Anyone who can't hover is...

To the Isle of Wight again, for the first of several visits for some hypnotherapy, and my maiden voyage on the hovercraft from Southsea to Ryde. First time I'd actually seen it for decades and it was really quite a neat piece of kit -- I had in mind a giant with big black skirts (ooh missus).

The vessel was designed, presumably, before access was a requirement and they've devised a suitable series of lifts and ramps to make getting on board a practical, if inelegant process. You must submit to being accompanied and waiting while the salt-stained kit is assembled -- I must time these evolutions next week and see what they add to each crossing.

One quirk of design requires that you embark from the far (starboard) side in Pompey but the port side in Ryde. Much prefer the IoW set up, where the smooth wheelchair lift forms part of the regular boarding steps. On the Southsea side a separate contraption lurches and chugs upwards, an inch at a time, one's nose pressed up against the rust-streaked pusser's grey, and is really not acceptable.

Once aboard, the default position is behind a partition separating the passenger cabin from the crew space. "Put your brakes on", advised a crewman and I was left to my own devices with nothing to hang on to. Would have felt less exposed transferring to one of the rear-most cabin seats but they were all taken -- a lad gave his up for me on the return journey.

If Hovertravel cannot justify improving the access hardware, it must invest in training its staff. Perfectly pleasant and helpful people who have no clue about looking after disabled passengers.

Still and all, I finally saw why hovercraft drivers are known as "pilots" rather than masters, skippers or whatever. You power up the skirts and then peel off to slide down the ramp, a bit like a wing-over, before heading out to sea in a cloud of spray. Just like a Sea King in a low hover-taxy (this should be in the other blog). You've still got it Jock.