Building an affordable Troopy camper

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When your overlanding vehicle has a cargo area large enough to return echoes, you have a lot of options for configuring it. The basic, perfectly functional route would be to install about 40 tie-down loops in the floor, strap in a ground tent, cots, sleeping bags, a few jerry cans of water, a fridge (or three), and a chuck box, and go camping.

We sort of went the other direction.

Last year we drove our 1993 Land Cruiser HZJ75 Troopy (in the company of friends Graham Jackson and Connie Rodman in their own Troopy) from Sydney to Alice Springs and subsequently across the Simpson Desert via the Madigan Line (see here and here). Before the trip, Daniel Fluckiger at the Expedition Centre in Sydney neatly sliced off the roof of our perfectly sound vehicle and installed his signature clamshell pop top incorporating a full-sized drop-down bed and mattress. Although that was the extent of the modifications for that journey, the implications of having full standing headroom in the back of a Land Cruiser were clear, and we left the vehicle with Daniel to complete its transformation into a fully equipped camper that would retain the trim (?) original contours of the 78 body.

The first task was to eliminate the bank of internally-secured jerry cans we’d needed to ensure an adequate supply of water on the 600-mile no-resupply route across the Simpson. Daniel had the solution in the form of an exquisitely constructed 90-liter (23 gallon) stainless-steel tank mounted solidly under the floor between the chassis rails, in the perfect position to preserve—in fact microscopically enhance—the center of gravity. The tank’s multilevel construction ensures clearance for the driveshaft and axle at full rebound. A pump will deliver contents to a sink inside, and a gauge monitors the level. Despite the snug fit and complex construction, the tank can be removed if needed by simply disconnecting the driveshaft.

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With dual (stock Toyota) fuel tanks totalling 48 gallons (and an efficient diesel engine), and 23 gallons of water, it’s unlikely we’d need extra capacity; however, it’s smart to have backup, and also a way to manually refill both fuel and water. So Daniel installed a Kaymar rear bumper with dual swing-out posts.

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Daniel and Roseann inspect the jerry can/gas bottle holder for the Kaymar.

One will carry the spare tire (and our nifty outback braai); the other incorporates a bespoke dual NATO can carrier—one diesel and one water—and a mount for a gas (propane) bottle. The Kaymar rear bumper/rack is still the standard by which others are measured for strength and convenience, and the ball-bearing swing-outs have proven rattle-free after tens of thousands of kilometers of outback roads. 

No matter how clever the interior of the camper proves to be, we have no intention of holing up every night. On the inside of the rear door we find a drop-down table from Front Runner, this one distinguishing itself from similar items with the addition of a slide out side extension—brilliant. The Front Runner table, combined with our Kanz Kitchen chuck box (which incorporates a Partner Steel stove) means we can arrange an efficient outdoor kitchen in a few minutes. 

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But what about shade for that kitchen in the desert? We have that . . . covered, with an Eezi-Awn Bat 270º awning, mounted on mighty aluminum brackets to the passenger (left) side of the vehicle. Fully deployed, it shades both side and back, providing plenty of shelter for cooking, eating, and relaxing. If desired, side wall panels can be added for privacy or blocking wind. 

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Next up is the core of the Land Cruiser camper concept—interior plywood cabinetry made to our specs, with a recess designed to secure the Kanz Kitchen so it can be used in situ or removed to stand on its legs outside. We'll also be addressing the stock seats, completely collapsed after 23 years of what must have been ample Aussie backsides riding in them.

The Expedition Centre is here. Front Runner is here. Kaymar is here. Eezi-Awn products (and many others) are available through Equipt, here. 

Thermarest ProLite Plus

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I remember the revelation of sleeping on my first Thermarest, in the early 1980s. For years I’d used various air mattresses, which were compact to carry, comfortable (if a bit bouncy), but prone to punctures (think southern Arizona backpacking . . .) and not good in cold weather; and foam pads, which were comfortable, puncture-proof, and well-insulated but, if thick enough, bulky and rather heavy. The marriage of the two was a stroke of genius, and I haven’t looked back since for backpacking, sea kayaking, and even, with the addition of the hedonistic base camp models, vehicle-oriented camping. Yes, there was still the odd puncture to deal with, but otherwise the Thermarest is indisputably the best of both technologies.

Cascade Designs has not by any means rested on the laurels of those first Thermarests. Especially with regard to the trekking models, they continually search for ways to reduce weight and storage bulk while retaining cushioning and insulation. So for a recent bicycle trip I decided to upgrade my 20-year-old, 3/4-length rectangular Thermarest to the current ProLite Plus. And was I glad I did.

The ProLite Plus, despite being a full-length model, is a bit lighter than my old one (1.6 pounds), and a bit thicker as well. Part of this savings came from the logical step of rounding off the ends of the original rectangular mattress, and tapering it to match the natural contours of the human body. More savings came from modern shell materials and diagonally die-cut foam. It stuffs to the same size as my old 3/4-length model, yet I was perfectly, even dreamily comfortable on it laid out over Negev Desert pebbles. Although I tend to roll around somewhat at night, I never had an issue with the width, and it was lovely to have cushioning under my legs and feet. I stayed warm on several nights that touched freezing—yet the rolled and stuffed mattress took up little precious space in my panniers.

A good night’s sleep is all the more critical when you’re expending a lot of energy during the day, and perhaps have a few muscles that are a bit stiff and protesting their recent treatment. The ProLite Plus contributed hugely to a rejuvenating slumber.

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The ProLite Plus fit perfectly (and, here, invisibly!) under my semi-rectangular Western Mountaineering sleeping bag

They may not be perfect, but . . .

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 I admit to being a tiny bit anxious as the “official” resident Toyota Land Cruiser disciple when Graham Jackson and his wife, Connie Rodman, bought a 1994 Troopy to match the ’93 Roseann and I had bought, for a trip across Australia’s Simpson Desert and further explorations Down Under. You see, Graham has lived and breathed Land Rovers since his childhood in southern Africa when the family toured the Kalahari Desert in an early Range Rover. Connie is not far off in terms of disciple-hood, and the two of them drove a Defender 110 from London to Cape Town. While Graham has no intellectual prejudice against the Toyota, it’s clear where his heart lies.

So I naturally wanted those two Troopies to perform perfectly. Statistically I knew the odds were high, but we were dealing, after all, with two unfamiliar 20-plus-year-old vehicles with 230,000 km (ours) and 400,000-some km on the clocks. And Land Cruisers in Australia tend to be used as God and Toyoda-san intended. 

And perform perfectly they did. The naturally aspirated 1HZ diesels earned praise from Graham for their 20-21 mpg economy at 110kph on Australia’s paved highways, and for their effortless low-end torque once we hit the Madigan Line to cross the desert. I believe I overheard an adjective along the lines of “fantastic” a few days into the trip.

Once out of the desert and past Birdsville, we cranked up the speed again to get back to Sydney. On one stretch of highway I switched from the near-empty front fuel tank to the full rear—and about 15 minutes later the engine started faltering.

Well. Dammit.

We pulled over and consulted. The consensus was that the transfer pump in the rear tank, which simply moves fuel to the front tank from where the main fuel pump picks it up, was failing to deliver an adequate supply to keep up with the consumption at high speed. Clogged fuel filters were ruled out as the engine-compartment-mounted factory units had been replaced before the trip. It was a minor issue as we didn’t need the range of both tanks on the highway; we dumped our spare jerry can of diesel into the front tank and continued with no further problems.But was that the glimmer of a smirk on Graham’s face as he drove off? Just a minute upturn at the corners of his mouth?  So, they are not perfect.

Back in Sydney we left the vehicles with Daniel at the Expedition Centre for further modifications and an investigation into the fuel-delivery problem. And presently the answer came back.

At some point in the past 23 years a previous owner had, quite sensibly, installed a cheap Pep Boys plastic prefilter in the line just ahead of the rear tank—and then forgot all about it. Daniel’s mechanic found it, cut it open, and revealed a solid mass of gunk inside. Problem solved and truck running happily on either tank. They may not be perfect, but at least this issue was definitely not a Toyota issue.

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To be fair, there was one other complaint acknowledged by us all regarding both vehicles: The stock seats were rubbish, especially after a couple of decades of ample Aussie bums bouncing around on them across the Outback. We’re addressing that now; report soon.

Irreducible perfection: Sea to Summit cargo straps

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I have a confession that will seem like sacrilege to some outdoor enthusiasts: I’m not fond of Fastex buckles.

Why sacrilege? If you’re old enough to remember what we had before them, you’ll understand. The common fasteners for backpack straps, cargo straps, etc., were metal buckles with a sliding toothed bar to grip the strap. They were fussy and time-consuming, and eventually rusted. By contrast, the Fastex buckle (or, generically, side-release buckle) seemed like a miracle of convenience when it was introduced.

But they’re not perfect. They’re plastic and they do break—I’ve lost count of the one-tined buckles I’ve tossed over the years, and the habit of many equipment makers to permanently sew in the buckle doesn’t help. They’re also susceptible to UV degradation: I had a sea kayak that employed them to secure the cargo hatches and every six months I had to replace them all prophylactically to ensure they didn’t start failing in sequence on a rough crossing. Constant sun exposure quickly turned them powdery and brittle.

Finally, and importantly, injection-molded buckles lack any formal kind of working load limit parameters. One is never sure just how much stress a buckle of a certain size will accept before failing—and in some applications that can be critical. 

All this was on my mind when I was shopping for cargo straps to secure my (very expensive) Hilleberg tent to the rear platform rack on my bicycle for a trip through Israel. By chance I discovered the Sea to Summit 10mm accessory straps. They employ a one-piece anodised aluminum toothed buckle impervious to UV degradation, and a relatively narrow (yes, 10mm) strap. Yet, lo and behold, on the buckle was a small tag listing a working load limit (WLL) of 125 kg. That’s 275 pounds to you non-metric people—more than enough, I figured, to safely secure a 4.5-pound tent. 

In use over several hundred miles, the Sea to Summit straps performed perfectly. While not quite as fast as a plastic buckle would have been for securing and releasing, it still took seconds per strap. And despite securing a load that varied from just the tent to a tent plus jacket plus two-litre plastic water bottle, the straps never loosened one millimeter. I soon stopped checking every few minutes to make sure that expensive Hilleberg was still with me.

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If you really want a quick-release function, Sea to summit sells the same strap with a hook release, but I wouldn’t bother. The foolproof security of the standard buckle is worth the extra few seconds of setup time. Need more strength? There’s a 20mm version as well, with a 330-pound WLL. Each width comes in three lengths, from 40 to 80 inches—enough to secure very bulky items.

Highly recommended. You’ll find dozens of uses.

The straps are here on Sea to Summit’s site.

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Can evolution be revolution? The new Garmin GPSMap276Cx

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Our director of training and GPS connoisseur Graham Jackson has remained faithful to his long-discontinued Garmin 276C, insisting that nothing better has ever been produced—until now. Here's his review of the much anticipated 276Cx. - Jonathan Hanson

Defying time is not done easily, especially in the fast-moving world of technology. Certain things defy the odds by defying time and their reasonable expiration date. Consider the Land Rover Defender for example. In its various incarnations as a 90 or a 110, later as the Defender brands of both of those, and even reaching back to the Series III, IIA, II and I, its lineage has spanned a significant portion of motorized overlanding history, yet it is still iconic and well recognized today as a highly desired overland vehicle. 

When looking at electronic technology, we can’t expect timeframes to match those of automobiles, but still there are standouts. Consider the Garmin GPSmap 276C, the best overlanding navigation GPS device ever made. Introduced in 2004 as a direct descendant of the GPSmap 176, the 276C boasted a ruggedized, water-resistant frame, a gorgeous (for the time) high-resolution color display, new (again at the time) USB connectivity and support of external memory cards. Added to this was an intuitive operating system, actual buttons that could be manipulated by feel when driving or riding, even when wearing gloves, and genuinely useful functions such as a trip computer, track back (reversing a track log), tide charts (good for camping on beaches), sunset and sunrise times (good for planning sundowners and game drives), and customizable data fields that could display an appropriate level of information for genuine navigation, and Garmin had a winner. One that has not been matched since by the company, to the point that a GPSmap 276Cs can still fetch in excess of $500 on eBay. When Garmin stopped production I bought myself a back-up unit—which may have been prescient as my original 276C was stolen in Utah on the way to military training. That unit, and the back-up, have done dozens of expeditions with me, from a London-to-Cape-Town journey, to guiding in Central America, Southern Africa, Australia, and South America—always with unassuming and steady reliability while recording hundreds of thousands of track points and thousands of waypoints, providing unerring navigation confidence from dead reckoning in the Sahara to turn-by-turn guidance in Guatemala City. 

Lest you think the 276C had no flaws, let’s look at some. Early firmware had issues acquiring satellites; later firmware would parse and truncate saved track logs. The memory cards pre-dated SD card technology of a reasonable physical size, so Garmin produced propriety cards in the then acceptable memory capacities of 64, 128 and 512 megabytes. Enough at the time, but with maps getting ever larger, even the 512MB cards have long outstayed their useful life, and with transfer speeds from the computer to the 276C of 12 hours or more to fill the largest cards, it seems there is some low-level USB protocol issue at work. Yet despite these shortcomings, I was unwilling to give up the 276C in favor of the more modern offerings for mobile devices. I’ve used the Hema maps app in Australia and Gaia Maps for the iPad alongside my 276C looking for a successor, but the schizophrenic multi-tasking world we demand our mobile devices live in is no place for a navigation platform. Both Hema and Gaia lose signal and crash at random times that are probably more to do with the GoPro app, mail, and WiFi than to do with them, but leave distressing if not dangerous holes in the track log. Sure, I use my iPhone and iPad for navigating around cities and finding breweries, but for crossing deserts or recording tracks to guide clients on, neither has shown the robust reliability that the 276C displayed on every outing. 

Less than a year ago my good friend Nick Taylor and I discussed this whole problem over a beer (yes, at a brewery found and navigated to by iPhone). As often happens when beer is involved, our solutions got grander and grander, from starting a company that would build a 276C emulation app for mobile devices all the way to actually producing the 276 with modern technology like SD cards and support for GLONASS. This was our Garmin GPSmap 276C version of bringing the Land Rover Defender back to life. It seemed like an entirely plausible and reasonable plan, the only issue being getting the rights out of Garmin. 

Well, maybe someone from Garmin was at that same brewery and overheard us, because in October Garmin released the GPSmap 276Cx. It is a complete update of the 276, retains the buttons and the interface of the original, yet incorporates just about every update we thought of and more. Needless to say, as soon as it was available I had one on the way.

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Once again it has a beautiful high-resolution sunlight-readable color display, this time larger at five inches, housed in a slightly larger, but still ruggedized case. Garmin rates the water resistance to IPX7 which is great for motorcycle applications. The proprietary Garmin memory cards have been replaced with micro SD cards (hooray!) up to 32GB in size (64GB cards may be compatible, but Garmin admits to not having tested them) to complement the eight GB of internal memory. The purchase of a 276Cx includes a one-year subscription to Garmin Birds-Eye Satellite Imagery, which is like having Google Earth on your GPS and is well worth of the high memory demands it entails. 

On-board power can be provided by either the rechargeable lithium-ion battery included, or three AA batteries. Line power can either come from the USB connector or from the touch contacts on the AMPS mount provided with the GPS. Compatibility for external GPS antennas is standard, though I found the on-board antenna to be very sensitive even through a Defender windscreen, and using the HotFix ability satellite acquisition was incredibly quick. After losing reception through the Eisenhower tunnel in Colorado, the 276Cx re-acquired satellites in less than a second after exiting the tunnel. Satellite capabilities have been expanded to include the Russian GLONASS constellation, a welcome addition, though no word yet on Galileo (European constellation) compatibility. All of the customizable data fields present on the old 276 are still there, with the addition of fields for external sensors as well as the new onboard barometric altimeter and electronic compass. The trip computer, sunrise and sunset and tide information are all still in their familiar places, so no capabilities have been lost on that front. A full 250 track logs can now be stored on the GPS (the 276C could only handle 14). In addition the 276Cx can interface with mobile devices running Garmin Connect via Bluetooth. This allows real-time weather information to be displayed (so long as your mobile device has a data connection), which is a fantastic feature. With WiFi capabilities now included the 276Cx can get firmware updates (needed, see below), can update live position information on the internet, and can connect to other WiFi-capable Garmin GPS units for sharing data. Data transfer for maps can still be done over USB, on modern drivers so that gigabytes of data can be transferred at realistic speeds (minutes) rather than the days required for the last 276. All great additions to what was already a leading device. 

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The trusty trip computer is still there, perfect for dead-reckoning navigation

However, as with all new things, there are already some issues with the 276Cx shown during my testing. Thefirst is somewhat cosmetic, but I find annoying, and involves the re-draw rate of the display. When driving, the screen does not refresh in the nice smooth flow we have come accustomed to on phones and tablets, but rather each re-draw is a bit of jerky, and, while not functionally problematic, it is unfortunate for a brand new device with an otherwise very nice display.

The firmware that came loaded was version 2.1, and I found I could not calibrate the electronic compass without it crashing software. Updating to version 2.3 of the firmware solved that issue, but there are still some others. One of the most-used functions on the old 276C was the Enter/Mark button that could be held down to drop a waypoint at the current location. I used it all the time for marking intersections, gates, restaurants, embassies, you name it. While the function exists on the 276Cx, the waypoint is, bizarrely, not created at your current location, rather at some other random-seeming location back on your track log, sometimes miles back. The only way I found to fix this was to offset the current location by a few meters using the cursor, and then drop the waypoint at that location. Certainly not the easy seamless feature it was on the original 276. Also, worryingly, I found that the track log would stop recording when I switched from the map page to any other page, such as the trip computer. When I returned to the map page the track log would resume, but my seamless track log (one of my most lauded 276 features) was broken. 

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 New is the on-board barometric altimeter and its elevation profile page

My final gripe is the information provided for the active track log. I love the addition of elapsed time, moving average, min and max elevation etc., but I really miss the progress bar that marks how near-to-full the active track log is. Even a percentage would be welcome, but the new active track page does not show anything like that except total track points—which we can relate to the 20,000 point maximum for a saved track if we remember the 20,000 part. 

I really hope these issues can be fixed in software and will just require a firmware update. On the hardware side, I’m a little leery of the touch contacts interface on the on the mounting bracket. It provides power and communication to the GPS, but I have never been a big fan of touch contacts as opposed to a proven plug and pin contact for reliable connection on overland vehicles. Only time will tell on that, and I will report back because I think the 276Cx is going to replace my 276C as the primary navigation tool on all my upcoming trips.

If Land Rover could produce as solid a contender for the new Defender as the 276Cx is for the 276C, then all would be right with the world. Small issues notwithstanding, the GPSmap 276Cx is now the best GPS on the market for overlanding; a direct replacement of the GPSmap 276C. Bravo Garmin.

Find the 276Cx here.

Not quite ready for prime time . . .

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Any time you can reduce the potential kinetic energy in a winch system it is a Good Thing. PKE, as we’ll call it, comprises any part of the system that could become a projectile in the event of a failure of itself or any other component. In the vast majority of winch mishaps it’s the line that breaks, but shackles, shackle mounts, tree straps, even entire bumpers are unlikely but potential sources of high-velocity widow-making destruction.

The advent of synthetic winch line reduced the risks inherent in winch recovery by an order of magnitude. Although they both display about the same amount of stetch under load (less than one percent), synthetic winch line—typically SK-75 Dyneema—weighs one seventh of the same length and load-rated steel cable, and its 12-strand woven construction prevents the violent untwisting motion that occurs when a steel cable breaks. (For much more on steel versus synthetic winch line, see here.) 

Recently, several companies have introduced soft shackles made from material identical to synthetic winch line. Soft shackles lock via a deceptively simple-looking turks’ head knot on one end and a spliced loop on the other—no threaded pin, in fact no metal at all. As with Dyneema winch line, the mass of the part is hugely reduced, along with its PKE. (Report soon.)

One frequently used winch accessory, however, stubbornly retains its mass: the pulley block, or snatch block, used to construct a redirected pull or increase the pulling power of the winch. Since the pulley itself must be of significant diameter to avoid damaging the line, the cheek blocks that support it must also be large and stout, and the axle of sufficient diameter to ensure a suitable working load limit (WLL) with a substantial safety margin. As a result, for example, even ARB’s excellent “Ultra Lite” winch pulley weighs 5.3 pounds, and their standard pulley is close to eight pounds.

That’s now changed—at least somewhat—with Research In Recovery’s aluminum Recovery Blok (sic). At four pounds even, the RIR pulley boasts a 25 percent reduction in mass over ARB’s lightest model. 

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To be honest, that 1.3-pound savings represents less of a safety enhancement than a simple reduction in handling weight. If you’re ever unspooled 75 feet of steel winch cable up a hill while carrying several steel shackles, a tree strap, and a standard steel pulley block you’ll appreciate this. Still, if the worst happens and you find a winch pulley headed toward you at 40 feet per second or so, better it weighs four pounds than five and a quarter . . . 

Since such accidents in a properly set up and monitored winch system are vanishingly rare, let’s look at the RIR pulley from a practical point of view, first giving due credit to the welcome lightness. Next up of note is the very fine production quality. The body of the pulley is beautifully machined billet 6061 aluminum, given an attractive tumbled finish. All the edges are rounded, and shallow raised ridges protect the ends of the stainless-steel axle, which is secured with external snap rings for ease of maintenance and cleaning. The polymer pulley is smooth and spins easily; its semi-circular groove is 1/2-inch wide, thus suitable for most winch lines.

The cheek blocks are finely finished exactly flush with the edge of the pulley; this is attractive but, as Camel Trophy veteran Duncan Barbour pointed out when I showed it to him, would fail to protect the line from abrasion if the pulley wound up vertically in contact with the ground or a rock with line being pulled through it. The ARB Ultra Lite pulley incorporates shoulders on the flanks of the pulley which would help prevent this. If the Recovery Blok’s cheek blocks extended even a quarter inch there would be enough stand-off space to provide some protection.

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Of more potential hassle is the securing hole at the head of the unit. It is sized so that only the pin of a shackle will fit through it, not the loop. Thus, for example, if you wanted to attach the pulley to a typical winch bumper, the shackle mounts of which also only take the pin of the shackle, you’d need to insert a second shackle, loop to loop, to connect the RIR pulley—thus negating all your reduction in PKE and handling weight. This wouldn’t be a factor if, say, you’re rigging a redirected pull off a tree using a tree saver strap. The loop of the shackle will fit through the loops in the strap, and the pin can then secure the pulley. (A soft shackle fits as well.)

Last to consider, but far from the least important, is the working load limit and breaking strength. WLL of the Recovery Blok is 20,000 pounds, identical to that of the ARB Ultra Lite unit (and superior to their standard pulley), and suitable for winches in the 9,000 to 12,000-pound range.

Unfortunately—critically, in fact—Research in Recovery does not yet know the breaking strength of the Recovery Blok. ARB lists the breaking strength of the Ultra Lite pulley at 38,500 pounds—nearly a two-to-one safety margin. While it’s possible the RIR pulley will exhibit a similar margin once it is tested (the company says they should have the information by the end of the year), without a solid figure it would be foolish to assume it is anything above the WLL, and that is insufficient for a piece of equipment that will be employed in potentially hazardous situations. Despite the high quality of the RIR pulley and its welcome weight savings, until I see a documented safety factor I can’t recommend it. I’ll update here if I learn more.

RIR is here.

The winch that wouldn't work

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My friends are always sending me photos of vehicles they know will intrigue (or horrify) me. Most Series I, II, and III Land Rovers fit in the former category (although there are exceptions). The one here, spotted by Bruce Douglas in Seattle, looked nearly perfect at first glance—mostly stock, not quite concours and thus drivable without angst, lovely contrast of the dark green bodywork and tan hood, proper skinny tires on factory wheels.

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The aftermarket seats were a bit much, although given stock Series II seats somewhat understandable—but why not just install the appropriate and excellent Defender items? Still it was a striking vehicle.

Then I noticed the winch.

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Like quite a few early Land Rovers, this one was equipped with a capstan winch (whether from the factory or added later is impossible to say). A capstan winch differs from the more modern and much more common horizontal drum winch in having an upright drum, or capstan, like a winch on a sailboat. The capstan is powered by the engine, normally via a driveshaft connected to the front of the crankshaft. Unlike your Warn, Ramsey, or Superwinch, the capstan winch is designed to be used with a free length of rope, which is attached to the object to be winched (or to an anchor if winching the vehicle itself) and then wound around the capstan three or four times to provide friction. When the capstan is engaged, the operator pulls the free end of the rope to provide tension, and the capstan pulls in the attached end at slow speed. The advantage to this system is that there is no practical limit to the length of rope—if you need a 200-foot pull for some reason and have a 220-foot length of suitable rope, you’re good to go. It will also work as long as the engine is running, without overheating the winch or overtaxing the alternator. Disadvantages include limited power (most were rated at just 3,000 pounds, suitable for the 3/4-inch manila rope used) and the fact that if the engine isn’t running the winch isn’t either. Finally, solo recovery of a bogged vehicle is extremely awkward if not impossible. These downsides explain why capstan winches have been almost universally superceded by much more powerful horizontal drum winches that store their own line. 

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But the capstan on the Seattle Land Rover was—bewilderingly—wound with a long length of steel cable. This configuration cannot possibly function properly. You cannot use steel cable on a capstan as it is intended to be used—there would not be enough friction on the capstan and you would find the cable impossible to grip. And you cannot attach the free end of a steel cable to the capstan and expect it to wind in like a horizontal drum. It simply wouldn’t work and would likely destroy the winch in short order if it didn’t result in some much more serious failure. Note the horizontal bar on the mount, under which the rope is designed to run to properly feed it on to the capstan. Even if you managed to attach the steel cable and attempted to winch with it, it would instantly bunch up at the bottom of the capstan. 

I’m at a complete loss to explain what the owner of this otherwise fine vehicle was thinking. I suspect he or she had no idea how a capstan winch worked and, seeing the steel cable attached to many horizontal winch drums, ordered one and somehow managed to attach and spool it on this poor capstan. To the uninformed it might look cool, but one can only hope its owner never attempts to put it to use for anything other than posing in front of some well-known Seattle coffee shop.

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Solutions to problems that never existed

Human ingenuity is a wonderful thing.

Usually.

In the world at large, we can be grateful for those inventions that have benefited mankind and transformed lives: home espresso machines, noise-cancelling headphones, the Porsche 911. Oh, and dialysis machines and stuff.

In the overlanding world we have much to be thankful for as well: the 12V fridge of course, but also LED lighting, MotionX-GPS Pro, diff locks, Star Walk . . .

Then there are . . . the others. Products that make one—or at least me—think, What were they thinking? See if you agree/disagree with any of these. No offense taken or given if you don’t. further suggestions welcome.

Spork

Here’s a brilliant concept: “Let’s make a fork with triangle-shaped tines incapable of penetrating anything firmer than a cube of rotten tofu, and a spoon with built-in drainage cuts in the end so any liquid picked up in it dribbles out on the user’s shirt. Then let’s combine them in one utensil!” And they're everywhere. Even Snow Peak, purveyor of many otherwise stellar products, wastes bits of the world's finite supply of titanium on their own version.

I know genuinely smart people (including blood relations) who claim to be fans of this idiotic device. I’m convinced they are simply mortally embarrassed at having been fooled into parting with good money for one, and are determined to bluster on and insist it’s a fabulous tool. It’s not. It’s dumb. Buy a fork, and buy a spoon (Snow Peak makes nice ones). Your shirt will stay cleaner, and you can eat steak instead of rotten tofu.

Incidentally, if a normal spork is too mundane for you, there’s the Tactical Spork from Ka-Bar:

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Single-use soap

You know how difficult it is to get the last few uses out of a bar of soap when it’s been reduced to a sliver? How about paying for a pack of them? The entire concept of “single-use” soap is flawed to begin with. Single use for what? Washing your hands? What if your hands are really dirty? A shower? What if your “single-use” soap runs out when you’re only half clean? You get another, and have a half-use soap sliver left over? All this ran through my mind the first time I saw these things on a camping equipment site. Subsequent consideration hasn’t softened my stance.

One thing’s for sure: You’ll get taken to the cleaners while you’re getting cleaner. I found a pack of single-use soap “leaves” (actually shaped like leaves; cute) on Amazon. Twelve bucks for a pack of 20. That’s 60 cents every time you wash your hands.

Mini survival kits

Here’s the situation: You’re planning to head out into the wilderness with your 4x4/motorcycle/bicycle/backpack. And it crosses your mind that you might find yourself in a situation in which you lose everything—don’t ask how—and will have to stay alive, feed, water, and warm yourself, and find your way back to civilization by relying solely on the contents of the survival kit you grab before your 4x4/motorcycle/bicycle/backpack falls off the edge of a 5,000-foot cliff/is stolen by bandits/burns to ashes. So, of course that survival kit needs to fit inside a Peppermint Altoids tin, right? What’s in there? Let’s see—a razor blade for a knife, to skin the rabbit you catch with the included .00006” diameter “snare wire,” a condom to carry water (my favorite!), safety pins for. . . for . . . well, I’ve never been sure what for. A “fishing kit”: ten feet of ten-pound-test monofilament and three #12 hooks. A micro ferrocerium rod fire striker, of course, because no self-respecting mini survival kit would come with anything as plebeian and effective as windproof matches. And a button compass to precisely determine the difference between northish and sort of south.

At least the Altoids kits are cheap. I reviewed another mini survival kit here that was not.

The words “mini” and “survival kit” do not belong in the same sentence. If your life is going to depend on a single container of equipment, there is no reason it needs to fit in your back pocket. The best “pocket” survival kit for a large portion of the developed world is an iPhone. If you go more remote, carry a real kit with useful components.

“Spec-Ops” survival knives

I’ve ranted in detail about these before, here. Suffice to say, burdening yourself with one of these cartoonish monsters unless you have a very, very high chance of needing to “egress from your downed helicopter’s canopy,” chop through a concrete block, or take down a sentry with an occiput strike, is just silly. A good bushcraft or standard hunting knife will perform far better for 99.999 percent of the things you really need a knife for—including survival.

Pop-up tents

You know the kind I’m talking about—a flat disk of fabric-covered springy wire; you fling it open and it either becomes a tent or a windshield shade (“Dammit, we left the tent at home again!”)

These things are a tent connoisseur’s ultimate nightmare: Sea kayaking the arctic coast, I stop to pitch camp to sit through a rapidly approaching Force Five storm, and when I pull my bombproof, four-season Hilleberg tent out of its stuffsack it has transmogrified into a Barney-purple and Minions yellow pop-up dome tent. I wake up in a cold sweat. “Tent dream again?” Roseann says sleepily.

I’ve actually used one—it came with a hired Land Cruiser in Egypt. It would collapse in a breeze that was insensible to a wet finger, and its admittedly instant pitch was more than offset by the fact that it required two people, five arms, and eight tries to accomplish the six-sequence coiling motion needed to return it to its case. Stupid.* Read more here.

*Note that I make an exception for pop-up shower/toilet enclosures, which do not need to keep you dry and safe in a storm or wind.