What it’s like to raft the Urubamba in Peru’s Sacred Valley

Cutting through Peru’s Sacred Valley like a lifeline, the Urubamba River is fed by ancient glaciers and flanked by Inca ruins, terraced farmland and eucalyptus-covered hillsides. It’s along this historic waterway that I find myself donning a wetsuit and helmet on a pebbled riverbank near Pachar, ready to experience the Sacred Valley from an entirely new perspective — by raft.

After a safety briefing from our charismatic guide, Ricardo Mendoza, my group and I heave the RIB to the river’s edge and push off. I’m immediately startled by its speed: just a few paddle strokes see us surging downriver, as weightless as a leaf on the breeze. Alongside us, a train snakes past, carrying passengers from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes, the gateway to Machu Picchu, while on the cliffs above, luxury hotels cling to the mountainside. It’s a scene that feels both ancient and alive — a rare, kinetic glimpse into a land that is most often explored on foot.

As we ease into the rhythm of paddling, Ricardo explains that we’ll be tackling Class I to III rapids, and it’s not long before the water begins to churn. Our speed increases, and Ricardo has us standing up, facing outwards, bracing our shins against the inflated sides of the craft and hooking our feet beneath its inner edges. Though the RIB is barely bouncing, I feel a shot of exhilaration as it gathers momentum through the tumult.

Ricardo seems pleased we took to the water with such aplomb so, for our next trick, he aims us directly at a large, slippery-looking boulder. Once again, I feel the raft powering up as the river below begins to blur. Our suddenly flimsy-feeling RIB glides over the rock, hovering as if in slow-motion, before tilting and splashing down into the current. For a second, I think I might inadvertently abandon ship, but the raft rights itself as Ricardo yells commands — “Forward! Down!” — over the sounds of rushing water. My paddle flails at empty air as the rapids buffet us about like a twig, but we emerge drenched and laughing.

We celebrate our survival by coining a team name: Mayu Pumas — meaning river pumas — inspired by the creatures the Incas consider guardians of the land. We then raise our paddles in a pyramid and shout it to the skies. Our exclamations startle a group of black-faced ibis, distracting them from their investigations of mudbanks, and a pair of stray dogs appear out of nowhere, shadowing our trail along the riverbank.

As we round a bend, the sky opens up above us, streaked with thin wisps of cloud and framed by the crooked outlines of eucalyptus trees. Below, ancient Inca trails are etched into the hillsides, worn smooth by centuries of footfall. Ricardo points out the ruins of an old Inca village, Quellorakay, which peek through the terraced banks, and for a minute I get the surreal sense of floating through time.

Suddenly, the rhythm shifts as the raft surges forward. “Class II rapid coming up,” Ricardo announces. “When we start spinning, I want you to jump down inside the raft!” We paddle furiously, then withdraw our oars just as the RIB tips down into the foam. As it begins to turn, Ricardo’s voice cuts through the roar — “Get down!” — before we all chaotically slide onto the wet rubber floor. It’s a rush like no other: thrilling, freeing and completely addictive.

It’s not long before the final challenge is upon us, but with Class III rapids come first-class views. As we approach La Curva del Diablo, a lively stretch of water on the outskirts of Ollantaytambo, my attention is stolen by La Veronica’s glittering glacier, which appears suddenly between the valley walls. Towering at more than 5,791m (19,000ft), this majestic ice-capped peak is one of the highest in the region and a vital water source for the valley below. There’s something powerful and otherworldly about being in its presence, as though it holds the memory of every step ever taken throughout this valley. I wrench my gaze back to the river but, by this point, we’re practically experts, steering through the tumult with gusto.

By the time we reach the riverbank on the outskirts of Ollantaytambo, the adrenaline has faded, but a new perspective lingers — of a valley sustained and shaped by its waters, and perhaps best explored by following its natural rhythm.