A shared interest in hiking brought Kathy and me together. Her dating profile photos from Mt. Kilimanjaro convinced me she was a serious hiking devotee. I guessed right. Over the past five years, our hiking trips have taken us from Big Bend National Park to El Camino Santiago.

Our most recent adventure was a month-long journey through New Zealand and Tasmania — an ambitious undertaking, even for us — but one memory stands above the rest.

The heart of the journey — and the part that stayed with me most — was a two-week hiking tour of New Zealand's South Island. The tour included four other guests in our age cohort and an extraordinary guide who whisked us across the South Island while ensuring that we were well fed and well informed. We learned, for example, that the proper New Zealander term for hiking along trails is "tramping on tracks."

My favorite hike was on the Inland Pack Track in Paparoa National Park. Our route was not especially challenging: three hours covering seven miles with less than 1,000 feet of elevation gain. The plan called for us to begin hiking immediately after breakfast and wind up in Punakaiki in time for lunch.

The first drops of rain appeared shortly after we disembarked from our van and gathered for our morning briefing. We pulled on our foul-weather gear and began our hike hoping that the light drizzle would quickly end.

But as we wound our way through the lush rainforest, the drizzle quickly became a downpour that accompanied us through much of the hike. The muddy portions of the track were unavoidable. We soon realized that the morning would end with mud-encrusted shoes, as well as damp clothes.

In his pre-hike briefing, our guide cautioned us to remember to look up as we trekked along the river. He wanted to make sure that we did not miss the impressively shaped, towering limestone pillars that rise from and frame the lower Pororari River canyon.

Another memorable aspect of the trek was the birdsong that enveloped us throughout the walk. New Zealand's birds evolved in a predator-free world, although significant portions of the native bird population have been decimated as a result of humans and their introduction of mammals. Nevertheless, melodic birdsong, from species like the Tui, Riroriro, and Korimako, pervades Paparoa NP and its karst landscape creates natural echoes and resonance.

The steady, relentless precipitation saturated us, chilled our bones, and tested our resolve, seeping through our clothes and into our boots.

But the rain also brought out the scents of the forest, as well as birdsong, and instead of diminishing the experience, it seemed to deepen it. Our hike gave me time to reflect on how privileged we were — not just to endure the rain, but to be there together, able to take it all in.

During our trip, our guide shared the reflections of British fellwalker A. Wainwright, which express for me what it means to fully immerse one's self in another place: "The joys of a walk over country such as this; the scenes that delight the eyes, the blessed peace of mind, the sheer exuberance which fills your soul as you tread the firm turf. This is something to be lived, not read about."

I am deeply thankful that Kathy and I had the chance to live this one.