Second thoughts on Ravelco?

About ten years ago I was in the market for a reliable, foolproof anti-theft system for the Porsche 911SC Roseann and I owned at the time. I didn’t want the usual complex electronic type, with the siren everyone ignores. After quite a lot of research I landed on a device called the Ravelco.

The Ravelco, visually, comprises a plug installed in the dash or elsewhere, incorporating a cluster of 16 female pin receptacles. A male plug, which rides on one’s keychain, fits into it, completing a cryptic connection through an armored cable leading to the engine compartment. The system can be wired to interrupt the starter, fuel, or ignition, usually a combination. A would-be thief who tries to bypass the system by randomly jumping the pins with a wire faces odds of thousands to one just to successfully regain one function, much less two or three. Since there are no moving parts it was advertised as supremely reliable, and the company claimed no vehicle had ever been stolen by bypassing the system. So, on a visit to friends in L.A. we had one installed in the Porsche (with the plug positioned under the carpet on the transmission tunnel behind the seats, adjacent to the engine compartment). It gave us great peace of mind while we owned the car. There was nothing to prevent a thief breaking into the car and stealing the stereo, but wherever we parked the car, we knew it would be there when we came back unless said thief had a tow truck.

It was natural to also have a Ravelco also installed in the FJ40, as its value was skyrocketing. So in 2018 an installer came down from Phoenix and put one in, which interrupted the starter and ignition. I wasn’t happy with the metal drill shavings the installer left on the floor, but the unit worked perfectly. I was so impressed with the concept and its simplicity that I included an endorsement of the Ravelco in the Vehicle-dependent Expedition Guide I co-authored with Tom Sheppard. A security device that used no moving parts seemed ideal for a vehicle that might travel to remote parts of the world.

By this time the Porsche was gone and we owned a lovely 1976 Triumph TR6, so I contacted the new Ravelco representative for Arizona—the same who’d done the fine job on the Porsche—and enquired about a unit for the new car, which he said they could do.

However, an issue arose that made me decide to call off that appointment. I began to have an intermittent issue with the starter on the FJ40. I’d turn the key but get nothing. Turn it again, and it would work. Sometimes the starter would operate correctly for weeks, then suffer a spate of failures. I immediately, precipitously presumed the original, 45-year-old factory starter had finally met its end, and ordered a new one—which functioned perfectly. For about a week. Then the same issue arose.

Belatedly it occurred to me to wonder if it was possible the Ravelco was failing to make the connection to the solenoid. I first cleaned all the contacts in the dash plug. No difference. Then I disconnected the unit’s wiring at the starter and restored the original factory connection.

Problem solved.

To say this was troubling would be putting it lightly. This was a device I’d recommended to several thousand people in print. However, at the time there were many other things on my mind, and the ignition interrupt was still functioning, so I didn’t pursue the issue—until this May, when Roseann and I drove our 70-series Troop Carrier and the 40 to Flagstaff for the Overland Expo. Driving up Highway 188 alongside Roosevelt Lake at 65 mph the engine abruptly died completely for about a second, then cut in again, to run fine the rest of the way to Flag.

This was more than troubling; this was shocking. I was driving a vehicle that in my entire ownership had never once failed to start and get me where I needed to go, except when a battery died. Next day, driving in town, it happened again. And again. I checked every connection I could, and found nothing obviously amiss. The float level in the carburetor was fine; it clearly wasn’t a fuel issue. We made it through the weekend and headed home. Driving south on 77 the ignition cut out again, this time for several seconds before I had power. And again.

Rather unbelievably, I again did not immediately suspect the Ravelco, but tried several other fixes. It was difficult to diagnose because the issue was so frustratingly intermittent. Finally, pulling out of a gas station on Ajo one morning, the engine quit and wouldn’t start despite repeated attempts. It turned over healthily but would not fire. Miraculously there was no one behind me, so I put the vehicle in reverse, turned the key with the clutch engaged, and let the battery back me around and out of the way. This time I knew what to do. I got out the electrical kit, disconnected the Ravelco at the coil, and re-connected the factory wiring.

You guessed it: problem solved.

I now faced another problem. I had an expensive anti-theft device—along with a hole in my FJ40’s dash—that did nothing. Zero theft protection for a vehicle that was insured for over ten times what it cost new—not to mention the value of 40 years of memories. How could a product with no moving parts fail—twice?

I decided to email the new Arizona Ravelco representative. I did not ask directly for help, since it was clear this wasn’t a warranty issue—the unit was five years old—and had been installed by a different representative. I simply explained the situation completely and asked for his thoughts, hoping that as the current public face of the company he might volunteer to take care of it as a courtesy. The response contained no such offer, and mostly disavowed any responsibility for another installer’s work. Perfectly justified, but disappointing.

I emailed back and told him that in light of the situation I couldn’t very well justify recommending the Ravelco any longer. At which point, suffice to say, the conversation went downhill quickly.

Ravelco featured in the Vehicle-dependent Expedition Guide

Let me be clear: my experience is essentially an N=1 experiment, 1 being the sample size. Statistically a conclusion from such an experiment is worthless, pure anecdote. There are undoubtedly thousands of Ravelco owners who have had no issues with their units—in fact several people who installed them after reading my endorsements have written to tell me how pleased they were. Nevertheless, the fact remains that I’ve owned two Ravelcos, and one of them failed, not just in one circuit but both. Was the double circuit failure in mine due to poor workmanship on the part of the installer, the same one who was careless enough to leave metal shavings on the floor after he finished? Or was it a degenerative failure in the plug itself? I’ll never know—I cut off the Ravelco’s cable at the firewall and engineered my own double-backup security device. I certainly wasn’t going to spend money on a new Ravelco unit. I’ve not yet decided what to do with the one-inch hole in the middle of the FJ40’s dash; for the moment the Ravelco plug is still there—and possibly acting as at least a visual deterrent.

My conclusion is this: if you own a Ravelco or have one installed in the future, I strongly urge you to have the installer instruct you on where and how to bypass it. Do not take no for an answer. Write down where the device interrupts the functions of the vehicle, and carry sufficient tools and materials in the vehicle to return the wiring to its stock configuration.

Announcing Exploration Quarterly

Can we see a preview?

Yes! We’ve posted a few pages below, and more on the website here. The standard subscription includes two beautiful printed issues per year, and two online issues featuring long-form articles and reviews, plus video content. All-digital subscriptions available as well.

Come explore with us.

I can confidently say you've never seen a magazine quite like this before. Exploration Quarterly will bring to life the passion for all types of exploration and the huge range of interests shared by Roseann and me and several close friends such as Graham Jackson—passions I know are also shared by many reading this because we’ve heard from you over the years. Our explorations might be conducted from the cab of a Land Rover, or they might be purely cerebral as we investigate a 200-year-old chart or a vacuum-tube shortwave radio or a method for making ink from oak galls. We’ll have in-depth equipment reviews not dictated by ad revenue, and long-form white papers investigating dozens of topics from optics to knives to vehicle preparation. Please join us!

When does the first issue drop?

The first print issue (also available digitally) will print and mail in July. We are taking Subscriptions now.

We’re excited to launch this beautiful new magazine, and thank you again for your support. Enjoy the preview and we hope you will join us.

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The best winch pulley: the Thompson Pulley Block

Winch owners who actually put their winches to use—or who at least learn how to do so—are familiar with some form of the winch pulley or pulley block (also called a snatch block even though it has nothing to do with snatching as we know it). In its most well-known application, a winch line run out through a pulley attached to a stationary anchor, then back to the vehicle, essentially doubles the power of the winch, while reducing line speed by half. If you attach another pulley to the vehicle’s bumper and run the line through that and back to the anchor where the first pulley is attached, you again multiply the power of the winch while again reducing the line speed. It’s a matter of simple physics, but seems like magic. I often use a pulley when winching even when the extra power is not needed, for the sole purpose of slowing down what can be a fraught procedure.

A pulley can also be used to re-direct a pull, for example if you need to winch another vehicle but cannot place your own directly in line with it. A pulley attached to an anchor will allow you to winch around a corner, as it were. In this case the power of the winch and line speed are not affected. The easiest way to determine if the system is multiplying power is to count the number of line sections that are shortening when the winch is working. If you run a line from your winch through a pulley to a stuck vehicle, only the section between the pulley and the stuck vehicle will shorten, thus the system is operating at a 1:1 ratio. When the line is run from the winch through a pulley and back to the vehicle, both lines will shorten as the winch pulls the vehicle, thus the ratio is 1:2 (minus inevitable minor friction in the system).

Brief aside: There is a myth floating around that the diameter of the pulley, and its actual rotation, has an effect on the multiplication of force. This is easy to disprove. Imagine you insert a pulley in your system four inches in diameter, then for comparison another ten times that, or 40 inches. If you pull in one foot of line using the four-inch pulley, the line on the other side will also move one foot. Do the same with the 40 inch pulley and the same thing will happen—one foot of movement for one foot of pull. The only difference is that the four-inch pulley will make a complete revolution while the 40-inch pulley will only make about one-tenth of a revolution. Thus one could argue that the four-inch pulley will experience slightly more load/friction on its bearing surface, but in the context of overall load on a winch system this is insignificant. Likewise, you can drag a winch line around a completely frozen pulley incapable of rotation and it will still multiply the pull of the winch; you’ll simply lose significantly more through friction—obviously not a great idea (see Yankum below). The point is, as long as you’ve changed from having one length of line shortening to having two shortening, you’ll be multiplying the force of the winch.

Winch pulleys have evolved several times over the past few decades. Originally they were heavy—six or seven pounds—with steel side plates and sheave (the rotating bit), intended for steel winch cable. They had to be secured to the anchor with a steel shackle due to the sharp edges.

With the advent of synthetic winch line several companies introduced modified versions of the standard block. ARB’s 9000, for example, incorporates a polymer sheave specifically designed for synthetic line, while otherwise retaining the standard configuration, including the requirement for a steel connecting shackle. Another company, Research in Recovery, experimented with a pulley incorporating aluminum side plates to save weight (lowering the mass in a winch system is always a good idea in case a component failure turns everything in it into projectiles). This pulley (or its twin) is now sold by Safe-Xtract. It’s half the weight of most steel pulleys.

About eight years ago a truly revolutionary winch pulley made quite a splash in the 4x4 community. As conceived by ex-Camel Trophy team member, forester, and military trainer Andy Dacey, the recovery ring was a shockingly simple, one-piece, donut-shaped pulley with a deeply scalloped hole through the center. It was a quarter the weight of any previous pulley and had zero moving parts—perfect as a foolproof, low-mass recovery device for military patrols in hostile regions. It was designed to use a synthetic shackle as both the attachment and the bearing—the pulley rotated inside the loop of the shackle.

It was one of those why-didn’t-anyone-think-of-this-before? innovations, and soon approximately a zillion copies flooded the market. (These included the Yankum offset design which, inexplicably, is designed not to rotate. This is supposedly to save wear and heat build-up on the shackle, instead, um, transferring wear and heat build-up to the winch rope.)

That anomaly aside, the recovery ring was not immune to criticism, both legitimate and otherwise. Some worried about that friction between the Dyneema shackle/bearing and the aluminum, since the pulley slides over the shackle, sometimes under tremendous pressure. One tester (in Australia if I recall) claimed his testing showed the friction inherent in the recovery ring parasitized a shocking amount of the winch’s output, although I never saw this result replicated—in my own tests I comfortably rested my hand on the aluminum even after a strong pull. Nevertheless it’s logical that the ring sliding around on a Dyneema shackle must introduce more friction than a sheave riding on a bushing or bearing. Also of (occasional) concern was the recovery ring’s tendency to catch the winch line between the pulley and the shackle when tension (and the attention of the operator) was lost. Factor 55 added rubber spikes to their ring to alleviate this—a band-aid approach that helped somewhat.

It is certainly fair to say that every type of pulley available until now could be criticized on one or more counts. Most are heavy. Most need a steel shackle as a connector to the anchor or vehicle. Some (not just the ring) can lose the winch line between the pulley and side plate, potentially causing a jam or damage to the winch line. The side plates on most pulleys do not extend far enough to adequately shield the winch line if they come in contact vertically with the ground. Field servicing on many requires snap-ring pliers.

All this was on Richard Sheridan’s mind when he introduced the Thompson Pulley Block. Sheridan runs Freedom Recovery Gear in Pritchart, B.C., Canada, where the “Tommy Block,” as it’s also known, is manufactured.

The side plates of the Thompson Pulley Block (I’ll call it the TPB or just Thompson ) are made from an injection-molded, fiber-reinforced composite. They incorporate extended lips that shield the winch line even if the pulley winds up lying vertically on the ground under tension. They also include molded-in angle guides indicating the mechanical advantage (or lack thereof) of various pulls from zero degrees to 120 degrees—a handy and useful reference. Finally, two loops positively anchor the included soft shackle that comprises the pulley’s anchor. This, combined with the close tolerances between the sheave and side plates, means it is virtually impossible to catch the winch line between the moving parts—I tried with the worst technique I could and failed to do so.

The sheave and axle of the TPB are hard-anodized 6061 aluminum (designed for synthetic line only), and the bushing is something called aluma-bronze, with self-lubricating graphite inserts. The matched synthetic shackle (WLL 13,100 pounds, MBS 65,500 pounds) allows direct connection to a tree-saver strap or a bumper shackle mount with a synthetic-appropriate radius in the opening. With the shackle the Thompson is a commendably light 3.2 pounds. The working load limit is 13,100 pounds, and the minimum breaking strength is 52,500 pounds, a 4:1 safety factor. Both ratings are properly molded into the side plate (the shackle has its own tag). If you need to disassemble the pulley in the field, you’ll find the side plates secured with stainless spiral locking rings. They’re safely recessed, yet all you need is a small screwdriver or knife tip to remove them.

Every once in a while when I receive a new product to review I can recognize as soon as I take it out of the packaging that it’s going to perform exactly as advertised. The Thompson Pulley Block was one such product. (Full disclosure: It had been enthusiastically recommended to me by friend and ex-Camel-Trophy team manager Duncan Barbour, and I also trust Duncan for his critical eye.) Indeed: the design, the workmanship and tolerances, the incorporated shackle, the weight, all had me nodding with the assurance the TPB would meet expectations. And field trials proved just that. The all-in-one design made rigging fast and secure. I didn’t have to keep checking to make sure the line didn’t foul when the rig went slack. I could concentrate on the rest of the operation, confident the pulley was doing its job.

The configuration of the Thompson Pulley Block, with the synthetic shackle running through the axis of the sheave, allows the construction of a three-to-one rigging system employing a synthetic becket. A becket, in pulley (rather than archbishop) terms, refers to a secondary eyelet like the one here, used to reeve multiple-pulley systems with one end of the line attached to one of the pulleys.

Courtesy Balance Community

With Richard’s becket kit—comprising an eight-foot length of Dyneema with a loop on each end and guard sleeves at the right points, plus a short soft shackle—it’s easy to rig a becket on a TPB: From a shackle on the end of the winch line, the becket goes up through the pulley’s shackle on one side, loops back through the shackle on the winch rope, up through the other side of the pulley block’s shackle, and back to the winch line.

With the becket pulley attached to an anchor and another pulley on the vehicle, the winch line runs through the anchor pulley, back through the pulley on the vehicle, and to the becket, giving a three-to-one mechanical advantage. It’s more compact, and easier than using standard pulleys in a three-to-one system, where the winch line has to be secured to a second anchor adjacent the primary pulley.

The Thompson Pulley Block lists for $295 Canadian, which at current exchange rates is about $215 U.S. Considering the added value of the included soft shackle I find that very affordable—and until August 31 Richard has a substantial 25-percent discount in place.

I’m still a fan of the recovery ring and its ultimate simplicity. But give me the choice of just one winch pulley and hands down it’s now the TPB. It’s going in the recovery kit of my main training vehicle, the FJ40, as well as our Troop Carrier. Highly recommended.

Freedom Recovery Gear is here. The 3:1 becket kit (for which you’ll of course need a second pulley) is here.

Fail-safe fuel filtration with Racor

One morning in 1994 I was sitting in my FJ40 on a remote beach on the Sonoran Coast of Mexico, with a dead battery—ironically a Sears “Die-Hard,” and my second warranty replacement in about three years. (This was long before I knew anything about dual-battery systems.) I had six sea kayaking clients with me in three other vehicles—we were at the end of a week-long tour—and a trailer hitched to the Land Cruiser loaded with boats and gear. Fortunately I had jumper cables—this was also long before the days of the miraculous Antigravity Micro-Start and its relatives—and an assist from another vehicle got the 40 started again.

We headed south toward Punta Chueca and Bahia Kino, but soon another issue arose: The Land Cruiser could not maintain a speed above 30 miles per hour. I had little doubt what the problem was, because just before I’d met this group of clients I’d been doing some scouting of the coast, and had bought gas from an isolated and decidedly down-at-the-heels tienda, siphoned out of a very dodgy looking 55-gallon drum. My factory fuel filter was obviously clogging with debris from the drum—dirt, bugs, rodents, who knew what?

By this time my clients—all friends of each other—were getting antsy, as they had to be back in Tucson for work the next day. I figured I could proceed at 30mph to Punta Chueca, about 20 miles away, where I had friends who would help. I had a spare fuel filter—two, actually—but of course I’d have to shut down the engine to swap it out. The route was still remote, but was clear from here, so I sent my clients homeward and trundled on alone.

It was not to be. Soon 25mph was my top speed, then 20, then 15. By now I was worried the engine would choke and die suddenly, so I stopped and considered options. One seemed risky but remotely possible: simply changing the filter with the engine running.

With the six idling as though nothing at all was amiss, I got everything in place. I unfastened the existing filter and bolted a new one in place, loosened and removed the hose clamps on either side of the clogged filter, lined it up with the new one, then held my breath and popped each hose off and on to the new filter in under five seconds. I grabbed the carburetor linkage, and when the engine began to hesitate about 15 seconds later, gently tweaked it—and the engine caught and ran perfectly.

Of course I still had to drive all the way home with out shutting off the engine—which included trying to convince the U.S. Customs lads that no, I wasn’t planning on doing a runner in a 130-horsepower Land Cruiser towing a trailer full of boats.

Two things resulted immediately from this saga (was this the world’s longest lede?). One, I did some pre-internet research and spent three times what the “Die-Hard” had cost me on a little-known new battery called an Optima, the first one of which lasted seven years. Two, I significantly upped my game on the Land Cruiser’s fuel supply with a marine-grade filter and water separator from Racor.

The Racor comprises a permanently mounted base with in and out ports for the fuel line, and a spin-on cartridge the size of a large oil filter, with a clear receptacle on the bottom to inspect for water contamination, along with a tap to drain it. It was gargantuan compared to the goose-egg-sized inline factory FJ40 filter. I cut and painted a piece of angle iron to mount it to the bottom of my battery tray—and I’ve never worried about bad gas again. I left that first cartridge on for a good ten years (and many more backcountry Mexico trips), and finally replaced it out of responsibility rather than any lack in performance.

The initial outlay for the Racor (Now Parker-Racor) is around $130 for the complete assembly similar to mine, after which the filter cartridges are about $30.

If you have an older vehicle with a basic inline fuel filter, this is money well-spent to ensure a clean supply of fuel no matter where you access it. Racor has options for diesel engines as well.

The Racorstore is here; Defender Marine Outfitters has the model I use here.

Compact versatility: The roller carabiner

For years I’ve repurposed climbing gear, both my no-longer-used stuff and new equipment, for travel duty—especially for load-control purposes. For example, quick-draw slings are perfect for temporary attachment points on roof racks, trailers, and truck beds, from which I can create a criss-cross web of rope perfectly suited to the load. By threading the rope through carabiners attached to the slings I can tension the system simply by pulling on one end. Since slings and carabiners generally have an MBS (minimum breaking strength) north of 20 Kn or 4,500 pounds, they’re capable of safely securing virtually any load.

The same equipment can be used for hanging food out of bear reach, hoisting tarps or awnings or portable shower stalls—dozens of uses. You can rig the stoutest clothesline on the planet. And of course, if necessary, carabiners and slings comprise part of a rescue system to retrieve persons stranded on a cliff or in fast-moving water.

Recently I discovered the roller carabiner, available from Petzl as well as the Welsh company DMM, among others. At first glance it looks like an ordinary carabiner, until you notice the roller incorporated in one end, which transforms the carabiner into an ultra-compact pulley. Suddenly all the tasks that involve tightening or tensioning a rope laced through carabiners become nearly effortless.

In fact, given the strength and force-multiplication characteristics of the roller carabiner, I could envision using it in certain vehicle-recovery situations, for example—using the correct rope—as rigging to stabilize a vehicle tipping hazardously, while a winch recovery is arranged. The roller carabiner certainly won’t substitute for a proper, full-size pulley block or other heavy-duty pulley, but given the compactness and light weight having a few in the kit might prove extremely useful.

A (very) affordable water pump for the Scepter can

I wrote some time ago about what I think is the highest-quality manual pump for the Scepter water can (here). As reliable as the Fynspray pump is, it does require modifying a spare cap to accept the unit.

Recently someone alerted me to a rechargeable electric pump on Amazon that costs less than $16. Called then Myvision Automatic Drinking water Pump, it’s designed to fit the common 2.5 to 5-gallon office-dispenser-type water bottles supplied by various franchises.

However, fortuitously, the inner flange also fits quite snugly inside the small cap opening on top of the Scepter’s main cap.

The pump recharges via USB; an LED around the top switch glows red until the unit is charged, and glows blue while on.

I found the flow to be easily the equivalent of the Dometic GO pump, although the Myvision lacks such features as the handy auto shut-off and the equally useful LED that illuminates the container. The ad—which is sprinkled with a bit of garbled Chingrish—says it’s guaranteed for two years. The battery does not appear to be replaceable. Nevertheless a tempting bargain if you like an electric dispenser. Find it here.

Anti Access? Or just Pro Habitat?

This photo appeared several years ago in a full-page spread in the New York Times and other newspapers.

In the February/March issue of OVR magazine—a fine publication to which I contribute regularly—my colleague and friend Chris Collard published an article with the attention-grabbing, all-caps headline of LAND GRAB. The gist of the article was that well-funded organizations are in the process of blocking off more and more vehicular access to public land, and that an “alarming” amount of such land in the U.S. is designated as wilderness, thus “lost” to everyone except those “traversing it on foot.”

Chris wrote, “Some refer to the ‘more wilderness’ advocates as environmentalists. I believe a better term is the Anti-Access Crowd (AAC).”

As it happens, I am one of those people. So I thought I would offer some perspective, and, since I doubt OVR would be willing to print it, I’ll leave it here to be shared or condemned. Chris and I agree on a lot of things and disagree on a few, so I hope our friendship will survive this example of the latter.

I’ll state up front that Chris notes his support for some wilderness areas. However, he makes it clear he would prefer a lot less than there is now.

Chris writes that he believes, “The folks driving the Wilderness Act had legitimate science supporting their position, and valid concerns . . .” but then claims that “the arena has drastically shifted from a genuine effort to protect this nation’s wild places to a game of deep-pocket monopoly . . .”

Chris then notes that there are now more than 800 designated wilderness areas in the U.S. Continuing, “To put this in perspective, the public has lost access to 112 million acres of land. This is an area larger than the state of California, plus Massachusetts. Another 12 million is in the crosshairs as Wilderness Study Areas. Alarming, right?”

Well, yes, it is alarming—but not in the way Chris thinks. Let’s put those figures into context.

First, over half of all designated U.S. wilderness—57 million acres—is in Alaska. That leaves about 54.5 million acres of wilderness in the lower 48.

Alarming? You bet it is. Because those 48 states comprise 1.9 billion acres, not counting water. That means less than three percent of the land in the contiguous United States is protected in perpetuity (we hope) against mining, logging, and road building. If we include Alaska the figure is still under five percent. Is it really a tragic “land grab” to preserve one out of every twenty acres in our country in something reasonably approaching its natural, pre-corporate-resource-extraction state? I don’t believe so. Russia has no wilderness areas. China has no wilderness areas. The concept is American, through and through, and I am proud of it.

How evident is this pride among the general public, and how strong is the support for wilderness? When the U.S. Forest Service conducted its own nationwide poll, it found that 69.8 percent of respondents were in favor of more wilderness in their own states. Among non-metropolitan residents, 43.5 percent were in favor of more wilderness, and 34 percent said the current amount was about right. Just 7.4 percent thought too much had been protected.

Zogby International found that support for wilderness cuts across party lines, noting that 54 percent of Republicans support more wilderness in their own state, as do 66 percent of Independents and 75 percent of Democrats. Another poll tallying those who support more wilderness in their own states found the following: Alaska, 73 percent; Utah, 80 percent; Nevada, 56 percent; New Mexico, 57 percent; Vermont, 73 percent. It seems the “Anti Access Crowd” comprises a significant majority of the American public—the people who own that land.

In fact the entire “locked out” argument completely misconstrues the intent of the Wilderness Act, which was to preserve areas where “the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.” In other words, a wilderness is an area where our own recreational convenience is considered secondary to the welfare of the habitat and the wildlife. Again, a concept in which we should take exceptional pride.

It’s important to note that, with very rare exceptions, the 12 million acres Chris describes as “in the crosshairs” as potential wilderness is already roadless—that’s one reason (but only one) why it’s under consideration. You and your 4x4 can’t be “locked out” of an area into which you can’t drive anyway. If every single one of those 12 million acres winds up being designated wilderness—a virtual impossibility—it would raise by less than half a percentage point the land already protected.

Chris goes on to note the numerous road closures in National Forests in recent decades due to “pressure,” as though those were somehow part of the Anti Access Crowd’s land grab. In fact those closures are almost exclusively the result of drastic budget cuts that have affected all our land management agencies—and if you want to know which side of the congressional aisle those cuts came from, just look up the voting records of your representatives in Washington.

Chris states that wheelchairs are not allowed in wilderness areas. This is patently false. From the appropriate section at fs.usda.gov: “. . . nothing in the Wilderness Act prohibits wheelchair use in a wilderness area by an individual whose disability requires its use.” In fact even certain motorized wheelchairs are allowed. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard, “What about the handicapped?” as an argument against roadless areas. These dog-whistle remarks invariably come from decidedly un-handicapped people. Roseann and I have had the opportunity to work with several groups of handicapped people on environmental issues. Not once—not once—have I heard such an individual or group complain because they’re not allowed to drive into wilderness areas, and several of them expressed anger at being co-opted for someone else’s argument.

This brings up another misconception: that to appreciate a wilderness one must don a 50-pound backpack and hike in 20 miles with freeze-dried food and a filed-down toothbrush. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have taken more day hikes than I can remember into the fringes of wilderness areas, content to know that in front of me is unspoiled landscape. There are hundreds of wilderness areas I will never visit, but I’m grateful they are there. Another important—nay, critical—point: Study after study has shown that wilderness areas serve as vital refugia for both animals and plants. A study published in the journal Nature noted that species in wilderness areas are half as likely to face extinction. Does it surprise anyone that wildlife prefers and does better in areas without roads?

Far from being anti-accessism run amok, protection of roadless areas is more important now than it ever has been. The proliferation of not just 4x4 trucks and SUVs, but millions of all-terrain vehicles and side-by-sides, many of them ridden or driven by owners with zero training, awareness, or care, is having a devastating impact on backcountry roads, trails, and, in far too many instances, off those trails. I was disappointed to see Chris devote just two sentences to the problem of “bad apples,” taking the usual approach that it’s a tiny percentage of users. Yet he goes on to (quite justifiably) boast about all the trail cleanup projects undertaken each year by clubs and other 4x4 groups. If the bad apples are such a tiny percentage of users, why do we need so many trail cleanup days? Anyone who spends time on trails is aware that the abuse is increasing, not decreasing. Many hundreds of miles of the trails that are closed off by land agencies are closed due to continued, rampant abuse and degradation, not because of lobbying by the “Anti Access Crowd.”

Meanwhile, I can’t remember the last time I got an email requesting my help on a trail cleanup in a wilderness area. I wonder why?

The motorized abuse of the backcountry has affected me in more ways than simple aesthetics. I am a hunter. Roseann and I try to eat as much wild game as possible because we abhor the cruelties of the U.S. corporate meat industry. In the last ten to fifteen years I have lost count of the stalks I have had ruined when a “hunter” with a rifle strapped to the handlebars of his ATV has scattered all the game nearby. And on two occasions I have had a deer in sight and was stalking close enough to make a clean shot when an ATV rider spooked it. It’s not an exaggeration to say those incidents took food out of my mouth. This is one reason I became one of the first members of Backcountry Hunters and Anglers, a group that promotes fair chase and wilderness pursuits.

Finally, I was disappointed Chris did not address a prime factor behind the loss of land for all types of backcountry recreation: population growth and development. In the last 50 years in southern Arizona we’ve lost far, far more land in which to drive and hike to unchecked urban sprawl than we have to whacko environmentalists. Perhaps we should all be working together to preserve more of all types of public land, instead of fighting among ourselves.

Let’s not ignore the fact that there are those on the lunatic fringe of the environmental movement who would ban all 4x4 use—just as there are those on the lunatic fringe of the 4x4 crowd who don’t believe wilderness areas should exist at all, who would unhesitatingly blaze trails into every one if they thought they could get away with it (I’ve seen the results). It’s up to us, the majority of intelligent people, to come together in the big gray area in the middle. There’s just one thing to remember: Once a wilderness is gone—once a road is bladed through, a mine blasted out, or trees clear-cut—it is gone forever. I’d like to hang on to what we have.

And yes, I’d be happy if we had more.

Perfect match: KERR recovery rope and Step22 Tamarin Trunk

One of my main recovery tools is a one-inch by 30-foot KERR (Kinetic Energy Recovery rope) from C4RS (just say C-fours). It's a beautiful U.S.-made product, properly labeled with its working load limit and average breaking strength. In general I prefer KERRs to snatch straps due to their better stretch, which is gentler on both the recovery vehicle and the bogged truck.

However, a KERR is also bulkier and limper and fairly weighty; dealing with one when storing is like wrestling a 30-foot-long, one-inch-thick length of overcooked spaghetti.

Recently Step22 sent me one of their Tamarin Trunks, a sturdy 8 x 8 x 24-inch zippered storage bag with a reinforced bottom. It seemed to be made for the KERR, and indeed the rope fit perfectly, with room for a pair of hard shackles as well as a couple of soft shackles. now I have everything I need for a snatch recovery in one bag. A true professional approach.

Sadly, the owner of C4RS, Steve Springs, has moved on to other endeavors, but high-quality KERRs are available from other sources such as Factor 55 (here). Step22 is here.