What’s it like to take on Ecuador’s most challenging white water rafting rivers?

“The river’s high,” said Tim Dent, Irish owner of River People rafting. “Sometimes it’s class 3 to class 4. Today it’s all class 4.”

Some 38km of Ecuador’s Jondachi and Hollin lay ahead, two of the world’s best white water rafting rivers. Notorious for fluctuations in level, after the previous night’s storm these powerful, rain-fed tributaries of the Rio Napo were in full flow. It was going to be a memorable ride.

“From the start it’s rapids,” said Tim. “If you’re thinking some quiet pools, time to get used to things… No. It’s paddle, paddle, paddle.”

With that in mind, my travelling companion Adrian and I signed the kind of risk waiver mothers hate and watched Tim trace the route on a map pinned to the wall. “We’re looking at large volumes of water so we’re taking the big raft. Gabrael is in charge, you’ll have two extra paddlers. Albaro and Alex will be in the rescue kayaks.”

Tim, it transpired, was not coming along. “Nah… My ears. I’ve had an operation on one. You have to pay for your fun.”

Women from an indigenous village helped carry gear down an overgrown path to the water’s edge. Using paddles for support we did the same, sliding awkwardly through ankle-deep mud. We were still picking our way down when the chatting women passed us on their way back.

Adrian and I looked at the water, then at each other. The river was brown and angry.

“Who’s done this before?” asked Gabrael. I discounted a summertime hour on a river in Austria and kept quiet. “It’s okay. It’s my first time too,” he joked. We ran through basic commands, worked out left from right, front from back, what to do if we fell in… And then we were off.

One foot jammed under a crossbeam for support, our paddles were poised. “Three forward!” yelled Gabrael. “Right forward, left back! Forward! Now paddle!”

Tim wasn’t wrong. There was no time to admire the scenery as we immediately crashed into a deafening torrent of white water. Glassy swells barely containing hundreds of tons of surging energy exploded, pitching us up and down.

My paddle swept uselessly through thin air. There was an involuntary collective gasp as we disappeared in the spray, and then spat from the tumult, soaked, shocked, rendered dumb by an overdose of adrenaline.

“How was that?” asked Gabrael.

“Just happy to be alive,” I spluttered.

“This next rapid, the current wants to take us right. In the middle it’s okay, but whatever happens we must to stay away from the right,” cautioned Gabrael. “It’s a big washing machine there and we’ll have problems. Okay? Paddle like you mean it. Three forward! And again.”

What happened next remains unclear. Possibly we collided with a rock. Possibly not. I do remember being in the river, under the raft, fighting to get out. Spitting water and regaining the surface it was all I could do to point my legs downstream and ward off rocks. I was swept along like an errant sock in a mixed wash. At best I hoped to avoid the washing machine’s spin cycle.

Mastering the current, an unsmiling Albaro positioned his kayak to intercept my chaotic descent. Grabbing the kayak’s bow handle, together we edged towards quieter water. “Swim to the bank,” he shouted.

I presumed the raft was now further downstream. I was wrong. Gabrael soon appeared standing at the helm steering towards the bank. I stuck out my thumb, threw myself in and gripped my paddle.

We were soon midstream, and the day was far from over.

“Three forward! Paddle!” instructed Gabrael. I counted the strokes loudly in Spanish, then Italian, then German, determined from now on to remain aboard. Rapid after rapid followed in a waterborne rollercoaster ride, from La Escalera (the Stairs) and El Durrumbe (the Landslide) to the Bone Cracker – which seemed only to concern English speakers.

Lunch was comically civilised after the morning’s insanity. At the confluence of the turbid Jondachi and clear Hollin we beached on a stony bank. Albaro and Alex erected a table, furnished it with a pretty cloth and arrayed tortillas, beans, guacamole and salad, along with revivifying guayusa tea.

“We’re half way. From here the river has higher volume rapids, but between them are pools and we have time to look at the view,” said Gabrael.

The day ended with La Wafelera (The Waffle Maker), a cataract known for its propensity to neatly fold rafts in two. “This one, when I say paddle, paddle hard, use your whole body, keep paddling and don’t stop,” said Gabrael. “If I say ‘inside’ then get down and hang on…”

This was good advice. Becoming airborne in a seven-man raft is difficult but we managed it. Ruffled but not waffled we emerged into calmer waters, and paddled towards a shady bank. A gravel road led through the trees where Tim waited with a trailer.

“Cold beer?” he asked. Yes please.

Travel essentials

Getting there

Nick flew with Avianca, which operates regular Heathrow to Quito connections via Bogota from £576 return.

Staying there

Nick Redmayne was a guest of Travel Local, an ABTA bonded online network of local travel companies based in 45 destinations around the world.

A nine-day Ecuador Andes and Amazon itinerary including rafting the Jondachi and Hollin river, Papallacta hot springs and Mandari Panga jungle lodge costs from £1,543pp.