In a daze we were hauled into a truck and driven downhill, collecting the rest of the parties. In less than 15 minutes we were passing pine forest, avocado plantations, terraces of dark, shining Kona coffee. "Look at the white surf on the black shore," said Kluetmeier, but as we did, the white turned into Hiltons and Holiday Inns. Suddenly we were in the sultry town of Kailua, among tourists, crowds of clean, perfumed people. It was a jarring reentry, one that permitted a moment's view of civilization through the eyes of a naturalist.
My mood was disapproving, much as might have been the hawks', a territorial response that set me against these pale, pushy, paradise-seeking exotics who shoulder everything else aside. I had been one a week earlier. Now, it was not that I wanted to go right back to the forest, but that these multitudes had been away from it far, far too long.