Daniel Boone Dunlap, better known as DB Dunlap, talks about his grandchildren with enthusiasm.

He knows details about where they’ve been, how long they’ve slept and how much they’ve been growing. He’s tracked them from the time they were born. There’s Pua, Meli and Kainoa.

But these "grandchildren," mind you, have flippers and fur, and the ability to outswim any human in the ocean. They’re critically endangered Hawaiian monk seals who bask on the shores of Oahu.

Dunlap, 71, of Hawaii Kai has been watching over Hawaiian monk seals for 13 years.

From sunup to sundown, seven days a week, the retired federal fire captain and surf videographer is out on Oahu’s shorelines, keeping track of his seals. He’s tracked several generations.

Before the break of dawn, he checks YouTube videos, dive websites and social media to see where the seals may be — a routine he jokingly calls intelligence gathering as part of the "monk seal CIA."

When one hauls out to shore, he cordons off the area so the seal can sleep in peace, and lets people know they shouldn’t be getting too close.

With the advent of phone cameras and GoPros on a stick, he says that’s become a greater challenge than a decade ago.

"It’s about taking care of this animal, right now on the beach," he said, "because you’ve got a whole bunch of idiots that don’t have a clue and are going to stick that camera phone right up the animal’s nose to get that all-important shot."

Most people don’t have ill intentions, he said, but are just unaware of the need to give the seals space.

On a recent weekday morning, Dunlap sat with a spotting scope and camera at the observation deck at Makai Research Pier in Waimanalo, which offers a view of Rabbit Island.

He was watching furtively because two men had illegally snorkeled to the island, a bird sanctuary off Kaupo Beach prohibited to visitors. At the same time, a female monk seal, Nani, and pup Kainoa were snoozing on the shoreline.

Luckily, they did not try to interact with or get up close to the seals, but were nevertheless violating the law. He called state conservation officers to let them know.

The current population of Hawaiian monk seals hovers at about 1,100. As a federally listed endangered species, the seals are protected by the Endangered Species Act as well as the Marine Mammal Protection Act. The state of Hawaii considers the intentional harm or killing of a seal a third-degree felony.

Dunlap records new scars and behavior, and submits observations to a blog as well as the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s monk seal research center.

"Rabbit Island is a high-use area for monk seals and without his regular monitoring of the island, we would miss out on a lot of information," said NOAA researcher Tracy Wurth. "He has spotted and reported everything from hooked seals to injuries, births, deaths, molting and the harassment of seals by people landing on the island."

Dunlap and about 200 volunteers from the Monk Seal Foundation are often the first to spot, as well as respond to, a seal in trouble because they live nearby or are already out in the field. Dunlap was at it well before a volunteer network was formed about six years ago.

Wurth says NOAA has been able to remove fishing hooks and a spear prong and save newborn pups at risk of drowning, "all because DB is always watching."

It all started for him early on Good Friday morning in 2001. 

Dunlap was getting ready to shoot a surf session when a female monk seal, which he named Luseal, hauled up at his feet at Sandy Beach.

"It became apparent that all the crazies at Sandy Beach had no respect for this animal at all," he said.

He went to City Mill, bought some rope and cordoned off an area to protect her. Before he knew it, he was doing the same for another seal. Eventually, he offered to respond to monk seal calls on NOAA’s hotline.

While he used to cover the entire island, from Sandy Beach to the North Shore, other volunteers have now stepped in. On weekends, his wife,Marilyn, a marine biologist, takes the post at Kaena Point. He stays primarily on Oahu’s east side.

While Dunlap calls the seals his grandchildren, he doesn’t confuse them with humans. They are wild mammals, after all, he said, and they have no idea who he is.

But you could say he’s personally attached.

"It’s more of a job than any other job I’ve ever had," he said. "It’s all for love."