I worked as the assistant forest manager at Mountain Home State Forest from 1979-1986. The old joke asks, “Where do forest rangers go to ‘get away from it all?'” As if working in the forest was not, well, work. I remember days when I’d been stung by wasps, hiked cross-country through thorny buckbrush in the beating sun, emptied overflowing trash cans, cleaned filthy outhouse toilets, listened to campers complaining about the yahoos nearby playing their music too loud, etc. Then, someone with a cold beer in his hand would come up to me as I tried to keep the 1 mil plastic garbage bag–filled with fermenting fish guts that leaked through onto my pants–from breaking and say “damn, I wish I had your job.”
Tomorrow, I’ll write about the meaning of Section 37 and the coolest job I ever had.
Nullius in Verba 
Wow! Cool job, all that and you get to carry a side-arm too!
C.L.
Yup, garbage collector with a gun.
Are you standing in a small rock pool, Norm?
They used to be called “Indian Bathtubs.” These depressions in the granite are now termed “rock basins” according to my archaeologist friend, Linda Pollack. She wrote a paper about them. You can read it and see another picture of an older me standing in one here.
So they are man-made? How very interesting (sorry to sound lke Miss Marple).