Ronnie turned—to your left, he told himself, so you don’t see it—and looked back along the sweep of gravel at the hill that was almost lost among the green bulk of mountains.

Ronnie turned-to your left, he told himself, so you don't see it-and looked back along the sweep of gravel at the hill that was almost lost among the green bulk of mountains.

That sweep down to the bow, the fan in profile, with the masts that create this beautiful arc along the top.