Overland Tech: Battery welding in the field

Welding with automotive batteries is one of those near-mythical skills, like seating a tire bead with starting fluid, that most people never even attempt. But unlike explosive bead-seating, which a quick YouTube search will confirm can go wrong easily, battery welding is pretty straightforward. Recently, Doug Manzer had an opportunity to try it in the backcountry of Utah. 

Doug and his 11-year-old son, Nick, were on a solo-vehicle trip in their Toyota FJ Cruiser, towing a military M416 trailer modified by Doug for camping duty. While climbing a series of 90-degree rock ledges, both front spring mounts tore off the trailer’s frame. Inspection revealed that insidious rust had weakened the mounts. 

Doug had seen Matt Savage’s video of battery welding on one of Overland Expo’s 60-Second Overlander spots, and realized he had the perfect opportunity to try it. However, he only had two batteries with him, and was lacking a few other needed items, so he and Nick left the trailer and made the three-hour drive to the nearest town, Green River, for supplies. 

Click for larger imageBack on site, Doug hooked up his existing AGM batteries, including the main Odyssey, in series (positive to negative) with a purchased lead-acid battery, to create a 36-volt power source. He used a standard jumper clip on the positive terminal and a welding rod holder on the negative end. A C-clamp and the Toyota’s receiver hitch served as a makeshift vise for cutting 2 by 5-inch rectangles of flat steel to create a spring mount reinforcement. 

In his first attempt, using 6011 and then 6013 rods, Doug actually found the arc too hot and focused. A 316 rod turned out to be perfect for the thick, mild steel. A few rough but strong beads later, and father and son were on the trail again. So adequate did those welds turn out that all Doug did on returning home was to clean them up a bit. He’s certain the battery-powered field repair is far stronger than the factory mounts.

An interesting postscript: The Odyssey battery, reinstalled in the FJ Cruiser, started it right up after welding duty. But a check of the new lead-acid battery at home showed it to be 90 percent discharged. Chalk up one more anecdote for the superb Odyssey.

(Editor’s note: For those intrigued by the concept of battery welding, but inexperienced at using sticks, check out the excellent Ready Welder, a wire-feed unit capable of welding steel up to 1/2 inch thick using three batteries.)

Overland Tech: Watch those dropped nuts!

Very early in my automotive repair days, my friend Jack Hinwood helped me rebuild the engine on my 1971 Toyota Corolla. The Corolla had a lively 1600cc hemi-head four-cylinder engine, which we modified with high-compression pistons, a ported head, a modified cam, a header, and the piece de resistance, Weber carburetors. The result, combined with Michelin XAS tires, shortened springs, and Koni shocks, was a fierce little sleeper—a nondescript economy car that embarrassed 240Zs and 2002 tiis in a straight line, and was the undefeated king of several midnight races up Mount Lemmon outside Tucson. 

I learned a lot from Jack during the rebuild, but one thing in particular stuck with me. At one point he was installing some part or another, and dropped a nut. Instantly he froze what he was doing, and his eyes locked on that nut as it bounced off the floor and under a rolling tool cart, whence it was retrieved with little delay in the proceedings. I noticed then that whenever he dropped some bit, he stopped everything, including talking, and watched and listened where it went. The habit saved who knows how much time chasing down parts or even losing them completely. 

It’s a good habit to make instinctive—especially if you’re involved in a repair in the field far from a source of replacements, and probably working over dirt. In such a situation, a dropped nut or other small part could result in a lot of wasted time—or a real problem if it simply can’t be found.

To buy or not to buy: 1991 Toyota Land Cruiser

I currently drive two different vehicles—a fuel sipping Ford Focus, mostly to cover the short distance to work, and a fuel-guzzling Ford F-250 diesel, mostly for fishing and hunting . My wife has been encouraging me to downsize my fleet and recently observed that one of her friends has a ’91 Land Cruiser for sale. “What about something like that?” was her question to me; it could get me out to some remote fishing spots as well as fit a couple car seats for transporting kids (which my old truck doesn’t do so well). 

And so, I’ve been doing a little bit of looking into Land Cruisers. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.

-  This vehicle originally came from the States and has a fair number of miles on it (250,000). How many is too many? I’m currently driving a truck with 225,000 miles.  So, it wouldn’t be a whole lot more than what I’m already driving, but certainly wouldn’t be a step toward a lesser-used vehicle, which would be nice for peace of mind.

-  What sort of a ball-park price do you think is reasonable for a vehicle of that vintage? Obviously you won’t know the exact condition, but it seems to be in reasonable shape for its age.  There is a bit of surface rust starting to show up on the back door, below the window, and just above the windshield. I don’t think that it has been abused, but it hasn’t been babied either.

-  Would I be better off spending a bit more for a lower mileage vehicle? I need to keep my total purchase price below $10,000. This one is well below that. Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of these available in Alberta, from what I’ve been able to find. I’d potentially consider importing something from the States if that made sense.

-  Are other options worth looking at instead?  I’ve thought about Jeeps (Wrangler and Cherokee) or picking up a 4Runner, both of which are probably better on fuel and a whole lot more common.  I’d love to have a Tacoma, but won’t be able to find a 4-door in my price range.

Thanks for your feedback,

Robert Anderson via email, Blairmore, Alberta, Canada

Overland travel: Genetically modified anti-malarial mosquitoes closer to viability for release into the wild

It’s been over a decade since scientists created a mosquito genetically modified so its ability to transmit malaria—which kills 750,000 people each year worldwide, mostly in Africa—was virtually eliminated. But so far the anti-malarial GM mosquitoes have not been introduced into the wild, because the modification carries no definite survival advantage and would likely simply fade out of the wild population over time. 

That may have just changed. 

The eukaryotic protist Plasmodium that causes malaria has proven fiendishly adept at evolving resistance to drug after drug designed to prevent the sickness in humans. Even Lariam (mefloquine hydrochloride), the potent prophylactic known to cause rare but serious neuropsychiatric side effects (not to mention cardiac arrhythmia), is showing signs of reduced efficacy. Of course if one minimizes getting bitten by mosquitoes in the first place the risks of contracting the disease go down. But while avoidance strategies such as bed nets, protective clothing, and insect repellent help, they are not 100 percent effective, nor are they often available to poor people in malarial regions. Residential application of pesticide has been shown to be effective, and there is a campaign to re-approve DDT for this purpose, as its risks in small amounts are far lower than the risk from malaria (the huge environmental problems caused by DDT in the 1950s and 1960s resulted from mass aerial sprayings over farmland, not residential use). But, again, pesticides cannot eliminate the possibility of being bitten.

What if we could skip drugs, bed nets, and pesticides altogether and create a mosquito that was incapable of transmitting malaria?

That was accomplished in 2000 at Imperial College London. But being unable to transmit malaria has a neutral effect on the mosquito—it adds no survival advantage except in a few rare situations, so if such a population were released into the wild, the modified gene would probably disappear over time. 

Now scientists at ICL have figured out a way to make the modification spread through a wild population, using something called a homing endonuclease gene, which can make a copy of itself, ensuring that all offspring wind up with a copy as well. When the researchers introduced the HEG into one percent of a sample mosquito population, they found that in just 12 generations (each generation requires about 20 days), the gene had spread through half the population.

So—we’re not leaving the Off! home just yet, but we’ll follow these developments with interest.

Link to the article on SciDev.net:

http://www.scidev.net/en/news/survival-prospects-boosted-for-antimalarial-mosquitoes-.html 

And, if you really want the full story, the report in Nature: 

http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v473/n7346/full/nature09937.html

Equipment review: Arctic Butterfly sensor-cleaning brush

A few weeks ago I received an unexpected Royal Mail package from Tom Sheppard. Inside was an orange case the right size to contain a pen or a watch. 

Hmm . . . Had Tom decided to pass on to me his GMT Master?

Probably not.

What Tom had sent me was not a Rolex, but something nearly as useful if one were on a trip of a lifetime and interested in bringing home digital images free of those nasty little dark blots caused by dust on the camera’s sensor. The amusingly named Arctic Butterfly sensor brush, from a company called Visible Dust, uses the principles of static charging to enhance the ability of its bristles to lift off minute debris from a digital camera’s sensor (or, more correctly, the filter that covers the actual sensor).

Many cameras these days are equipped with so-called self-cleaning sensors, which use vibration to literally shake dust particles off the surface. But those particles are obviously still in the camera—one can almost imagine a tiny dust dune growing slowly under the sensor on a long off-pavement journey. Unlikely perhaps; nevertheless, while self-cleaning sensors help, they don’t remove dust from the sensor chamber, and they don’t shake off the more stubborn particles. 

For those clingy bits, and for all our cameras that don’t have the self-cleaning feature, the standard approach of a filtered bulb blower followed by a sensor swab moistened with cleaning solution works superbly. However, if the blower misses a hard bit which subsequently gets trapped under the edge of the swab, the result can be a scratched sensor. I’ve also used the Delkin Sensor Vac—literally a miniature Hoover—with very good results, but even it usually required followup with a swab for complete cleaning.

Operation of the Arctic Butterfly brush is simple. Set your camera on ‘sensor clean’ to lock up the mirror. Hold the brush away from the camera and hit the power button three times for a few seconds each time. This spins the brush rapidly, ejecting any debris in the bristles and enhancing their static attractiveness. Switch off, then gently swipe the brush just once across the sensor, trying hard not to brush the sensor chamber or other parts of the camera, which could have lubricant residue on them. Do not spin the brush while it’s in contact with the sensor (I wonder how many males who don’t read instructions have assumed the wrong thing here?).

That’s it. You can check the sensor for dust by pointing your camera at a white wall, stopping down the lens all the way, making sure the wall is out of focus, then taking a shot. Camera shake won’t affect the results, since what you’re looking for is moving with the camera. Examine the image in Photoshop or another program. Or use a commercially available optic such as Visible Dust’s ‘Quasar’ sensor loupe, or Delkin’s SensorScope, to examine the sensor directly.

I found the Arctic Butterfly to be very effective, as evidenced by pre- and post-brush inspection, and it’s probably more so in a dry environment such as our southwestern deserts or Tom’s Sahara. In fact, combined with a good, filter-equipped bulb blower, I think this is all one would need to guarantee virtually spot-free images for the duration of most trips. Eliminating the swabs means you don’t have to worry about sourcing sensor-cleaning fluid at your destination (since it’s generally prohibited on airlines). In its padded case the brush weighs just 4.8 ounces; on its own it’s only 2.1 ounces. Cheap, lightweight trip insurance for your images. Thanks to Tom Sheppard for alerting me to a good product I’d somehow missed.

Now, Tom—about that beat-up old watch of yours . . .

visibledust.com

Equipment review: Hi-Lift vs. Hydra-Jac

In 2008 I chanced upon a reference to the Hydra-Jac, a lightweight (13 pounds versus the Hi-Lift’s 30), hydraulically operated jack with what appeared to be a similar range of lift travel to the Hi-Lift. The Hydra-Jac is manufactured by Radflo, a company already well-known for sophisticated long-travel shock absorbers designed for race vehicles and rock buggies. It seemed a logical step for them to apply this expertise to a long-travel jack. It was clear the Hydra-Jac was not designed as a replacement for the Hi-Lift, given its relatively modest 2,200-pound capacity compared to the Hi-Lift’s nominal 4,660 (although the company’s website refers to “that old-fashioned cast-iron jack you’ve been lugging around”).

But it seemed a fair trade given the handiness and what promised to be much easier and safer operation, via a short lever that didn’t appear capable of doing much damage even if you did manage to get your head between it and the cylinder. A one-ton-plus rating should be enough to lift one end of most medium-sized 4WD vehicles clear of the ground. The price was wincingly high at over $300—three times the price of a Hi-Lift—but if the performance justified it, I thought the Hydra-Jac might represent a viable alternative if used within its design parameters. 

Notice I mentioned that was 2008? I spent the next two years trying to actually get a Hydra-Jac to test.

The fault was not with Radflo’s independent public relations rep, who was eager to help. But the first time I requested a unit to review, he told me another publication had been promised “exclusive rights” for the first article, and I couldn’t have one for several months. Um . . .okay. 

The next time I checked, I was told the company had agreed to loan a jack to me for testing if I guaranteed it would be returned “in the same condition in which it was shipped.” Say what? It’s a jack—the first time I used it, much less tested it, its condition was bound to change. I said no thanks.

A year later I tried again. This time it was mentioned that the owner of Radlfo “might have apprehensions about loaning the product to journalists he’s never met,” and that I should drop by the booth at SEMA to introduce (i.e. ingratiate?) myself. By now I was beginning to wonder if I was wasting my time, and if there was another reason Radflo didn’t want their jack tested in the real world. I skipped SEMA that year anyway for other reasons (not really into posters signed by Hooter’s girls). But, astonishingly, in another few months the skies parted and a Hydra-Jac appeared at my shipping depot. 

On first inspection I couldn’t see what all the hesitation had been about. The Hydra-Jac appears to be very well-made, and adequately specced for its metric-ton rating. The piston is a 22mm chrome-plated rod, sleeved with a 35mm steel tube. The operating handle looks absurdly delicate compared to the blunt-force-trauma club of a Hi-Lift, but it implies easy cranking. The actual travel of the piston (and thus the lifting foot) is 18 inches—not a lot when you realize a Hi-Lift’s foot will climb nearly the full 48 or 60 inches of its main beam—but the Hydra-Jac’s foot can be loosened and repositioned to suit the application, which increases versatility. Complementing the light weight is its compact length—just 37 inches (a 48-inch model is also available).

So let’s do some comparing. 

First off, you won’t be doing any winching or vising with the Hydra-Jac. It’s made for jacking, period. I suppose you might be able to wedge the round base on a chassis member to pry off some bent sheet metal or straighten a tie rod, but essentially this tool is made for lifting things.

I first tried a simple face-off by jacking up the back end of my FJ40 until both wheels were in the air. Using the Hi-Lift, the procedure is to make sure the reversing lever is in its ‘up’ position (it should always be stored thusly), after which it’s possible to pull the mechanism and foot of the jack up the main beam with the operating handle until the foot meets the bottom of the vehicle’s bumper. Making sure the jack is vertical and well-located, one then pumps the operating handle, keeping (gloved!) fingers out of the space between the handle and the main beam, and most definitely keeping one’s head out of said space. Without too much effort the rear wheels were dangling. Moving the reversing lever to ‘down’ (which usually involves a swift bang with a fist), and the procedure is essentially reversed. Once the jack has less than around 150 pounds pressure on it the lifting mechanism will drop to the base (this characteristic has caught more than one new Hi-Lift user by surprise).

With the Hydra-Jac, effort from start (picking up the jack) to finish (lowering the vehicle) was vastly reduced. The movable foot happened to be in the right position to engage the Land Cruiser’s bumper, so I simply tightened the hydraulic lock valve on the jack’s tubular body, and began working the lever. No opportunity without considerable trouble to put oneself in harm’s way—there’s never any recoil potential on the lever. In 15 seconds the tires were in the air, after which it was the work of a second to loosen the lock and lower the vehicle. Control was good enough to bring it down a millimeter at a time, or all the way with a whoosh. First round to the Hydra-Jac.

Then it was time for a recovery. I decided to bury the front (heavier) end of the Land Cruiser in sand and use each jack to lift it high enough to place sand mats under the tires. Normally this isn’t my preferred method of sand recovery, since it forces you to lift the body of the vehicle far enough to max out the suspension travel before the wheels begin to rise, whereas if you can get a bottle jack under the axle you only need to lift a fraction of the distance. But I wanted to put the jacks at their most disadvantageous.

I drove down to the wash that feeds our cattle tank. It has a sandy but not treacherously soft surface. As usual, when you want to get a vehicle stuck it’s nearly impossible. In two-wheel-drive with full street pressure, time and time again I revved the engine and popped the clutch, and the FJ40 just pulled on out. Finally I managed to spin a couple of rather pathetic holes, pulled the front wheels into them, and shoveled sand back around the tires. 

Again the Hi-Lift was first. I didn’t bother with the big red plastic ORB jack base, but the Hi-Lift’s base barely sank as I started pumping the handle. It took considerably more effort to raise the front of the 40 with that massive cast-iron six in there, plus the suction of the sand. The ironic thing about the Hi-Lift is that the harder it is to pump, the more difficult it is to keep one’s head out of the Danger Zone arc of the handle, and the more dire the potential consequences if one’s grip slips. But, as usual, the thing does work, and out came the tires. 

Now for the Hydra-Jac. This time, the foot was too high on the shaft to get under the front bumper. So I had to get a wrench to loosen and lower it to the correct height, rather than being able to instantly adjust for any starting height as with the Hi-Lift. More interestingly, as soon as I began pumping the operating lever, the Hydra-Jac’s round base headed straight for China through the gravelly sand. It sank at least seven or eight inches before the Land Cruiser started to rise, and I ran out of travel before the tires were high enough to insert sand mats. 

Some quick math explained it. The Hydra-Jac’s round base is four inches in diameter, giving it just 12.5 square inches of area. The Hi-Lift’s four by seven-inch rectangular base has well over twice the area—28 square inches. 

I retracted the Hydra-Jac’s piston and put the ORB base underneath. Even though not designed for this jack, the ORB gave plenty of support, and the Land Cruiser rose much quicker. Pumping the hydraulic arm required significantly more effort than when raising the back end on firm ground, but was still infinitely easier than working the Hi-Lift. However, I noticed another quirk regarding the Hydra-Jac. Its design means that the hydraulic ram, which is attached to the base, is free to rotate inside the cylinder. The result was that if the vehicle was not perfectly level side to side, the jack tried to swivel on its foot against the bumper. I came close to tipping the vehicle sideways off the jack, as if I were employing the classic “casting jack” technique to move the vehicle sideways out of a rut.

So round two went to the Hi-Lift, which, despite the greater effort and care required, was actually faster and less troublesome than the Hydra-Jac. Since recovery is the most vital—and the most common—use to which either of these jacks is likely to be put, I had to conclude that the Hi-Lift remains the most versatile jacking tool for backcountry travel.

I do think the Hydra-Jac has potential. If the base were enlarged it would solve one major drawback. If some way could be found to prevent the ram from being able to turn inside the cylinder, I believe the jack would gain significantly in control and ease of use. Its light weight, ease of storage, much lighter pumping action, and greater margin of safety are obvious advantages.

The last thing I would have liked to test was the Hydra-Jac’s durability, especially regarding the hydraulic mechanism. Hi-Lifts might get ornery and stiff, but they rarely break. Alas, Radlfo declined to leave the jack with me for a long-term test. 

So, for now, at least, I’m back to cursing—and counting on—my well-used Hi-Lift jack.

What is the safest way to carry enough water for an extended trip?

For years I've been getting by with using the big plastic water containers from Reliance. But now that I'm planning an extended trip into Baja this fall, I thought I'd better get a jump on better options. Any thoughts on the safest way to carry enough water for an extended trip?

- Tony in Los Angeles, via Twitter

Overland skills: Fire without matches

I’ve always been fascinated by bushcrafting - those guys who can build a shelter, gather and trap food, and make a fire with nothing but a knife. The firemaking part always seemed the most magical, so finally I decided to try it, using the bow drill method. 

The material of choice here in southern Arizona is sotol, a plant in the agave family that grows at elevations over 3,800 feet or so. Specifically you want the dried flower stalk, which forms a tough, fibrous pole. I hiked up the hill to the south of us and brought back a few, then prepared, first, a hearth by splitting a length to get a flat piece, then a spindle by smoothing out a narrower piece near the tip. 

The next step is the key. You start a depression for the spindle in the hearth with the tip of your knife, then twist the spindle into it to smooth it. Then you must cut a notch in the side that just intersects the depression, and which widens at the bottom. The ember which is the aim of the procedure gathers in this notch, and you then transfer the ember to your tinder bundle. 

I cheated by using a synthetic rope for the bow, rather than stripping agave leaves with my teeth to braid one (next time). The bow was a length of mesquite. 

It took four tries to get a good ember in the notch, but it died when I transfered it to my dried grass tinder bundle and blew on it. Finally, on the eighth try, the tinder bundle burst into flame. It was so cool I whooped out loud. 

Next I want to try the hand drill method, which obviates the need for the bow and string. Report to follow. New class at the Overland Expo?