sandy beaches. (VIDEO: Watch Hawaiian monk seals in captivity)

According to scientific consensus, monk seals originated in the North Atlantic and migrated into the Caribbean, Mediterranean and Pacific when a natural ocean passage existed between North and South America in what is now the country of Panama. When Panama’s narrow waterway closed 3.5 million years ago, the monk seals became permanently cut off from each other.

It isn’t clear how far and wide the Hawaiian monk seal spread through the Pacific, but scientists agree they likely inhabited all the Hawaiian archipelago, which is made up of the main Hawaiian Islands (Oahu, Maui, Kauai, Niihau, Lanai, Kahoolawe, Molokai and Hawaii, often called “The Big Island”), and the Northwest Hawaiian Islands or Leeward Islands (small coral islands and atolls including Midway and Laysan and French Frigate Shoals). The island chain stretches 1,500 miles from The Big Island to Kure Atoll.

Many native Hawaiians don’t believe the seals are native because up until 1960 nobody saw a monk seal on any of the main Hawaiian Islands. When the first Polynesians came to settle the main Hawaiian Islands around 400 or 500 A.D., they likely hunted the plentiful monk seals for their meat, oil, and fur. Without a natural fear of humans, monk seals lying on a beach were easy prey. The animals were extirpated from the main Hawaiian Islands at this time, scientists believe. Those that survived took refuge in the uninhabited Northwest Hawaiian Islands, which begin about 100 miles from the main islands, where the bulk of them live today.

In a non-descript modern high-rise in downtown Honolulu, scientists and officials working for the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) are leading the federal effort to recover the species.

Since the species was listed on the Endangered Species Act in 1976, the federal agency has conducted research on monk seal foraging and breeding patterns, set aside critical habitat in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands for the seals, and nursed and released underweight yearlings, all in effort to get the population growing. It hasn’t helped. In fact, the population has gone down.

“They have been declining at a rate of 4.5 percent a year. And that hasn’t changed since I started working here seven years ago,” says Charles Littnan, foraging ecologist with NOAA’s Hawaiian monk seal research program.

The 2009 breeding season in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands produced the fewest pups in 10 years. Biologists counted 119 pups. The total population is estimated to be 1,100. To put that in perspective, the population a mere decade ago was estimated to be anywhere from 1500 to 1700. Littnan predicts their numbers will dip below 1,000 in the next three to four years. The Hawaiian monk seal population is crashing.

What’s causing the die-off? Scientists don’t know for sure, but it’s likely a combination of factors – shark predation, malnourishment from a lack of fish, and entanglement in marine debris – junk, plastic, old fishing nets, simply tossed into the water and left to float around.

For every species listed as endangered, conservation officials must submit to the government a comprehensive report that shows what should be done to recover populations, including how much it will cost. As defined in The Recovery Plan for The Hawaiian Monk Seal (last updated in 2007), “recovery” would mean a population of 2900 or more seals throughout the Hawaiian Island chain. That’s more than double the current population — a population that is dropping. And how much will it all cost? A staggering $378,425,000. Until 2008, NOAA’s annual Hawaiian monk seal budget was around $2.2 million; in 2009, it increased to $5.7 million.

While the die-off in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands is a major focus of their work, Littnan and NOAA staff now have a new and equally complex problem to deal with – a growing population of monk seals in the main Hawaiian Islands. A problem? Isn’t that what they want, to grow the population? Yes, of course, says Littnan, but the seals’ presence on public beaches and in waters frequented by fishermen has placed them in direct contact with humans unaccustomed to having them around.

“Generation after generation of people grew up here and never had seen a monk seal,” Littnan explains. The first sightings came in the late 1960s, 70s and 80s. Residents might see one or two a year if they were lucky. It’s only been in the last 10 years that the monk seals have really come on strong.

There are about 150 animals throughout the main Hawaiian Islands. Fifteen births were recorded in 2009. “Crunch the numbers,” says Littnan. In 12 to 15 years, he says, there could be 300 or more monk seals just around the main Hawaiian Islands.

When it comes to being “cute,” Hawaiian monk seals have that going for them. The seals have large eyes, prominent snouts with long whiskers, and a streamlined body. They are born jet-black and as they get older their coats turn silvery-gray and can appear brown or greenish from algae.

A cute wild animal threatened with extinction. “You think it would be a slam-dunk in terms of getting people behind it,” says Littnan.

But the reality is, it’s a tough sell. (Read Chapter 3)

Intentional killings represent the most hostile reaction to increasing seal populations, and courts so far, have gone easy on offenders.

Take the case of the killing of the pregnant female monk seal RK-06. Clues led NOAA’s Office of Law Enforcement to indict Charles Vidinha, a 78-year old Kauai man in August of 2009.

Vidinha admitted to shooting the animal, but claimed the whole thing was an accident that he deeply regretted.

He says that on the day of the shooting, he went down to Kauai’s Pila’a Beach to pitch a campsite for the Memorial Day weekend. As Vidinha was setting up some fish traps and nets, he noticed the seal. Worried that the seal would steal his fish, he got his rifle. He fired 4 rounds from his hip from 75 feet away to scare the seal back into the water.

Vidinha says he had no idea he’d hit it.

Veterinarian and Kauai Monk Seal Response Coordinator Mimi Olry performed the pathology on RK-06 and doesn’t believe Vidinha’s account of what happened. Her pathology report showed that the seal was shot four times at close range. She also knows Pila’a Beach. “You could run up and stomp your feet and that would be enough to scare it off,” she says.

The killing of a Hawaiian monk seal, like the killing of any endangered species, is a federal offense. Under the Endangered Species Act, it is illegal to unlawfully “take” – meaning to harass, harm, pursue, hunt, shoot, wound, kill, trap, capture or collect a Hawaiian monk seal. The charge is a misdemeanor punishable by a maximum one year in prison and a fine of up to $50,000.

After pleading guilty, Vidinha received a 90-day sentence in a detention center and was charged a $25 processing fee.

Because Vidinha had a clean record and he’s old, Olry says, the federal court let him go with little more than a slap on the wrist.

For Olry, the case set a bad precedent for endangered species in Hawaii: “It appeared the court was only concerned about the outcome for Charles Vidinha and really not supporting the laws to protect endangered species in this state. It makes those of us involved in resource management really feel defeated. It’s hard to catch somebody breaking the law, let alone provide enough evidence to be able to support it in court.” (WATCH: Olry talks to beachgoers about the shootings on Kauai)

On June 9, 2010, in reaction to the shootings and sentence of Vidinha, Hawaii’s Senate passed a bill that changes the existing penalty from a misdemeanor to a Class C Felony — a fine of up to $50,000 and or imprisonment of up to 5 years. “Hawaii is home to more than 300 endangered species and we all have an enormous responsibility to help protect our unique wildlife,” said Hawaii Lt. Gov. James “Duke” Aiona, who signed the bill into law.

The deaths of the other two monk seals killed in 2009, RK19 and R019, remain unsolved and investigations are ongoing.

The Surfrider Foundation, a non-profit that organizes beach cleanups, and community outreach is offering a $12,500 reward to find and indict the person or persons who killed RK19 and R019. NOAA is offering an additional $5000 reward for RK19.

“Most of the fishermen really don’t like the monk seals,” says Clint Bettencourt, who, like many Hawaiian fishermen, free dives in shallow coastal waters. “We compete for the same food: octopus, eels and fish. When we dive, they follow us all over the place,” he says.

Bettencourt is a native Hawaiian, big, tall, with a full white beard. He dives and fishes in the waters behind the Mokihana Time Share in Kapaa, Kauai, where he works as a security guard.

“I don’t mind them,” he says. In fact, Bettencourt relates to them. “On land I am clumsy, but put me on the ocean and I can swim,” he says.

In the water, monk seals use their flippers to propel themselves. They can glide with ease and travel great distances. But once on land their flippers are of no use and they must use brute force to heave their bodies forward in a worm-like fashion. Biologists refer to their beaching as “hauling out.”

“I have one I really like. Her name is K30. She’s a very good seal. She’s a survivor,” Bettencourt says with a broad smile.

He can’t remember when or where he first saw her but he remembers how she looked – battle-weary. K30 had a big, fresh bite mark from a tiger shark who’d taken a big chunk out of her. She had lashings around her neck from wrestling with a fishing net and propeller scars on her back from where a boat must have hit her.

“If I got bit by a tiger shark,” Bettencourt says, “I’d just roll over and die.”

During the day he’ll walk down to the shore behind the Mokihana Time Share and scan the waters for K30. “She likes it here,” says Bettencourt. Every now and then he’ll see her when he’s diving. “She’s very fast. I don’t think she knows me,” he says, “but I know her.”

Monk seal hostility cuts deeper than just economic competition. Because the monk seal is protected under federal law, it has become the latest symbol of misguided government meddling in the lives of the Hawaiian people.

Years ago plantation owners brought in the mongoose, a weasel-like marsupial, to help control a large and growing rat population in Hawaii. The plan backfired. When the rats came out at night, the mongoose slept. So the mongoose ended up eating people’s chickens, eggs and birds.

When fishermen look at the Hawaiian monk seal, they see another mongoose.

Fishermen tell stories of seals taking catch off their lines and swimming into nursery areas and stealing fish. “It makes them mad,” says Walter Ritte, an activist who fights for native Hawaiians civil rights. Ritte lives on the small island of Molokai, home to a large Hawaiian population relying heavily on fishing to sustain them. Fishing provides almost a third of their food, and it’s free. “All you have to do is go and get it, ” he says. “Being able to get fish out of the ocean is not a recreational thing, but a survival thing for us here on Molokai.”

The distrust between the U.S. government and the native Hawaiians goes back generations. When American missionaries arrived on the islands in the 1800s, they pushed their religion and social beliefs on the native people. They also exposed them to tuberculosis, the plague, measles, and various venereal diseases. A thriving native population numbering in the hundreds of thousands was reduced to just 40,000 by 1900.

In 1893, American colonists illegally imprisoned Queen Liliuokalani and overthrew the Kingdom of Hawaii. Five years later, Hawaii became a territory of the United States. The native Hawaiians were left with almost nothing and little choice but to work as laborers on the pineapple and sugar cane plantations run by western white men. The passage of time hasn’t done much to lift them up in society.

“We have the most people in prison, the lowest standard of living, and the highest rates of heart and kidney disease. Our story is no different from the indigenous peoples in America,” says Ritte.

But why take it out on the monk seal, it’s a native species? That’s not how the fishermen see it. Their fathers never saw them. Their grandfathers never saw them. And unlike turtles, sharks and owls, Hawaiian monk seals are not an ‘aumakua’ – a sacred family god that cannot be harmed. What the fishermen see instead is a story that sounds a lot like the mongoose.

In 1995 the government relocated 21 Hawaiian male monk seals from the Northwest Hawaiian Island of Laysan and released them off the Big Island because females on Laysan were being “mobbed.” Mobbing is aggressive behavior where multiple males try and mate with a female, severely injuring or killing her.

In the years following the relocation, pups started showing up more frequently on main Hawaiian Island beaches and fishermen began having run-ins with seals. That’s how the rumor got started, Ritte says, that they are invasive.

Many fishermen believe the Hawaiian monk seals are a migrant population of the now extinct Caribbean monk seal. (PHOTOS: Learn more about the Caribbean monk seal)

Littnan says this is false. “To say they are not native or that we introduced them is not accurate at all,” says Littnan. First, he says, the seals have inhabited Hawaiian waters for well over three million years. Second, the 1995 relocation wasn’t some covert move to grow a subpopulation of seals in the main Hawaiian Islands.

“Yes, it was a dramatic increase for the population in the main Hawaiian Islands, except that they were all males. We didn’t increase the reproductive capacity of the islands, we never brought females down here,” he says.

There must have been existing females in the area or females making their way down from the Northwest Hawaiian Islands, Littnan explains.

A number of seals travel to the main Hawaiian Islands from the Northwest Hawaiian Islands on their own. Just recently a 6-month-old seal swam from Nihoa to the North Shore of Oahu – a 300-mile journey. “They do it all the time,” says Littnan. “Not in large numbers, but it happens.”

Ritte is surprised at the fishermen’s negative attitude. He sees parallels between his people and the monk seal. “A lot of native Hawaiians feel they too are on the endangered list,” says Ritte. (Read Chapter 4)

“Aloe Haole” reads the hand-written sign just a few yards away from a beach where a monk seal is resting. It is Hawaiian for “No Whites.” Racial tension is ever present between native Hawaiians and the traditionally white-dominated U.S. government. The Hawaiian monk seal, protected by NOAA, a federal agency, represents the white man to many native Hawaiians.

In the main Hawaiian Islands, NOAA has largely depended on public outreach through a loose network of volunteers to watch over the seals at populated beach spots. One of those volunteers is Lloyd Miyashiro.

For the past two years, Miyashiro, a retired schoolteacher, has been a NOAA monk seal volunteer on Kauai.

“My wife volunteered me,” says Miyashiro with a wry smile.

He and his wife Mary Frances spend each day looking for and keeping track of the seals that frequent the east side of the island. Kauai has become a hot spot for monk seals in the last 10 years. There are about 40 of them around the island.

Each morning Miyashiro drives his beat up Toyota Corolla along Kuhio Highway, stopping to check for seals at known hauling spots: Lae Nani, Baby Beach, Kappa Flats. You won’t find most of those places on any official map of Kauai. They are not “real” names, says Miyashiro, his voice soft and accented with a sprinkle of Hawaiian and Japanese. It’s their local name.

Miyashiro was born and raised on Kauai. His father came from Okinawa, Japan, at the turn of the century to work in the pineapple and sugar cane plantations. His skin is tanned and weathered. Wrinkles frame his round face and glassy eyes. A wide-brimmed straw hat secured with a string under his chin protects him from the sun. His attire is simple — a tattered NOAA volunteer t-shirt, cargo shorts, and aqua shoes.

The Corolla winds its way northeast slightly inland to Donkey Beach. This corridor was once a thriving agricultural center for pineapple and sugar cane production. But the fields are gone now, overgrown with wild grass. Tourism is the new cash crop here. Real estate developers have divided up the land into five-acre parcels for sale as “gentlemen farms” — gated communities for wealthy vacationers.

Miyashiro brings the Corolla to a stop at the beach parking lot. At 190,000 plus miles, the car is a testament to Toyota’s legendary endurance, at least for the engine. The paint is long gone, however, seats shredded, the back seat crammed full of official NOAA Hawaiian monk seal warning signs, stakes, and rope.

He grabs his hat and heads for the beach.

Following a 15-minute walk through scrub and tree cover, Miyashiro reaches a familiar opening. He spots a rope tied between two trees and a faded yellow sign dangling in the middle that reads: “Do not approach monk seals. Usually sleeping or resting. Do not disturb. To report sightings or emergencies call 651-7668.” He peers up and over the sign. There, about seven yards in front of him, is a seal. He quickly ducks below the brush and waits. Slowly and quietly, he rises to take another a look.

Lying on its back, belly exposed to the sky, a Hawaiian monk seal sleeps. Without opening its eyes it snorts “SHHHERRRUUP!” The sound is a cross between a human cough and sneeze.

He whispers: “It’s left a present,” referring to the strong smell coming from the hulking beast. Monk seals often roll around in their excrement, known as scat. “They don’t care,” he says.

Miyashiro goes about setting up a rope line around the rock-dotted beach. He rambles over the volcanic boulders with ease. Miyashiro’s agility at 68 is likely due to his small build and lifelong study of the martial art aikido. He’s careful to keep his distance from the seal, who continues to sleep undisturbed.

Normally he wouldn’t bother with the rope, this being a secluded place. But there are two fishermen off the point in the distance who’ve noticed him.

NOAA has enlisted about 4,000 volunteers around the main Hawaiian Islands, but only a fraction are out everyday, like Miyashiro, protecting seals. Many of them are in their 50s and 60s, recent retirees from the mainland, or transplants that have lived here long enough to be considered a local. Miyashiro has lived on Kauai his whole life. Young students are the next biggest group of NOAA volunteers. Not surprisingly, there are few native Hawaiians in their ranks. And while it’s arguable that many native Hawaiians like the seals, the main reason they don’t get involved is they can’t afford to. Taking four hours out of a workday to guard a seal is not an option. As a result, the racial makeup of volunteer force is largely white.

Volunteers wear many hats — salesman, teacher, seal cop. They get training from NOAA before assignment to a beach. Volunteers learn about the species, the laws that exist to protect them, and protocols for negotiating seal-human conflicts.

With the rope line secure, Miyashiro pulls out binoculars.

Squatting on the rocks, he focuses his lens on the seal’s two hind flippers, where there is a plastic ID tag. It takes some time, but he finally makes out the number. A distinct scar on her left neck confirms what the number tells him.

“It’s Ha’upu,” he says happily. Ha’upu is a 26-month-old female. She is named after Kauai’s southern mountain range, located between Kauai’s biggest city Lihu’e and the town of Hanapepe. Ha’upu got her scar from a dog. A windsurfer refused to keep a leash on it and the dog bit the young seal.

These random encounters not only endanger single animals, but also threaten the entire species.

Dogs carry diseases to which monk seals have no immunity, like canine distemper. With populations so low, introducing disease or exposing seals to human-induced pollution could potentially wipe them all out. In the summer of 1997, the Mediterranean monk seal population suffered a devastating blow when a toxic algae bloom killed around 187 animals. Scientists estimate there are only 350 to 450 Mediterranean monk seals left in the world. (PHOTOS: Learn more about the Mediterranean monk seal)

As the sun begins to set and the colors of the sky change to brilliant oranges and purples, Ha’upu awakens and whips her body around to face the sea.

“She’s gonna go,” says Miyashiro.

Ha’upu stares at the surf, her eyes open and alert. She raises her head from the sand and smells the salty air, then moves a few feet forward.

With daylight fading, Ha’upu makes her move, bounding through the rocks and into the water. She stops to rub her body on a rock. “She’s playing,” says Miyashiro. Ha’upu swims on, her head sticking out of the water, easily navigating the maze of rocks. A few minutes later the seal reaches open water and slips below the surface. (VIDEO: Watch Ha’upu and Miyashiro on Donkey Beach)

On his walk back to the car, Miyashiro notices the handwritten “Aloe Haole” sign on a marker post at the Donkey Beach parking lot. On first inspection the message appears to be written in chalk, but it fails a quick rub-test. “Surf wax,” he says.

A fisherman once told Miyashiro mockingly, “a scientist brought a monk seal from Alaska. The seal swam back and brought his friends.”

Local police stop by later and remove the message.

Head east out of Honolulu and the urban landscape soon gives way to stunning ocean vistas. Blue waters with white-capped waves crash onto volcanic rocks. The road winds up and down, following the contours of Hawaii’s mountains as they drop into the sea. At a scenic pull-off, a small group of tourists snaps pictures of the Halona Blow Hole – a natural formation of volcanic rocks that redirects waves 30 feet into the air.

One man isn’t so interested in that natural wonder. It’s what’s just beyond the rocks that he’s got his camera fixed on.

There, swimming at the surface, is a female monk seal foraging for food.

He pulls out a small spiral notebook from his pants pocket and logs the seal’s activity. “She is doing ten-minute dives. She comes up for a minute to breathe and goes back down for another ten-minute dive,” says D.B Dunlap.

He reaches his arm out over the cliff. “It’s shallow here, 50 feet or less. There’s plenty of food for her here,” he says. Monk seals like to eat squid, octopus, lobster, eel and a wide variety of reef fish.

D.B., short for Daniel Boone (but nobody calls him that), has devoted the last ten years of his life to observing and collecting information on the 30 or so Hawaiian monk seals that call Oahu home. Oahu is the main Hawaiian Island’s most populated and urban island, home to Waikiki Beach, a tourist mecca.

Dunlap doesn’t do it for money and don’t dare call him a volunteer. He may look like an old salt with his weathered-tanned skin and white beard, but he’s a former surf photographer.

Dunlap watches as “M&M” comes to the surface to catch her breath again. “I call her M&M because she is my mystery molter,” he explains. Molting is a process of skin shedding. All monk seals shed their skin once a year. It doesn’t come off all at once like snakeskin. Instead it comes off in bits and pieces over a 7 to 10 day period. Once they slough it off, they sport a new silvery coat. (PHOTOS: Get a good look at a molting monk seal)

A short drive north of the blowhole is Makai Pier, a quiet fishing spot with good views of uninhabited Rabbit Island. Everyday Dunlap goes to Makai Pier and sets up a high-powered scope and scans Rabbit Island’s beaches looking for seals. Two or three years ago, while Dunlap was making routine observations, M&M popped up from behind some rocks, half-way through her molt.

“I had never seen her before in my life until she galumphed up from behind those rocks,” he says. “We’ve basically been together ever since.” (VIDEO: Spend some more time with Dunlap and M&M at the blowhole)

Over the years Dunlap has added many monk seals to his family: Benny, Right Spot, Lona, Yoda, and Duke, to name a few. Some of these animals are assigned official scientific numbers like T15M. But Dunlap calls T15M “Shark Bite.” Dunlap doesn’t have a favorite. “That’s like asking which one of your children do you love the most.” And some of his seals are high maintenance. Take Benny, for example. “He’s a cruiser male,” says Dunlap. Benny is a subordinate male, which means he’s not a kid but not quite an adult – a bit like a rebellious teenager. Benny spends most of his days on the eastern tip of Oahu in the water ” lookin’ for chicks,” says Dunlap. He’s got a lot of girlfriends, including M&M. He keeps Dunlap on his toes. When Benny is out in the water, he’ll barrel right on through the surf, paying no attention to the boats, divers, or surfers in his path. “Benny is my nemesis,” Dunlap says with a nervous chuckle.

The real nemesis for monk seals is the shark, their only natural predator. Too many young underweight pups are falling prey to sharks in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands, according to the official recovery plan. But here in the main Hawaiian Islands, sharks aren’t much of threat. Humans are the big problem.

Monk seals are prone to entanglement in fishing nets. Boat propeller blades also whack them, and seals lodge fishing hooks in their mouths. (PHOTOS: See where hooks and nets end up on monk seals)

Dunlap remembers a young monk seal who lost her life from entanglement. Her name was Penelope. It was June 2006. Penelope swam into an illegal gill net, laid on a Friday and left for the entire weekend.

Gill nets are suspended vertically in the water. Meshes allow the head of fish to pass through but not the rest of the body. Fish get entangled when they try to get out – trapping them. The nets are quite effective, and laws govern how deep and for how long they can be used. In Hawaii, fishermen are allowed to use them to a depth of 125 feet and can leave the nets out for four hours in a 24/hour period. But enforcement is difficult. There’s not enough manpower to patrol the waters and find violators.

When Penelope’s lifeless body washed ashore, her killer still had her in its grip. The motionless seal lie wrapped up like a bug caught in a spider’s web. “Damn killing machines, those nets,” Dunlap says.

Ironically, two years earlier, Penelope’s brother also drowned in a net. “Two children killed,” Dunlap sighs.

Dunlap moves on to Sandy Beach, a popular spot for Oahu’s monk seals. With its flat strip of golden sand and turquoise water, the beach is also a favorite for experienced boogie boarders and sun worshipers. At the east end, a female monk seal named Right Spot is enjoying a rest after a long night of foraging.

Dunlap has roped off a sizable area around her. NOAA supplies its volunteers with rope, stakes and signs. The rule is 100 square feet but usually there isn’t enough vertical beach space, so it’s smaller – usually 50 square feet.

Right Spot rests on her belly with her eyes closed. She seems oblivious to the human activity going on around her — surfers out in the water, sunbathers on all sides and off in the distance recreational fishermen.

Dunlap places blue and white NOAA Hawaiian monk seal signs, declaring that it’s illegal to “touch, injure, harm, kill or harass a seal,” on each side of the rope line. Dunlap can’t rope off the area in front of the water, so that line is “imaginary.” While people can’t approach a seal, they are more than welcome to come up to the rope and take pictures. This is where Dunlap and volunteers work to build support for saving the species. Curious tourists ask basic questions, from “What is that?” to “Is it dead?” Locals stop by, too, usually to share accounts of earlier seal sightings. (VIDEO: Check in on Dunlap and Right Spot at Sandy Beach)

Volunteers are on the front line of NOAA’s efforts to save the seal. Their vigilance is crucial to protecting the seals from those who would do them harm. Most people are respectful of the seals, according to Dunlap. But there are offenders.

Tourists unfamiliar with their surroundings have stepped on seals. Some are ignorant or defiant and walk right past the rope line to take a photo. Kids and dogs chase them. People have poked the seals with umbrellas or thrown rocks at them.

On occasion disturbed seals have bitten people, but more often than not, the seal just goes back into the water.

Sometimes the hostility is directed toward the volunteers. Recently someone threw a rock at Dunlap’s good friend and NOAA volunteer Robert Billand, hitting him in the head, drawing blood. In the wake of the seal shootings, his wife Barbara, also a volunteer, first thought he’d been shot. It was likely a disgruntled local, Billand assumes.

Dealing with the locals is a delicate situation. On the one hand volunteers want to protect the seals, but they also don’t want to anger the local people, whose support is crucial to saving the species.

It doesn’t take much to disrupt this balance. NOAA recently found itself on the wrong side of a local community dispute when a little monk seal with a big personality decided he liked the company of people more than other monk seals. (Read Chapter 5)

Not all human-seal conflicts in the main Hawaiian Islands end with a dead seal. Sometimes, conflict erupts over the animal itself. That was the case with a young seal named KP2. His story offers a unique look into the risks of raising animals in captivity and releasing them into the wild and unforeseen consequences that species preservation sometimes creates.

KP2, short for Kauai Pup Two, was born May 1, 2008 on a remote section of North Larsen Beach, Kauai. When NOAA veterinarian and volunteer coordinator Mimi Olry first saw him, he was alone, trying to draw milk from rocks and vocalizing loudly. His mother, RK22, was nowhere to be seen.

A year earlier, RK22 had given birth to her first pup, a female. At that time, RK22 showed no interest in her pup, even when the newborn cried out for her. NOAA officials tried desperately to get mom and pup together. They placed the pup within visual range of RK22, but she swam away. They tried again. Nothing. By the fifth day NOAA took the pup and gave her an examination. She was emaciated and weak. The only humane thing left to do, they concluded, was to euthanize the pup.

A year later it was happening all over again. And this time the instructions to Olry from her bosses were very clear. Give the mother and pup a day to reunite. If that fails, rescue him.

When RK22 returned to KP2, she wasn’t alone — two male monk seals were right behind her.

Mothers nurse pups alone. Pregnant females gorge themselves in the weeks before giving birth, and then spend six weeks nursing their newborns and transferring all their nutrients to them. They never leave their side, not even to eat. By week six, the mothers–starving and weak–head out to sea and do not return. The mother-pup bond is broken forever. Fathers play no role. (VIDEO: Get a look at a new pup born on Kauai in December 2009)

Adult Hawaiian monk seals do not live in colonies like sea lions or walruses. They are, as their name suggests, solitary creatures. Males are known to fight to mate with a female and this may account for the two males flanking RK22 that first day in May.

The males approached the pup and nipped at it. Normally, seal mothers are fiercely protective of their pups and will bite seals or humans who get to close, but RK22 did nothing to defend KP2.

Olry and staff separated the males from the mother and relocated KP2 next to her. RK22 approached the pup. Instead of showing him her teats to offer milk, however, she bit KP2 on the head and tossed him to the side.

At that point, Olry called for backup. Veterinarian Greg Levine, working on contract with NOAA, got word on Oahu, and quickly hopped a ride on a Coast Guard helicopter to Kauai.

When Levine reached the beach and attempted to retrieve the pup, RK22 vocalized at him with a loud “BWAAAAAAAAAAH.” He waited. Eventually the mother moved away and Levine took the pup to Olry.

NOAA had just adopted their first ever day-old baby monk seal. (PHOTOS: See KP2’s life in photos)

When there are only 1,100 members of a species left, every animal counts. In 2007, following the death of KP2’s sister, NOAA decided that in future cases of infant abandonment, it needed to step in and try to save the pups. From a scientific perspective, there was much to be gained. They could learn more about the health of young monk seals, and perhaps that information could be applied to save more of them in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands, where infant seals are dying at an alarming rate, according to the recovery report.

The rehabilitation of Hawaiian monk seals wasn’t entirely new for NOAA. They often find malnourished yearlings and help them gain weight before releasing them back into the wild.

But KP2 was different. KP2 was a newborn. KP2 would need around-the-clock care and handling by humans for months. Moreover, raising a wild animal in captivity with the intention of releasing it back into the wild is fraught with uncertainty and unintended outcomes, as NOAA would soon learn.

When KP2 arrived at Kewalo Research Facility on Oahu with Levine, he weighed about 25 pounds. His eyes were bright and alert. He demonstrated normal reflexes and had no trouble vocalizing. Biologists describe the sounds monk seals make as vocalizing. Adults make deep bellows – BWAAAAH! Pups make high-pitched BWAAAP sounds.

Levine’s first challenge was to get KP2 to eat. But what, and how? Levine called up the Marine Mammal Center in Sausalito, California, a hospital that treats sick and injured pinnipeds from up and down the Pacific coast – mostly sea lions, elephant seals, harbor seals and northern fur seals. Dr. Frances Gulland, the center’s chief veterinarian, has successfully hand-reared harbor seals for years. Together, Gulland and Levine came up with a modified harbor seal formula that consisted of electrolytes, fish oil and herring pureed into a mash. Levine had to force-feed KP2. The mash was placed in a large syringe that had a long tube on the end. One person held the seal while another person inserted the tube down its throat, then squirted the mash into its belly.

The first week was rough, Levine recalls. KP2 developed constipation but by day 14, the pup began to show improvement. Levine wanted KP2 eating fish as soon as possible. In the wild, monk seals wean for six weeks. In captivity, that time frame would expose KP2 to humans for far too long. They tried accelerating the weaning process by placing a cold thawed fish in his mouth. “He didn’t go for that,” says Levine. So he tried live fish and made it irresistible – moi. Moi is a Hawaiian fish that was reserved for royalty. Moi do very well in the fishponds of Hawaii. Levine found a fishpond willing to donate some moi for KP2. That did the trick, says Levine.

KP2 would swim around his enclosure at Kewalo, chasing the moi to tire them out. He would use his flipper to create a wave and wash them onto the deck. Then he would grab them with his mouth in a playful manner and spit them back in the pool. By the end of July, he was eating about 20 live fish a day and weighed around 44 pounds.

At 12 weeks, Levine started to think that if KP2 was eating live fish and swimming and growing at a normal rate, “we should be thinking about releasing him into the wild,” he says. Shortly after that conversation, however, Levine’s team noticed a problem. KP2 had developed mild cataracts. Cataracts are a clouding of the eye that obstructs the passage of light, and this could affect KP2’s survival in the wild.

Monk seals use a combination of senses to forage for food. Their highly sensitive whiskers help them detect fish movements in water. They can dive to a depth of 300 feet and traverse the sea floor turning over rocks with their snout. When an eel, octopus or lobster pops out, they’ll snatch it. To dive that deep, where it is very dark, seals must have extremely good eyesight.

Levine debated the cause. Was it the chemicals they were using to clean the pool? Was there too much light reflecting from it?. Was it congenital? Perhaps KP2’s mom knew something when she gave birth and abandoned the pup because she sensed something was wrong with him. But Levine couldn’t find anything to indicate the seal had a pre-existing condition. “We also ruled out infectious disease,” he says. It was likely a combination of environmental factors. How to solve it? Get him out of the pool and into a natural setting.

In early September 2008, NOAA moved KP2 to a shoreline pen at Marine Corps Base in Kaneohe Bay on Oahu. His round-the-clock care stretched the staff thin, so they called up D. B. Dunlap’s friends Barbara and Robert Billand to see if they could help out. Could they? “Hell, yeah,” says Barbara Billand.

The couple worked four-hour shifts, two or three times a week for three months. They sat at a table hidden from the seal by palm fronds. They took notes, watching to see when he would poop, pee, throw up, if he ate his fish, how many he’d eat, and so on.

And how did he behave? “More like a Labrador puppy than a monk seal,” Barbara Billand recalls. (PHOTOS: See KP2 in his shoreline pen)

It was around that time, Billand suspects, that KP2 began to develop a close connection to humans. “When people would arrive, he’d hear the car doors,” she says. “No matter what sound, he would hear it and look up and be real alert. Like he knew someone was coming. He’d scoot up to the fence and look and look.” She says he also began to recognize human voices.

The pen was great for KP2, bringing him a step closer to being in the wild. He got better and better at catching fish and slowly his eye problem stabilized. Levine checked his eyes once a day and had an ophthalmologist check him out once a week. Despite some permanent scarring, he was successfully foraging for fish and showing normal behavior.

By late November, veterinarians gave KP2 a clean bill of health and readied him for release. The next question was: Where?

Just twenty-six miles from Oahu is the small island of Molokai. On the north side of Molokai is a jutting outcrop of sea cliffs surrounded by lush valleys and dense rainforest called Kalaupapa. The area is a national park, providing native habitat for endangered Hawaiian monk seals attracted to the offshore islands and coral reefs. NOAA felt this area was ideal for KP2, in part because he was certain to run into other monk seals, which was crucial to his normal development.

On December 15, 2008, after eight months of captive care, KP2 was placed in a crate and flown by Coast Guard helicopter to Kalaupapa.

Caretakers took KP2 down to the water’s edge and opened the crate. He entered the water without so much as a backward glance, his caretakers reported. He spent about 3 hours playing and foraging in tide pools before heading out to deeper water in a protected cove where he was seen diving, foraging, and eating.

For two weeks, NOAA experts monitored him closely. At one point, they observed KP2 and another monk seal mock-fighting and rolling around together in the water. It was just the kind of behavior they’d hoped to see.

As the days passed, KP2 began to explore his new home, venturing further from the isolated beaches of Kalaupapa. In February, he swam into Kaunakakai Wharf, the island’s main commercial and ferryboat hub. The busy harbor is located across the main highway from the island’s main city of Kaunakakai. He spotted some kids playing in the water. He must have liked what he saw. The little seal swam over to the children and joined them in their play.

Word spread fast that a “tame seal” had turned up at Kaunakakai Wharf. When Molokai resident Alona Demmers heard the news, she grabbed her kids and some neighbors’ kids and headed for the harbor. “I saw his head pop up next to a couple of kids in the water, so I immediately jumped in,” she says. To get his attention, the kids told her to grab their pink boogie board. “That was the ice breaker,” she says. KP2 swam over to her and hopped on the board.

Demmers says KP2 would rub up against swimmers. “He would wrap his flippers around you. It was like he was hugging you,” she says. There was one particular kid KP2 seemed very bonded to. An 11-year-old boy named Kahi. Demmers says he would follow Kahi everywhere. “You could tell he liked him. They played rough a little bit, and I think KP2 enjoyed playing rough.” (PHOTOS: See KP2 swimming with people in Kaunakakai Wharf)

Monk seal-human bonding has happened before in the main Hawaiian Islands. There are areas on Maui and the Big Island where animals are born in isolation. A seal will wean and then be alone and can’t find other seals for interaction to develop. They find the next best thing — humans. “When an animal is a tiny cute seal wanting to play with you in the water, it’s a pretty tough thing to resist,” says Littnan.

To members of the public, this offers a rare encounter with wildlife; to biologists and wildlife officials, it’s a potentially dangerous turn in the development of a young animal. Juvenile seals like KP2 need social structure, Littnan explains. They need to play-fight and forage as part of the maturing process. NOAA wanted KP2 to learn those skills among the seals of Kalaupapa. Instead, he was playing and foraging with humans at Kaunakakai Wharf. “He got so much positive feedback,” says Littnan.

When NOAA officials found out KP2 was playing with children and adults at Kaunakakai Wharf, they were worried. NOAA strongly discourages people from swimming with monk seals. First, it violates the laws that protect them — the Endangered Species Act and the Marine Mammal Act. Second, there is a potential for serious injury.

“We’ve had experiences before where a 300-pound animal is just looking to play and then starts holding people underwater for too long,” Wende Goo, a spokesperson for the NOAA, told the Wall Street Journal in September 2009. “And with how much KP2 likes being around people, we think he’s bound to get to that point.”

But there was also concern for the seal’s safety.

The majority of Molokai’s residents welcomed KP2, but not the fishermen. “The reaction was really negative,” says Walter Ritte.

Demmers heard fishermen were threatening to harm the seal, and that’s when she decided to join NOAA volunteers who had come down to the wharf to keep an eye on him.

Early one morning, Demmers witnessed a local fisherman kick KP2 twice in attempt to get the seal to move off the dock. KP2 was blocking his path and he wanted him to move, she says. But KP2 didn’t move. The seal just looked confused, as if he didn’t know how to react. “He had no fear of humans,” says Demmers.

The more KP2 popped up in the harbor, the more he polarized the community and crystallized the challenges of protecting monk seals. Fishermen hated him. Locals rallied to his cause, adopting him as the island mascot. For Ritte, KP2 was a glimmer of hope, a force of positive change. Given time and education, Ritte believed, the seal and community, fishermen included, could learn to coexist.

But NOAA officials saw an endangered animal possibly endangering others.

NOAA viewed KP2 as a wild animal, not a pet. They appealed to the community at local meetings and at schools, asking that people stop swimming with the seal. Without human interaction he’d likely leave. But the campaign didn’t work. Local residents kept swimming with him.

The turning point occurred in September. A 70-year-old woman had entered the water and was playing with KP2 when the seal came up from behind and pulled her underwater for about 5 seconds. Fearing something far worse could happen in the near future, NOAA informed the community that it would be removing KP2 by the end of October.

“It was a foregone conclusion that, for his welfare and safety and primarily to make sure that he was going to be a normal functioning part of the seal community, he was going to have to be moved,” says Littnan.

NOAA’s decision outraged the community. “That really got me mad,” Ritte says. “I was pissed. NOAA takes a position that KP2 is dangerous. And they kept saying it over and over. It got into the press. People began to believe that monk seals were dangerous.” This was exactly what the fishermen wanted to hear, Ritte says. “Now not only were they stealing their fish, now they are dangerous and dangerous to our kids! They’ll kill them.”

At a community meeting, residents debated NOAA’s decision.

Demmers brought up the question: “If this animal ends up hurting a child, who is ultimately responsible? In unison, three people responded, ‘The parents.’ Then someone in the group said, ‘You know that’s not true. You know they are going to kill that seal. They are going to blame him for hurting someone'” says Demmers.

Early on the morning of October 16, NOAA staff captured KP2 and placed him in a crate. He was loaded on a truck and flown by Coast Guard helicopter back to Honolulu.

KP2 was taken to Waikiki Aquarium on Oahu to undergo a thorough medical exam. His cataracts had returned, and his vision had deteriorated. The vet staff estimated the seal was now 80 percent blind. He was compromised, says Littnan. KP2 would not be going back into the wild.

Back on Molokai, KP2’s outraged supporters wrote Hawaii State Representative Mazie Hirono, charging that NOAA had stolen their seal and they wanted him back.

Ritte organized a group that flew over to Oahu and protested outside the aquarium. Every local media outlet covered the story. Protesters carried signs that stated: “NOAA Stole Our Seal,” and “Sharks Are Dangerous, Not Seals.” It was a media relations debacle for the federal agency. Ritte accused NOAA of “bullying, lies and covert actions,” of failing to give his community respect and not working with them to find a solution they could all live with.

For its part, NOAA maintains it never lied to the community and acted in the best interest of the seal.

David Schofield, NOAA’s Marine Mammal Response Coordinator, told a Honolulu television station KITV that since July, NOAA representatives had visited Molokai schools and clubs repeatedly asking people to stop swimming with KP2.

“We explained that if you stopped the interaction with the seal, he would eventually go away. … However, the interaction with the seal continued,” Schofield told KITV. And now that he was nearly blind, he wasn’t even going back into the wild. KP2 would have to live the rest of his life in captivity. But where? The Waikiki Aquarium had its hands full with two adult male monk seals. Sea Life Park, also on Oahu, had four, two males, two females and limited space.

Ritte had an idea. How about the fishponds on Molokai? Molokai has thirteenth century fishponds, or loko i’a, that are still in use today, testament to native Hawaiians’ exceptional skills at practicing sophisticated aquaculture. Ritte takes care of a 60 acre loko i’a – couldn’t KP2 live there?

NOAA rejected the idea, saying it would be far too expensive. Eventually, Sea Life Park agreed they could take KP2 – but first the facility needed to be expanded to accommodate him, a process that could take a year or more.

In the meantime, NOAA found a place for the seal at the Mammalian Physiology Lab at the University of California at Santa Cruz (UCSC).”It’s one of the best facilities that he could be sent to” says Littnan. “It allows us to maximize what we can learn from him before he goes to Sea Life Park.” He won’t be a lab rat, Littnan insists. “He will have the choice to participate or not in behavior type experiments. They are not invasive.” And what about his eyes? Cataract surgery is possible, he says. But he’ll be evaluated first.

“When I heard KP2 was coming to Oahu’s Waikiki Aquarium, I had a hat made,” says Barbara Billand. The brown baseball cap has the outline of a monk seal with “KP2” written inside it. She and her husband again volunteered to help watch over him. This time the couple got really close to KP2. He would come right up to them like a puppy. “Your heart would melt. If you extended your hand and touched his back, he’d flip over and he’d let you rub his belly,” she smiles. “He was just a sweetheart,” Billand says, her voice cracking. (VIDEO: Barbara Billand watches over monks seals Kermit and Irma on White Plains Beach, Oahu)

The Molokai community made sure KP2 got a proper Hawaiian send off before his transfer to California. They held a traditional blessing for the seal at the Waikiki Aquarium. The residents asked NOAA to join them.

Standing outside KP2’s tank, the Reverend David Kaupu sent the seal “mana”–the power of the ancestors, a power capable of lifting him to the rank of the gods among mortals.

A traditional lai was tied on KP2’s tank. Kahi, the young boy who swam with him at the wharf, leaned over the tank and talked to him. The seal responded by splashing water.

KP2 was given his Hawaiian name, Ho’ailona, which means the chosen one. For the people of Molokai, the name ties them to him.

The blessing helped end much of the squabbling between NOAA and the Molokai community. To save the species, they vowed to find a way to work together.

On November 24, 2009 Ho’ailona left Hawaii in a military plane for Santa Cruz. (Read Chapter 6)

Despite the conflicts, the main Hawaiian Islands are the seals’ best chance at a future, so NOAA has developed a multi-pronged strategy they hope will gain the support of the fishermen and local communities.

Protecting a species like the monk seal requires incentives. People want to know what is in it for them. This is where NOAA is at a big disadvantage; there is no financial gain in protecting monk seals.

Instead, they are banking on building a cultural tie between the seal and native Hawaiians.

In a Hawaiian chant known as the Kumulipo, which represents the religious belief system of the native Hawaiians, there is mention of Ilio-holo-ika-uaua, which translates to “dog that runs in rough waters.” Many think this is a reference to the monk seal. If the monk seal is important enough to be a part of their religion, then Hawaiians should afford it some protection. But there are many doubters. “It’s hard,” says Ritte. “The story has to be based on something more important than feeding your family.”

Changing negative attitudes and dispelling misconceptions is also needed. The story of KP2 showed that NOAA officials do not completely understand the attitudes and beliefs in the local communities. The agency has since contracted with a firm to conduct a survey directed at target audiences, like fishermen.

And officials are identifying local community leaders willing to act as go-betweens. “We can’t go to the fishermen directly,” says Jeff Walters, Hawaiian monk seal recovery director. “They don’t want to hear it from us haoles (‘whites’ in Hawaiian). They want to hear it from somebody they trust.” Somebody like Ritte.

“Walter was not happy with the fact that we had to take KP2 away and he wasn’t happy with the way we did it,” Walters concedes. “But thank goodness he’s the kind of man that is willing to agree to disagree. He cares about Hawaiian monk seals and wants to be deeply involved in their conservation.”

It’s a problem that the community must resolve itself, Ritte believes.

“NOAA is going to have to let us take the lead. We can’t have the government telling the story. It has to be community initiated. It can’t be – I’m the government, do what I’m telling you to do. No matter how good you are as a NOAA employee, you work for the United States government that has done bad things to our people,” he says. He told Walters: “I’m going to call you, talk to you, you are going to give me the information I need, but you can’t change us. We are going to have to change ourselves.”

And now that the penalty for killing a monk seal has been increased from a misdemeanor to a felony, courts need to back it up with tough sentences, sending the message that harming a seal has serious consequences.

“We need to explain to people that this is a native Hawaiian monk seal. ‘You are a Hawaiian. You are killing a Hawaiian monk seal? You better have a good reason for killing a monk seal!'” says Ritte.

Law enforcement will be vital because the federal government will soon designate critical habitat for seals in the main Hawaiian Islands.

The designation calls for protection of selected beaches and surrounding waters. Critical habitat in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands will also be increased.

Critical habitat gives the animals an extra layer of scrutiny when people are applying for federal permits. It doesn’t mean regular activity, like fishing, must stop. The government insists that critical habitat will have minimal impact on local Hawaiian people.

But it’s unclear whether designating critical habitat will help the seals. Critical habitat has yet to increase food supply for young monk seals in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands where fishing restrictions are being implemented, according to the monk seal recovery plan.

Opponents see it as another layer of bureaucracy, the government trying yet again to intervene in their lives. A petition submitted to the Federal Register in opposition to the designation contends that critical habitat will result in loss of access to the beaches and waters of Hawaii. It goes on to state, “There will be greater impacts on our health, recreational, spiritual and gathering rights and impede upon our livelihood by a seal’s potential contraction of diseases from livestock and feral animals.”

But changing hearts and minds, enforcing the law and designating critical habitat, still is not enough. NOAA recognizes more needs to be done to raise overall awareness and build public support. What the Hawaiian monk seal needs, local NGOs and national conservation groups say, is a marketing campaign like the bald eagle.

That’s happening, slowly. In 2007 the Hawaiian monk seal was designated the official state mammal. Twice a year volunteers across the state organize a monk seal count. They visit beaches, talk to people about their conservation work, sell t-shirts and recruit members. A new statewide non-government effort called the SOS or “Save Our Seal Campaign” is also trying to build support for the species. (PHOTOS: Meet the people featured in this story working to save the monk seal)

NOAA is working with filmmakers to produce a short public service announcement. The PSA will be offered to airlines, the tourism industry, and local radio and TV stations.

And they don’t have to look far to find a celebrity to head the campaign.

“I love the idea of KP2 being an ambassador for the species,” says Sea Life Park trainer Jeff Pawloski. “He’s a feel-good story. I can see it, ‘KP2 comes to Sea Life Park.’ Come and see him, bring your kids, learn the story of KP2. And while we talk about KP2’s story, let’s talk about the story that all Hawaiian monk seals are facing.”

But it won’t be easy. Sea Life Park needs to raise funds to bring in KP2. And they will have to acclimatize him to his new environment.”KP2 thinks he’s a person,” says Pawloski. “I see compatibility issues.”

When will he come? It will take time, Pawloski concedes. His best guess is two years.

Kieran Suckling, director at the Center for Biological Diversity, a nonprofit known for its legal action and scientific petitions for the protection of endangered species, says NOAA has it easy when it comes to marketing the monk seal.

“I’m working with biologists in the southeast who are desperate because their mussels are going extinct. Now these guys have a PR problem,” says Suckling. “NOAA is sitting on the Goddamn monk seal. It is inherently a rock star. If they can’t make it a rock star, it’s their problem. They don’t need Al Gore. They just need to get this thing’s picture out there and promote it. It’s inherently charismatic.” (PHOTOS: Get to know the seals featured in this story)

For now, KP2 spends his days in a special enclosure kept at tropical temperatures at Long Marine Lab at UC-Santa Cruz. He is doing very well, according to Terrie Williams, a professor of ecology and evolutionary biology, who is overseeing his care. He is waiting to see what the future will bring him.

Thousands of miles away his species waits as well.

— End —

Get a look at a Hawaiian monk seal pup born December 2009 on Kauai.

Learn more about Hawaiian monk seals by getting to know Sea Life Park’s captive seals: Spruce, Ekolu and Lambchop.

Spend some time with Oahu’s most devoted monk seal guardian, D.B. Dunlap and his monk seals — M&M and Right Spot.

NOAA Kauai volunteer coordinator Mimi Olry talks to beachgoers about the threats facing the Hawaiian monk seal.

NOAA volunteer Barbara Billand looks after Hawaiian monk seals Kermit and Irma at White Plains Beach, Oahu.

Watch a female Hawaiian monk seal named Ha’upu as she hauls out on a secluded Kauai beach.

Meet KP2, the Hawaiian monk seal whose story captured media attention and people’s hearts.

See some of the  people in this story who are working to save the Hawaiian monk seal.

Entanglement in marine debris is an ever present hazard for Hawaiian monk seals.