ETERNAL TRIANGLE
“How’d it come to be named Triangle Island?” I asked.
“It’s shaped triangularly,” said Hunter.
“No it’s not,” said Easton. “Jeez.”
“Look at it—those peaks are like pyramids. Jagged, pointy…”
“But are they three-sided?” Easton asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Seems to me that’s the question,” entered Rex.
“Maybe by fishermen who use it for navigation, to triangulate.”
“Nice try, Bob,” Rex smiled. “We’ll ask John.”
We never did. It seemed foolish. Especially in light of events soon to be played out.
Easton wanted footage of the island’s eagles flying around the green peaks, only a hundred or so feet up. Easton needed a partner for the excursion, so Hunter signed on, who then asked me.
“Beautiful day,” Hunter remarked. We stepped into the Zodiac. “Perfect day for a boat ride.”
Famous last words, I thought, always counterbalancing.
Carlie, revving the outboard. Hunter looked at her. “In this lee, with you driving, and Brother Fred and Brother Will here…”
Indeed, in the lee it was almost perfect—sunny, warm, calm. A hundred yards away, the green grass of the small humpback peaks rippled in the breeze, like an eternally shivering buffalo or hairy green dragon. The beaches sparkled white-gold, strewn with driftwood timber from forests far away, the sand sculpted round it by eons of time. ...
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