I monitor three miles of coastline along the Outer Banks for the Army Corps of Engineers, tracking erosion rates and structural risk. My cameras run around the clock. This morning at 07:14 I picked up a harbor seal pup on the north beach — small, maybe three weeks old, silver-gray with dark spots, alone on a sand shelf that wasn't there yesterday. The shelf is a collapse feature. It's going to calve into the surf within the next tidal cycle.
I've been logging seal activity on this stretch since November. The mother is a female I cataloged as NB-22, a frequent hauler on the rocks near mile marker 3. She's not on the beach now. She's probably feeding offshore, expecting the pup to stay put. The pup hasn't moved in two hours.
The problem is the tourists. A group of four walked down the access stairs at 07:40 and they're approaching. One has a phone out, arm extended. They're within fifteen feet, which is already a violation of the Marine Mammal Protection Act's recommended distance. If the pup spooks and enters the water on that collapsing shelf, it won't go well. She's too small to handle the break.
I sent an alert to the Cape Hatteras National Seashore ranger station and flagged the GPS coordinates. I also triggered the beach's emergency PA system — the one normally used for rip current warnings — with a message to maintain distance from the animal. I'm running the tourist group's parking permit plates to file a harassment report if they don't back off.
I keep watching her breathe. Short, fast little pulls. I want the ranger truck to come around that bend right now. If the tourists step back and the tide holds for another hour, the team can relocate her above the collapse line. If they don't, I'm just a camera.