First Exploration Quarterly Field Camp – April 5-8, 2025

First Exploration Quarterly Field Camp – Arizona, USA – April 5–8, 2025 at the beautiful and private Aravaipa Canyon Ranch.

Registration is open. Space will be limited.

• Enjoy camaraderie with a small group of fellow overlanders, explorers, naturalists, and outdoor enthusiasts

• Sunday dinner and drinks, with live music

• EQ writers and photographers panels (Q&A)

• Enjoy quality time with other explorers around campfires and cocktail hours; have fun with scheduled cook-offs and camp “home tours”

• View and test gear up-close with Sponsors

• Mini skills clinics every day: overlanding, field arts, victualling, equipment setup and use—the topics are nearly endless.

• Pricing begins at just $395

For details and pricing, view our events shop.

LifeStraw’s magic little device

Growing up in southern Arizona, I learned very early on how vital water is in the desert. When my friend Bruce and I first began hiking up into the Catalina Mountains, neither of us yet eight years old, we carried ours in surplus metal GI canteens, which along with their canvas covers and three-inch-wide M36 belts probably weighed as much as the water inside. I remember distinctly the one time we miscalculated when trying a “short cut” summer climb over a ridge separating Sabino and Bear canyons. We sucked the last drops out of our canteens before we even reached the crest, and by the time we made it to the picnic area in Sabino and its taps we were pretty severely dehydrated. Never again did I hike anywhere, any time, without a generous supply of water.

Until last fall.

Roseann and I camped near the headwaters of the Little Colorado River, where I wanted to try to catch one of Arizona’s native fish, the Apache trout. This high up in its watershed the Little Colorado is small enough to jump across in places, but although its flow is year-round, drinking is not advisable due in part to the cattle grazing in the area—a possible source of Giardia.

However, I had with me one of Lifestraw’s clever filtration straws, which removes 99.999 percent of parasites such as Giardia and Cryptosporidium, 99.9999 percent of bacteria, and also microplastics. So I left the Nalgenes at the truck for a full day of fishing, carrying only the 1.8-ounce, stainless-steel filter (3.1 with carrying case). Whenever I needed a drink I simply knelt down and sipped through the straw right from the stream. It was cool to rehydrate directly (well-almost) from the Little Colorado River itself, and saved at least six pounds in my rucksack. The filtration matrix is good for about 1,000 liters, which, assuming I would have carried three liters of water otherwise, corresponds to roughly 330 such outings.

There’s nothing to using the straw except the need to use care to avoid cross-contamination. It takes a bit of effort to draw water through the filtration system, but less than I would have guessed. I finished the day a convert. I’ll carry this whenever I’m in an area with water sources that might be risky (which, according to the EPA, includes about half of all surface water in the country). And It will ride in my vehicle as a fail-safe, lightweight survival tool. Well-recommended—and, at $35, an absurd bargain.

Should you avoid buying a new Tacoma?

People love drama.

Even when it’s not real.

Owners of vehicles made by manufacturers that compete with Toyota especially love drama if it involves reliability issues with Toyotas. I remember when some first-generation Tacomas developed issues with leaking head gaskets. The howls among Ford, Chevy, and, especially, Land Rover owners reached shrill octaves: “SEE? SEE?” Ironically, the fact that Toyota’s reputation for building dependable vehicles is based on rock-solid real-world evidence is what makes any hairline crack in its armor take on the appearance of a magnitude 7.1 earthquake.

Recently the scenario has been playing out again with the news that some eight-speed Aisin transmissions in the new Tacoma have been failing—shifting poorly or becoming stuck in one gear, even suddenly shifting into neutral. Only now this drama has been amplified by several orders of magnitude thanks to the presence of numerous YouTube “experts” who know they’ll get a lot more clicks with a video shouting, “NEW TACOMA TRANSMISSION DISASTER!” or, “DON’T BUY A NEW TACOMA!” than they will with a more rational approach. Several friends contemplating purchase emailed me wondering if they should jump ship.

The issue is a real one, caused, apparently, by a faulty pressure-control solenoid. On the vehicles affected (often indicated only by several particular fault codes when the engine warning light comes on), Toyota replaces the entire transmission. But what are the chances of getting a faulty unit?

I did a bit of elementary statistical research, helped by the more level-headed YouTube authorities such as Tim Esterdahl. It turns out that, among the 192,000 2024 Tacomas sold, fewer than 1,000 have been affected by the TSB (Technical Service Bulletin). That’s about one half of one percent. (And we can assume a correction has been implemented in the production line.) Enough to spark glee among Ranger and Colorado owners, certainly, but enough to make me warn you against buying a new Tacoma? Not even close.

A Rolls-Royce . . . mouse house?

The tiny hazel dormouse (Muscardinus avellanarius) is England’s only native dormouse. Just three inches long and under an ounce in weight, it used to be common, especially in southern England, in forests with a dense understory of hazel, ivy, and honeysuckle, which allows the mice to climb into the thickets to nest in safety.

But the population of hazel dormice has plummeted in recent years, mainly through the loss and fragmentation of woodland and hedgerows.

One possible habitat for them is the enormous woodland adjacent to the Goodwood Estate and motorsports park—which itself is adjacent to the headquarters of Rolls-Royce Motorcars. To investigate the possibility of a resident hazel dormouse community, apprentices at Rolls-Royce, with input from the estate’s forestry managers, designed and constructed a series of nest boxes—from quarter-sawn oak, no less—which will be monitored to prove, or disprove, the presence of the mice.

I’d suggest the company offer these for sale to the public as well at a premium, complete with the Rolls-Royce stamp, to provide yet more habitat and raise money for further conservation efforts. (I might also suggest they investigate something a bit more suitable than bungee cord to secure it to the tree.)

Terrain Tamer parabolic springs . . . a transformative modification

Can a leaf-sprung vehicle be endowed with the ride and compliance of a coil-sprung vehicle?

After installing a set of Terrain Tamer parabolic spring on our 1973 FJ40 Land Cruiser, I’d answer that question with: Close. Astonishingly close. Just one anecdote—when I first took Roseann for a ride after the installation, we’d not even got off our neighborhood byway onto a main street before she said, “Wow.”

First, if you’re not familiar with the concept, please read this, then this. But, briefly, a parabolic leaf spring is shaped in such a way that a single leaf can provide progressive resistance as it is compressed—it is, in essence, an extremely elongated parabola, thus its name. By comparison, the traditional standard leaf, stamped from flat bar stock, requires several additional, increasingly shorter leaves to provide progressive resistance, and those additional leaves produce substantial interleaf friction, reducing compliance and ride quality—especially in the case of a heavy-duty spring pack for a 4x4 vehicle, which might comprise eight, ten, or even more individual leaves. Theoretically a parabolic spring can be built with just a single leaf, but most systems use two or sometimes three, to provide backup in the event of one leaf breaking. But those leaves only contact each other at the very ends, via a thick anti-friction pad, so interleaf friction is nearly nonexistent. In fact, shocks for parabolic springs are valved more firmly to compensate for that reduced friction and the lack of self-dampening. Like a coil spring, a parabolic spring would continue to oscillate for some time after a bump if not damped.

Terrain Tamer has been making parabolic spring kits for Series Land Rovers, Hiluxes, and several other (mostly non-USA) vehicles for some time; not long ago they added applications for 40-series Land Cruisers, and offered to provide me with a set. The kit is exhaustively complete: four springs, four nitrogen-charged twin-tube shock absorbers, a steering damper, greasable anti-inversion shackles, and U-bolts. My kit also included TT’s own synthetic elastomer Pro bushings, which the company claims combine the vibration-absorbing properties of natural rubber with the durability of polyurethane. The bushings come with a specific molybdenum disulphide grease.

Terrain Tamer’s shock absorbers have an excellent reputation; however, I had an opportunity to try a set of Koni’s Heavy Track shocks. Koni’s Heavy Track Raid is the best expedition shock absorber I have ever used on overloaded Defender 110s in East Africa, so I jumped at the chance to install the slightly lighter-duty version on the 40.

Installation of everything was completely straightforward, with the additional benefit that the Konis are not nitrogen-charged and thus do not have to be forcibly compressed to fit them. Weighing the OME springs, then the parabolics, drove home one of the salient advantages of the latter: the swap removed 80 pounds from the Land Cruiser.

With it all bolted up, the Land Cruiser’s fender height was within a quarter inch of where it had been with the OME springs installed—the (to me) ideal 50mm/two-inch lift for an FJ40 intended for all-around use. Trying to suppress unrealistically high expectations—this is still after all a leaf-spring suspension—I headed out for a short drive.

I needn’t have suppressed any expectations. The ride was, in a word, transformed. One might demur by pointing out that the evicted OME springs were five years old, but I’d replaced and lubed their anti-friction pads not long before, and regularly greased the shackle bushings. No—this was a transformation. Harshness over minor irregularities in the road surface was simply gone, with the partial result that normal rattles and buzzes in the 40 seemed cut in half. Suspension action over larger holes and humps was astonishingly compliant.

I turned around and went back to the house to take Roseann for a ride, and she was just as impressed.

I let the suspension “settle” for a few weeks. From the side I then noticed a very slight droop at the rear—no more than a half inch, but I loathe a non-level vehicle. This was undoubtedly due to the substantial rear rack on the 40. So I installed a set of OME rear shackles, which are about an inch longer than the Terrain Tamer versions. “Problem” solved.

Stout Equipment rack (pre-parabolics)

A few days ago we took the 40 up into Redington Pass, east of Tucson. This route combines a severely degraded dirt road up the pass with several challenging 4x4 trails off it. The Terrain Tamer parabolics—along with the Konis—simply took 90 percent of the sting out of corrugations and potholes that were punishing with standard leaf springs. Once on the trail, the extra compliance was obvious, keeping all four tires in contact with the surface in spots where I typically lift a wheel. Impressive. Even in a video of a simple drive-by (see the Firestone M/T2 tire review) you can see how much easier the ride is.

Over my entire 40-plus-years ownership of the FJ40, no modification I’ve done has had anywhere near such a profound effect on the very nature of the vehicle. Obviously it will be some time before I can attest to the durability of these springs, but the technology has been around long enough to be well-proven. If you own a leaf-sprung Land Cruiser or Land Rover, I cannot recommend Terrain Tamer parabolic springs highly enough.

Terrain Tamer is here. The (just announced) U.S. importer, Valley Hybrids, is here. Query regarding availability.

Firestone’s Destination M/T2 mud-terrain: a desert tire?

Why would anyone mount mud-terrain tires on a vehicle that rarely leaves the Sonoran Desert?

Several people asked me that question, after I switched from the all-terrain tires I’d run for a decade or more on my 1973 FJ40, to a set of Firestone Destination M/T2s (after also considering the company’s Destination X/T, which has an all-terrain-oriented tread pattern).

My answer surprised some of them, who teasingly assumed I’d gone for the butch looks. And there’s no denying that the MTs look just right on an FJ40. However . . .

Most people assume that a mud-terrain tire is good for one thing: mud. And indeed the open, aggressive tread blocks of an MT tire are known to be effective at digging down for traction in shallow mud, and for the ability to shed sticky mud that tries to cling to the tire and fill in the tread so all you’re left with is a slick. Often a brief burst of throttle (a relative concept in an FJ40, granted . . .) will clear the tread and regain lost traction, when the same tactic would fail to do so in an AT tire with more closely spaced tread blocks.

However, an MT pattern is excellent at other tasks—and in fact better than an AT at some of them.

Consider deep sand, which most people would think is anathema to a mud-terrain tire. Not so—if it is aired down to the same level as one would an AT, an MT tire will perform perfectly well in sand, offering excellent flotation and traction—as long as you’re careful not to continue spinning the tires if you bog down. While any tire will bury itself when you do this, an MT tire will do so with considerably more enthusiasm. But there’s an upside I discovered, somewhat to my surprise although it makes perfect sense: if you are bogged (in any substrate) and deploy traction boards such as Maxtrax to extricate the vehicle, an MT tire will grip the traction board far more effectively than an AT tire, easing the recovery and reducing the risk of spinning and melting the studs on the board. I noticed this repeatedly while running sand recovery scenarios at the Overland Expo. Some vehicles with stock tires that barely had enough tread to qualify as an all-terrain pattern had an extraordinarily difficult time getting onto the board without wheel spin, while those on mud-terrains would tractor right up and out with zero drama.

What about mud-terrain tires on rocks? Most of the 4x4 trails near where we live in southern Arizona involve a lot of rock crawling in low range, and at this a mud-terrain tire is certainly equal if not arguably superior to an all-terrain tire.

To simplify a complex relationship, there are essentially three ways a tire can grip the surface beneath it.

1. Molecular grip. This is dependent on the formulation of the rubber in the tire. An extreme example of molecular grip is a high-performance sports-car tire. A tire with high molecular grip will have a soft compound good for sticking to the road but not good for long-term wear. While some tires designed for extreme rock crawling employ such compounds, it’s not desirable in a tire expected to last for tens of thousands of miles of use.

2. Micro-mechanical grip. This occurs when the texture of the tire’s tread keys into tiny irregularities in the substrate.

3. Macro-mechanical grip refers to the ability of the tire’s tread to mold around and grip larger irregularities, or indeed entire objects on the surface such as boulders.

Number three is where the large, discreet tread blocks of an MT tire excel. Think of the aggressive tread in the Vibram sole of a heavy-duty backpacking/mountaineering boot for a corollary. Indeed, when aired down properly, I found the M/T2s to perform exceptionally well on the rocks of the standard 4x4 route I use for reviewing vehicles, in Redington Pass east of Tucson.

The M/T2s at 22 psi wrapped around rocks for maximum traction.

The aggressive side lugs gripped especially well, and given the the thickness of those lugs plus three-ply sidewalls I didn’t worry about damaging the tires even when aired down to around 20 PSI.

Are there downsides to a mud-terrain tire? Of course. MT tires are noisier on pavement than all-terrain tires, to a greater or lesser extent depending on many factors, but basically . . . noisier. In an FJ40 this is not as big a factor as it would be in a more intrinsically quiet vehicle, but it’s still noticeable. My impression is that the Firestone M/T2 is quieter than the last set of MTs I had on the FJ40, but it’s been a while so that’s not hard evidence—and new tires are typically quieter than those with a few thousand miles on them. Around town the noise is no greater than a mild hum and barely discernible; at highway speeds it’s more of a medium/high-pitched whine.

More: MTs do not offer the same traction on pavement as an AT tire, for both handling and braking. You must adjust your driving to suit. You will also lose some fuel economy; just how much will again depend on several factors. My impression is that I’ve lost about a half mile per gallon on the 40 (figuring on my recent average of 16 mpg on the road).

All these factors were in play during my decision-making process. Years ago, when our FJ40 was our only overland vehicle (in fact for a time it was our only vehicle, period) all-terrain tires made more sense given more extensive use on paved roads and highways. Now, since we have a 70-series Troop Carrier for travel, the 40 is reserved for closer trips and for 4x4 training classes. Thus the M/T2s made perfect sense. I’ll be curious to see how they look and sound with a few thousand miles on them, but for now I’m very happy with the choice.

Exploration Quarterly Vol. 1, No. 3

Number 3 is at the printer and will be mailing out in mid- and late-January. And we are really pleased with the content. It’s packed full of adventure, equipment, history, field arts, and much more. And there is a slight nautical theme as well. Below is a sneak-preview of some of the content.

A reminder of our publication schedule:

• July (print issue with digital version)

• October (all-online content)

• January (print issue with digital version)

• April (all-online content)

If you subscribe now, your subscription will begin with the October online-only issue, Vol. 1, No. 2 (but you will have digital access to No. 1 as well, so it’s a nice bonus).

All-digital subscriptions are $39, and 2 print + 2 online are $49 (we also offer international rates).

Join us today, and never cease exploring.

A family sets sail around the world thirty years (and on the same boat) after their first circumnavigation—this time with the third generation in tow. (Dito Abbot)

Seeking sunken treasure in Dorset. (Roseann Hanson)

Why is Jonathan tossing a ship’s biscuit?

Which is the best portable water container?

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.