{"id":7874,"date":"2018-02-06T05:39:20","date_gmt":"2018-02-06T12:39:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mywalkabout.net\/?p=7874"},"modified":"2018-02-06T05:39:20","modified_gmt":"2018-02-06T12:39:20","slug":"ouray","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mywalkabout.net\/?p=7874","title":{"rendered":"Ouray"},"content":{"rendered":"

I slowly make my way along the high ridge trail, the tiny town of Ouray<\/a> disappearing as I go.<\/p>\n

I come to a memorial of ice climbers that have perished over the years doing what they love. Colorful Tibetan flags of remembrance float softly in the wind. I kneel and pray for a moment.
\n\"\"\u00a0The canyon drops steeply off on one side down into the river below. I pretend I’m a mountain goat with the surest of footing as I continue.<\/p>\n

A bird playfully hops in front of me, as if he wants to play a game.<\/p>\n

An abandoned cabin rests like a dying soldier on the battlefield, weary and broken down.<\/p>\n

I take in all of these random thoughts as I make my way through the wild of the San Juan mountains, and the almost forgotten towns that lie in wait.
\n