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.

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.