Key takeaways
- A hard boat wearing a buoyancy ring, which is why it is hard to sink.
- So it can go where a vessel with a deep keel simply cannot.
- Which is what lets a skipper hold position under a waterfall.
- For two hours, at water level, with nothing in the way.
What the letters mean
RIB stands for rigid inflatable boat, and the name is the design.
The hull is solid and shaped like a fast powerboat, deep at the bow so it cuts through waves instead of slamming over them. Running around the top edge is an inflatable collar, and that collar does three jobs at once: it supplies buoyancy exactly where the boat needs it most, it fenders every pontoon and rock the skipper comes near, and it holds the vessel up even if the inside fills with water.
The design came out of lifeboat and military work, where the requirement was a small boat that could take a beating, get into places larger craft could not, and be very difficult to sink. Everything a passenger enjoys about it is a side effect of those three requirements.
It is worth knowing this before you step aboard, because a boat with an inflatable ring around it looks less serious than it is. The opposite is true.
Speed, and what it feels like
Fast. Not racing-fast, but faster than anything else on this fjord, and fast enough that the wind is the dominant sensation.
The important thing is that speed here is not the product. It is the means: it lets a two-hour trip cover the full length of the narrow section and still spend time stopped. A slower boat covering the same water needs four hours, and that is essentially the difference between this and the scheduled cruise.
When the skipper opens the throttle you feel it in your back and your face at the same time. When the boat comes off the plane and settles for a stop, the silence afterwards is startling.
The trip alternates between those two states constantly. Nobody spends two hours at speed and nobody would want to.
The inflatable collar and the wake behind it
Shallow draft, and why that is the real advantage
Speed is what people expect. Draft is what actually changes the trip.
A large passenger vessel sits several metres into the water and needs depth under it everywhere it goes, which means the middle of the channel and nowhere else. A RIB draws a fraction of that, so the skipper can bring it in against a rock wall, into a shallow bay, up to the base of a waterfall or alongside a shelf where goats are standing.
Manoeuvrability compounds it. The boat turns inside its own length and can hold position facing whatever is worth facing, so instead of passing a feature at fifteen knots you stop in front of it.
That is the whole argument. Everything the small boat shows you, the big boat also passes; it simply passes it at three hundred metres and at an angle you did not choose.
There is a second-order effect worth naming. Because the boat can stop wherever it likes, the route is not fixed. A skipper who sees goats, an eagle or a fall running unusually hard can go to it, so no two trips are quite the same run.
How rough is it really
Less rough than people fear, and more physical than people expect.
This is a sheltered fjord, not open sea. There is no swell coming in from the ocean and the water is usually flat or lightly rippled, so seasickness is far less of an issue here than on a coastal trip.
What you do feel is the boat's own motion. At speed a RIB slaps across its own wake and any chop, and each impact arrives through the seat. You ride it with your legs slightly braced, which is why the seating is a padded bench you sit astride rather than a chair.
Two hours of that is fine for most people and genuinely tiring for some. It is the reason for the age and height minimum, and the reason the operator rules out anyone with back or mobility problems and pregnant passengers.
The seating position is the thing most people get wrong on their first RIB. You sit astride the bench rather than across it, with your feet down and knees slightly bent, and you let your legs take the impacts instead of your spine. The briefing covers it and it is the single most useful minute of the day.
Two hours
Long enough to cover the full narrow section of the fjord and still stop repeatedly, which is exactly what a slower boat cannot fit into the same time.
Safety, noise and numbers
Safety is high and it is not a marketing claim. The design is inherently buoyant, everyone is in a flotation suit and a life jacket, the skipper is a professional working the same water daily, and the fjord is sheltered and close to shore throughout.
The group is small, which changes the day in ways that are easy to overlook. A dozen or so passengers means the guide talks to you rather than into a public address system, questions get answered, and the skipper can stop for something interesting without consulting a timetable.
Noise is the one honest drawback. At speed the engine and the wind make conversation impossible, so the guide talks when the boat is stopped. Anyone imagining a continuous commentary through a beautiful landscape should adjust that picture: it is bursts of explanation between bursts of movement.
The suit, the goggles and the hat all exist for the same reason. At speed, cold air and spray hit you directly, and that is what you accept in exchange for having nothing between you and the fjord.
