The other night a mate took me out for a burn up in his Zodiac. Not sure I’ve ever been out in a boat like this before. It looks like a regular RIB (Rigid inflatable Boat) but is actually a genuine inflatable packboat, just like an IK or a packraft, except it rolls up to the size of two washing machines, weighs about 150 kilos and goes on ebay in black for £20k new, plus outboard and all the rest.

This we are told is the Futura Commando (FC), part of Zodiac’s MilPro range. As you can see in the promo vid below, it can be chucked out of a helicopter (left), then inflated on the water by frogmen using the built-in compressed air tank that could become the next must-have accessory for rec inflatables.
Stick with the vid and you’ll even see that with scuba gear it can be deflated on the water and sunk to the seabed to avoid detection, then quickly reinflated. It bobs up, you unzip the motor from its dry bag, crank it up and scarper before anyone knows you were there. Stealth personified.

The Futura Commando features an interesting ‘trimaran’ hull profile: additional mini-tubes under the sides work a bit like strakes to help it plane like a RIB. It has four chambers all linked via valves (though maybe all RIBs are like this). To top up to 5psi (0.35bar; same as a Grabner), open the valves to link all four chambers, release air from the tank to get the right balanced pressure, then isolate each chamber again before heading out. If one goes, you have a couple left. It is of course made from bombproof hypalon-like Duratane, just like Gumotex and Grabner IKs.

Today was not ideal to be out on the water. Days of late summer easterlies had pushed up a big swell which was slapping into the Devon coast. The guys at the boatyard warned it was gnarly out there, but by the evening winds were dropping off. That was the case, but once out past the 15th-century forts guarding Dartmouth estuary, the ‘afterswell’ had yet to settle and the FC launched off- then surfed down waves which at times looked a lot taller than than me. Perched on the side with nothing solid to hold onto felt precarious. Once sharp left turn and I’d be out so clinging on for dear life trounced taking photos.

Once opposite the beach, if conditions looked OK the plan was to swim ashore with the overnight gear. If it looked too rude, or I lost my nerve, we could nip back before dark and camp by the jetty. Unlike paddle boats in extremis, dinghies like this can’t be safely beached in such conditions allowing you to hop out with only wet feet; the breakers would pitch the stern sideways and might flip the boat on the next wave, as doubtless verified on youtube So swimming ashore commando-style, it was to be.

Big waves at sea are one thing, but swimming ashore into crashing surf before getting sucked back by the undertow and dumped on again was another. Loads of people have drowned in the UK this summer in more benign conditions. The whole thing seemed a bit sketchy to me.

We anchored about 100m from the shore and, clad in a full wetsuit and fins, my mate dropped in with a spooled line to fix on the beach and make transporting gear from boat to shore easier, as well as being a backup anchor. Occasionally he disappeared behind the swell but made good progress towards the surf zone, then seemed to dither. At one point I thought he was coming back and was thrilled! But he’d just removed his fins too early and took a while to scramble ashore.

With the line buried in the shingle and one bag floated ashore, it was my turn. Apart from getting pummelled by rollers, another thing that worried me was I’d never actually swam in my Anfibio semi-dry suit, nor tested my well-named Kokatat Leviathan pdf which is so bulky I hardly ever wear it. Today was the right day for it.

Luckily the water was warm – record warm in fact thanks to El Niño – and the Leviathan easily kept my head above the water like a proper life jacket. I even got to try my unused neoprene gloves to help pull myself along the line. Approaching the surf zone it didn’t look too bad, soon my feet were on the seabed and I managed to walk then crawl ashore without getting bashed. I’m pretty sure I timed it during a lull. The dry suit had leaked a bit around the relief zip, which was also how I felt: a little damp and relieved.

My mate had one more bag to bring in but third time was not so lucky, getting dumped on and pushed around, he crawled ashore on his hands and knees.
In the drybags was a warm cooked stew plus a full Helinox seaside picnic kit. With a chance of rain I’d brought a self standing fly sheet; my mate was under the stars on his Heliniox camp bed, ready to dash into a big cave if the rain came. The moon creeped out behind the clouds, the tide ebbed away and eventually we got into our bags.

Next morning all was calm. Matey went out for a dive. A local legend asserts that Drake had dumped a load of Spanish doubloons somewhere very near here in 1580 to avoid sharing them with Raleigh. They’ve yet to be discovered. Me, I listened to a podcast with for once nothing to distract me bat the lapping waves.

When the time came to leave, getting back to the boat along the haul line was much easier. We really should have deflated the FC and sunk it to the seabed for the full Commando experience, but it had been a bit rough for that last night and the stew was getting cold.

Later on bobbing around while taking some water level photos, I noticed how hard it was to actually move in the water wearing all this buoyant clobber with no fins and no line to haul on. That done, we jetted on to the harbour mouth then cruised up the pretty estuary town back to the yard. The quiet, 40-hp two-stroke outboard had used a jerry of fuel getting there and back.

I’ve never been to Dartmouth and only know of the famous naval college. It’s quite a striking looking place, though probably not great for bicycle deliveries. Crusader ships set off from here and during one of the 14th-century French wars, a chain used to get hauled across the narrow harbour mouth to keep raiders out, just like at Istanbul’s Golden Hoard (and indeed Loch Ewe during WWII). Perhaps the Crusaders brought the idea back to Dartmouth.

Back at the jetty the boat was hauled onto the trailer and the rinsing and cleaning began – just like my TXL packraft, only loads more and heavier – before parking the Zodiac up for next time.