Not so simple: The simple redirected winch pull

Take any reasonably comprehensive winching course and, once you’ve covered the basic single-line pull, you’ll be introduced to the snatch block—or, more recently, its elegant one-piece alternative, the billet-aluminum recovery ring.

A pulley—which is what both devices are—serves a couple of purposes in a winch system. Most impressively, when a winch line from a vehicle is led through a pulley attached to an anchor and then back to a recovery point on the vehicle, the power of the winch is essentially doubled (minus minor frictional losses) while line speed is halved. (A corollary to this is that by pulling more line off the winch to rig a double-line pull, you are further increasing the power of the winch by reducing the layers of line on the drum. Thus you receive a double benefit during a difficult recovery.)

The other valuable use of a pulley is to redirect a pull—around a corner as it were—when a straight one is either awkward, dangerous, or impossible. It’s frequently used to recover a bogged vehicle when a recovery vehicle equipped with a winch cannot be positioned directly in front of it. A suitable anchor such as a tree is employed as a redirect point, using a tree strap and a pulley.

When you learn how to rig a redirected pull you’ll also learn that this use of a pulley does not multiply the power of the winch, nor does it halve the line speed. The easiest way to figure out whether or not you are multiplying winch power in any situation is to count how many lines are shortening when you engage the winch. For example, in the illustration below labelled Double-line Pull, both the line from the winch to the pulley and the line from the pulley back to the vehicle will shorten as the winch pulls, thus the power is multiplied by two.

On the other hand, in our simple redirected-pull scenario above, only the line running from the pulley to the bogged vehicle will shorten—the distance between the pulley and the winching vehicle will not change. Therefore the winch is operating at its rated power.

But now comes the not-so-simple  part. What about the load on the anchor?

Let’s assume that in all our scenarios, the bogged vehicle needs 4,000 pounds of pull to retrieve it. If the operator rigs a single line pull to the tree anchor directly in front of the vehicle and engages the winch, the load on both the winch and the tree is 4,000 pounds.

If the operator rigs a double-line pull, the vehicle still needs only 4,000 pounds of pull to move. Due to the effects of the pulley the load on each line is halved, to 2,000 pounds; thus the winch is  only exerting 2,000 pounds (and only drawing the amperage necessary for that), and the recovery point on the vehicle is also experiencing 2,000 pounds of force. The load on the anchor remains 4,000 pounds.

So far so good. Now let’s take another look at our redirected pull, where one vehicle is at 90 degrees to the other. In this scenario, the bogged vehicle still needs 4,000 pounds of force to move. The winch on the recovery vehicle is also subjected to 4,000 pounds—again taking into account slight frictional losses. So the force on the anchor must also be 4,000 pounds, right?

Actually . . . no.

In this case—a 90-degree redirected pull—the force on the anchor will actually be 5,656 pounds, almost 50 percent higher. The force is calculated using the formula:

pull = 2t(cosine x)

 . . . where pull is the force on the anchor, t is the force exerted by the winch, and x is one half the angle at which the winch line passes through the pulley (in other words, the direction in which the anchor would move if it failed; in a 90-degree redirect it would be 45 degrees).

So, in our case, 2 x 4,000 pounds is 8,000, multiplied by the cosine of 45º which is .707, equals 5,656 pounds. 

There’s more. As the angle between the bogged vehicle and the recovery vehicle narrows, the force on the anchor continues to increase. Imagine the scenario below, in which the recovery vehicle has to be situated directly alongside the bogged one—I’ve been in this situation. In this case, with the angle between the winch lines near zero, the force on the anchor would be (very nearly) doubled, to 8,000 pounds—even though the bogged vehicle is still only subject to 4,000 pounds of pull to free it. Imagine a tougher scenario in which the recovered vehicle took the full might of, say, a 10,000-pound winch to free it. In such a case that pine tree you wrapped your strap around is going to have about 20,000 pounds of force trying to pull it over—and all the hardware attached to it will be subject to the same stress.

You don’t actually have to have a calculator with a cosine function to figure the increase in force if you use a chart such as this, where “factor” equals how much the force on an anchor is multiplied by different angles of redirected pull :

And, in reality, you don’t need to do any figuring or checking at all. All you need to remember is that in any redirected pull, the force on the anchor can be up to twice what the rest of the system is subjected to. And the anchor includes the tree or chocked vehicle or whatever you are rigging to, as well as the tree strap, shackle, and pulley in the anchor assembly.

Non-instinctive effects of physics such as this reinforce the axiom always to use recovery equipment rated for the vehicle and winch, with working load limits (WLL) clearly marked, and adequate safety factors. 

Learn how to winch online! Or not.

The greatest thing about the Worldwide Web is the vast amount of information accessible with a few clicks of a computer mouse.

The worst thing about the Worldwide Web is the vast amount of mis-information accessible with a few clicks of a computer mouse.

As part of my explorations of the online overlanding world, I occasionally browse through instructional YouTube videos, and I am frequently reminded how many of them should be called “instructional” videos. Sometimes the information in the latter type is harmless. Other times it is decidedly not harmless. That especially applies when the “instruction” is about winching.

Consider the video I have bookmarked in which the host attempts to demonstrate the party trick of moving a vehicle backward with a front-mounted winch. In essence this is a simple and virtually worthless procedure that involves running the line from the winch through a snatch block anchored to a tree in front of the vehicle, then to another attached to a tree behind the vehicle, then back through a third snatch block mounted on the vehicle’s rear recovery point, and finally to an anchor. When the winch is engaged the mathematics of the line being pulled results in the vehicle moving slowly backward. Aside from the fact that very few of us carry three snatch blocks, the odds of anchors being in exactly the right spot to rig this system where you might get bogged are scant. Our host got around the problem of multiple snatch blocks by simply using shackles instead—with steel winch cable. Ouch. He also utilized a child’s car seat as a winch line damper. Needless to say his attempt failed. However, the furthest anyone really needed to go with this “instructional” video was a glance at the fellow’s “spooled” winch cable.

A rat’s nest just begging for a snarl or jam.

In another demonstration of reverse winching, a cheerful Aussie bloke uses a kinetic strap as a tree saver—pretty much the most egregious never-do-this move you can make when rigging a winch recovery.

However, a recent video I watched, from Bold Canyon Outdoors, was in a way even more confusing, as it boasted decent production values, a well-spoken host, and significantly better equipment. The video offered a basic guide to winching, including a single, double, and triple-line pull.

It started out with a bit of humor, which was fun. But after the host brought out the winch kit he was using—and heavily promoting—from a company called Gear America, and began discussing the procedure, things began to go south. If I went through the video again I could probably pick out more goofs, but what I noticed immediately included the following.

First, he simply introduced a Jeep Wrangler with a winch. He said nothing about winch selection, sizing, mounting—the winch was simply there, taken for granted.

Then, when he introduced the “Gear America Ultimate Winching and Rigging Off Road Recovery Kit” (yes, really), he made no mention of matching the kit to the winch, no mention of working load limits (WLL) or minimum breaking strength (MBS) of the shackles or snatch block. He pulled out a “tow strap” included in the kit. Was it truly a tow strap, or a kinetic-recovery strap? Big difference. You can use an elastic recovery strap to tow with, but it would be dangerous to use a non-elastic tow strap as a kinetic recovery strap. He referred to the bow shackles in the kit as D-rings—not a big deal, you might say, but the little mistakes and omissions were quickly adding up to a not-very-credible presentation.

When the host ran the winch line out to a tree to use as an anchor, he mentioned nothing about choosing an appropriate (i.e. live and large enough) tree to take the strain. He also, critically, failed to check overhead for dead limbs that could be dislodged by the stress of winching. He properly employed a tree saver strap, but positioned it above waist height. A tree strap should be positioned as low as possible to reduce stress on the tree. Finally, when he connected the winch line to the tree strap with a bow shackle, he specified that the shackle pin should be “snug”—an elementary beginner’s mistake. A shackle pin should be snugged, then backed off a quarter turn or so. This is not a safety issue, but a way to ensure the pin doesn’t jam under load.

He then properly advocated employing a winch line damper to help control a recoiling line if a component in the system breaks. He placed the weight in the middle of the line. This is a small point, but I prefer placing the damper closer to the end of the line where the shackle and winch hook are—those are the heavy bits that represent the most danger should either or both come loose.

Next the host demonstrated a double line pull. While doing so, he introduced the Gear America snatch block, and noted that it is “suitable for either synthetic or steel winch line.”

Ugh.

The Gear America snatch block has a steel pulley with what looks like a standard semi-circular groove for the line. That’s perfectly suited for steel cable. A snatch block for synthetic line should ideally have a composite pulley. More to the point, while the steel Gear America pulley could be used with synthetic line, you would certainly not want to do so once it had been used with steel cable, and you most definitely would not want to swap back and forth. Steel cable will leave micro-abrasions on the pulley that are not good for synthetic line. (For the same reason, a winch fairlead—whether hawse or roller—that has been used with steel cable should be replaced if synthetic line is installed on the winch.)

I looked up Gear America, which seems to specialize in low-cost recovery equipment. The “Gear America Ultimate Winching and Rigging Off Road Recovery Kit” actually comprises a pretty basic assortment of kit, including what the website lists as a “tow strap.” Hmm. So I looked up that product separately, and found its description:  “Use it as a Tow Strap, Recovery Strap, Tree Saver Strap or Winch Extension Strap, making it an extremely versatile product.”

Oh brother.

I looked at the construction, which is polyester, meaning there will be very little stretch in this thing. Therefore the suggested use as a “recovery strap” is highly problematic, since a recovery strap is commonly made from nylon and designed to stretch and absorb shock when it is used in a kinetic recovery. A novice who had looked at just enough YouTube “instructional” videos to have a vague idea of how to snatch a stuck vehicle could easily break something or rip off a bumper by backing up and taking a run at moving a bogged vehicle with this “multi-purpose” strap. At least the site lists the MBS and WLL of the strap (35,000 and 12,000 lb).

Next I looked at the bow shackles included with the not-going-to-write-it-all-out-again recovery kit—which are actually described there as “D-ring shackles.” They’re 3/4-inch versions, a standard size in thousands of recovery kits, and properly stamped “WLL 4 3/4T,” or 9,500 pounds. With a standard six-to-one safety factor on shackles that works out to a 57,000-pound MBS. However, the description right under the photo of the shackle and its stamp says it has a “10,500-lb WLL and 58,000-lb MBS.” Hmm . . .

9,500 pounds? Or 10,500?

Not to worry about math. Below that is the assurance that you can:

• MAKE A BOLD STATEMENT - Our Unique Design Ensures Unprecedented Strength and Looks Amazing on your Jeep or Tuck (sic).

Lastly I looked at the Gear America snatch block, and sure enough it’s listed as being suitable for both steel and synthetic line. Also, the snatch block itself is labeled “9 US ton,” while the description below it says it has a “10,000-pound working load limit,” and an MBS of 10 tons. So . . . which is it, guys? Further, it appears there is no WLL indicated on the product, which could lead a user to assume the “9 US ton” refers to a working load limit—a dangerous assumption.

My impression of the Gear America site, I’m afraid, is that is was conceived and created by some people who thought selling 4x4 recovery gear would be a good business, but who have very little experience with actual 4x4 recovery. Either that or they handed off their website design to someone with no clue, and didn’t do any fact-checking.

Going back to the Bold Canyon Outdoors video, I realized the host was simply parroting most of what the Gear America advertising stated regarding their products. But that’s no excuse: If you’re going to post an “instructional” video that involves a potentially hazardous activity (the one in question has had 8,000 views), you really should strive to get every detail correct.

Total commitment: adding a pop-top conversion

A Mulgo pop-top on a Land Cruiser Troopy, and a Dormobile conversion on a Defender 110, from Sonoran Rovers.

Think way, way back to the Pre-Cambrian Era of the U.S. overlanding scene: say, 2005.

If you were interested in backcountry vehicle-based exploration, what choices did you have for self-sufficient accommodation? 

There were plenty of ground tents on the market, from small to large and bad to excellent. If you owned a pickup and wanted a slide-in camper that could withstand regular off-pavement use, you had a choice between the excellent but heavy Alaskan and the excellent and lighter Four Wheel Camper. 

And . . . that was pretty much it, unless you owned a rare Land Rover Dormobile. The clever flip-top Wildernest was gone, sadly too far ahead of its time. There were no adventure trailers, no roof tents—and certainly no Earthcruisers or Global Expedition Vehicles.

Today the situation is reversed. We have a bewildering array of options. However, since few people can afford a single-purpose vehicle, the choice for the majority of us comprises a more-or-less mainstream 4x4 passenger vehicle which we then modify to a greater or lesser extent to support multi-day excursions. And if you own a long-wheelbase model such as a Land Cruiser station wagon, a Wrangler Unlimited, a (pre-2020) Land Rover Defender 110, or something similar, the most drastic possible modification is a pop-top conversion, which involves sawing the entire top off the vehicle to install a lifting roof and bed system. What are the upsides and downsides of such a full-steam-ahead approach?

One obvious downside is cost. Pop-top conversions are universally expensive, in the range of $6,000 to $9,000, double the cost of even the dearest roof tents; far more than a free-standing ground tent with full standing headroom and a full suite of accessories. And that initial cost is just for the top and bed, not any interior cabinetry or cooking/washing/refrigerating options. 

The other big downside is also obvious: You are permanently altering the vehicle with a giant hole cut in the factory roof. Yes, technically speaking you could reverse most pop-top installations, but it would probably represent a financial hit close to the cost of the conversion itself. For something like a Land Cruiser 60, 70, or 80 series it would involve finding a donor roof from a wrecked vehicle and either edge-welding in the missing bit or replacing the entire roof. It would be slightly easier with a Defender given the Mechano assembly of the roof structure, but still steep.

“What have we done?”

All right—so you’re okay with the cost of a conversion, and willing to decapitate a perfectly sound vehicle. What do you get in return?

Quite a lot, actually.

First, consider setup and weather-resistance. I can hold my breath for the time it takes me to pop the Mulgo top on our 70-Series Land Cruiser Troopy. Most other front-hinged brands are just as quick, as is the side-opening Dormobile roof. Yet wind resistance in the erected structure in all the makes I’ve looked at or tried is superb, since the entire assembly is secured around its perimeter to a 5,000-pound ground anchor, and the hydraulic struts used to raise and support the roof keep the fabric taut. No soft-shell roof tent comes close in un-flappability, and even a high-quality ground tent such as the Springbar would have to be well-staked and guyed to compete—20 minutes of work, minimum.

Once you’ve taken the 30 seconds to raise the top, you have full standing headroom within the footprint of the cargo area of the vehicle. Even if you leave the interior stock, the ability to stand up inside, out of rain and wind, is a blessing. Add cabinetry, a sink, stove, and fridge, and suddenly you have a mini motorhome that will enable you to comfortably wash, cook, and eat inside during the worst weather. 

Since the Troopy is right-hand drive, the tall cabinets are on the right, behind the driver. In a left-hand-drive vehicle this would be reversed.

Roseann designed our cabinetry so the Kanz kitchen can be removed and set up on legs for cooking outside.

Ensuring cabinets are correctly sized.

At the end of the day, about five seconds is all it takes to deploy a full-size bed platform  and comfortable mattress. In our Mulgo conversion there is enough space to leave all our sheets, blankets, and pillows in place as well, virtually eliminating setup time for sleeping. Hydraulic struts hold the bed up against the roof while living inside. Pull down on the loops and . . . bedtime.

The costs for all this in terms of the donor vehicle’s performance, fuel economy, and backcountry ability are essentially nothing. Our Mulgo conversion raised the factory roof height by 35mm—less than an inch and a half. Thus overhead clearance is barely affected, as are aerodynamics (such as they are in a Land Cruiser Troop Carrier). The Mulgo conversion adds 75 kg (165 pounds) to the vehicle, no more than some roof tent/rack combinations, with a significantly lower center of gravity—and, did I mention, standing headroom? If one considers instead a full-sized ground tent plus cots and mattresses, you’re still looking at only about 100 pounds of actual added weight. 

There are a few practical disadvantages: Our Troopy interior is not nearly as roomy as our previous Four Wheel Camper Fleet model, with its spacious transverse front dinette, queen-sized bed (the Mulgo is a double), and interior shower. With the Troopy’s bed platform lowered there is only about two feet of standing space between it and the back door—enough to dress and for access but that’s it. Both of us need to be up to put the kettle on in the morning, unlike in the FWC. But then the Four wheel Camper added 1,000 pounds to our Tacoma, in addition to significant wind resistance on the highway and a noticeably higher center of gravity. Fair trade-offs: We loved both the Four Wheel Campers we owned. We gave up some spaciousness to retain superior four-wheel-drive capability and fuel economy.

Of course, by no means do we hole up inside when camped unless the weather is truly miserable. An Eezi-Awn Bat 270 awning provides wrap-around shade and rain protection, and two clip-on wall sections allow us to arrange a sheltered outdoor room. A clever slide-out table incorporated into an interior bench gives us outdoor eating and work space. Erecting all this adds perhaps ten minutes to total setup time. But the point is, after we put in a 300-mile day on corrugated tracks and pull up somewhere in the dark in a pouring rain, all we have to do is pop the top and we’re home.

Having driven both clamshell pop-top conversions and a Dormobile, I can say that in neither case could I detect any loss of structural rigidity, even on rocky roads and in off-camber trail situations. Plus, you can actually stand and walk around on our Mulgo top’s aluminum roof—not possible on the factory roof. I’ve not noticed any noise difference either; if anything the Mulgo top might dampen it. 

The way we designed and built our interior, with permanently attached cabinets, the Troopy is of very little use for anything except traveling. But that was just our approach—if you eschewed cabinetry, or fashioned an interior in modules that could be easily removed, the top itself wouldn’t hinder the day-to-day utility of the vehicle one bit. You could even leave in the rear seat and restrict camping modifications to the rear deck. Our friends Connie and Graham, who bought  their own Troopy and traveled with us across Australia and then Africa, had their own Mulgo top installed but left in a drawer system and a simpler interior—personal preference.

Wolf Pack food “pantries” can be accessed in place or moved outside with the Kanz.

In terms of upkeep, most pop-tops are virtually maintenance-free. The roof is one piece and thus leakproof as long as mounting holes for the tie-down tracks and the solar panel and wiring are properly sealed. One note: I’ve yet to find a brand of hydraulic strut that’s any better than any other (what I’d give to have Koni introduce a line), and the Mulgo top uses four, two each for the top and the bed. So we carry spares, plus a fail-safe backup: a three-foot-long stick, easily wedged to keep the top off our faces even if two struts blew out at once. 

Our leap of faith into pop-top ownership was more fraught than most of you might experience: We had ours installed on a vehicle we bought sight unseen in Australia, and then had trucked to Sydney for surgery before we even arrived, to have a conversion installed we also had never seen. So you could say there was some trepidation.

One night laid that to rest. Three continents later, we’re still in love with the expedition-ready amalgamation of a 70-Series Troop Carrier and a mini-Winnebago. The biggest “problem” we face now is the extra time needed to chat with the people drawn to it as if by rare-earth magnetism everywhere we go.  

Shackles: Are yours doing their job?

Proper shackle angle on an Old Man Emu suspension

I wonder if Obadiah Elliot had any clue, when in 1804 he patented a system of stacked steel plates designed to smooth the ride of a carriage, that his invention would still be in use two centuries later.

To be sure, the leaf spring has been eclipsed in sophistication by coil, torsion, and air springs, yet its simplicity, ruggedness, and low cost keep it standard equipment on the rear axles of millions of pickups and four-wheel-drive vehicles, as well as on the axles of larger freight-hauling trucks.

It’s not so much the cost of the spring itself that makes leaf-spring suspension systems cheaper to manufacture—it has to do more with the fact that a leaf spring also comprises its own locating mechanism. A coil or air-sprung beam axle requires a leading or trailing arm (or multiples) to secure it fore and aft, and a transverse arm such as a Panhard rod to locate it side to side. The leaf spring does both all on its own. Additionally, the stress a leaf spring applies to the chassis is divided between its front and rear mounting points, while the perch of a coil spring has to take all the load, requiring sufficient reinforcement.

Perhaps the biggest disadvantage of the leaf spring—that is, in the common configuration with multiple leaves—is inter-leaf friction, which not only hinders springing action but can vary or increase as, for example, the leaves become rusty. Some manufacturers such as Old Man Emu address this with a nylon pad at the end of each leaf, which can be lubricated.

There’s one situation, incidentally, when that interleaf friction can be an advantage—if you blow a shock absorber (as we recently did on our Land Cruiser Troopy), inter-leaf friction attenuates the endless cycling (bouncing) that would otherwise occur. If you’ve ever driven a coil-sprung vehicle with bad (or no) shocks, you’ll know what I mean. 

Those of you with leaf springs at one or both ends of your vehicle likely have never given much thought to the shackles—those brackets that connect the free end of the spring to the chassis. But they perform a critical function, and their orientation can affect several aspects of suspension performance.

A leaf spring in its static position has a specified eye-to-eye length. When it flexes as the vehicle travels over a bump or through a hole, the spring “lengthens” or “shortens”—obviously it actually does neither; as it flexes the arch in the spring simply decreases or increases, changing the eye-to-eye distance. A leaf spring attached rigidly to the chassis at both ends could not flex at all, so the shackle travels through an arc to allow this. Clearly, then, you want the shackle oriented so it does this job as effectively as possible. 

Take a look at this diagram.

Ignore for a moment everything but the angle at which the shackle meets the spring at the eye. This shows that angle as 90 degrees to the datum line—a line drawn straight between the eyes of the spring. For most practical purposes we can think of this as essentially right angles to the spring itself—an easy orientation to ascertain visually. 

The most obvious and important result of this angle is that it lets the spring flex to its maximum extent both when compressed and extended. You can see that if the shackle were angled as in “A,” the spring could flex a lot downward (as the shackle pivots forward), but when compressed, the shackle would quickly bind against the chassis. Exactly the opposite is the case with the shackle at “B.” The spring has plenty of travel when compressed, but very little when extended. Another danger of a shackle angled as at “B” is that if the spring flexes too much the shackle can invert and lock itself against the chassis, completely immobilizing the spring.

You might also read or hear that the angle of the shackle can affect the ride quality of the spring—and this is where things get vague. 

Note that this diagram claims that a shackle oriented at “A” will stiffen the ride while a shackle at “B” will soften it. I could find no explanation as to the physics of this supposed effect. On the other hand, I found a source claiming exactly the opposite. This one noted that with the shackle at “B,” when the spring compresses the shackle has to travel slightly downward in its arc before rising to the rear, and this jacks the chassis slightly upward, exacerbating the effect of a bump. Makes sense.

Not finished, however. Yet another fellow, with experience setting up racing vehicles, argues adamantly that the shackle has no effect either way on ride quality unless it actually binds. He points out that no matter what, the force from the spring is virtually straight up and down at the axle; the slight fore and aft movement imparted from the pivoting shackle is indiscernable. (He uses this fact also to argue against shackle-reversal kits as a waste of money.)

While the ride question remains unresolved, there’s no doubt that proper a 90-degree shackle angle allows the spring to do its job through the maximum possible travel in both compression and extension.

Look at the opening photo, which shows the rear of my FJ40 and its Old Man Emu suspension. The shackle angle is, as one would expect from the company, spot on (the front is as well).

In contrast, look at the shackle angle on the front springs of our Troopy:

Much closer to “B” in the diagram, no? These springs were installed at a shop in Perth, Australia, after we took it in to have them diagnose a worrying clicking noise I could both hear and feel through the steering wheel, and which neither Graham Jackson nor I were able to diagnose in the field except to be pretty sure it was in the steering. But the shop diagnosed worn springs, so we let them replace both sides.

We picked up the vehicle the day before we were scheduled to containerize both our and Graham and Connie’s Troopy for shipping to Africa—and as I drove away from the shop the clicking was there as loud as ever. Some testy and hasty negotiating resulted in a refund of all our labor charges, but the springs stayed on. (After getting the vehicle home I disassembled the steering and found indeed that was where the noise was coming from—just loose bolts in the tilt mechanism.)

Examining the springs in Durban I realized they had too much arch, resulting in this poor shackle angle. Whatever you believe regarding shackle angle and ride quality, these springs also definitely ride more harshly then the previous set, so I’m on a mission to fix both issues.

The first and most obvious approach is to remove a leaf in the springs. This isn’t necessarily as simple as it sounds, because removing the wrong leaf could create stress risers in the remaining leaves and lead to breakage. (So-called “add-a-leaf” kits can do this as well.) However, it looked to me that removing the bottom leaf on these springs wouldn’t compromise the rest of the pack, and the bottom leaf was the only one not captured with a clamp (or rebound clip to give it its proper name). So I jacked up the front end, loosened the U-bolts, and pulled the bottom leaves.

Notice the near-total lack of a wear pattern on the tips of the leaves.

After tightening everything again, I took the Troopy for a drive to settle everything then examined the results. Note the shackle angle in the first Troopy photo, and compare it to the “after” photo below. 

If you’re thinking, “I don’t see the slightest difference,” congratulations. I don’t see one either. Clearly those bottom leaves are doing nothing at all—at least when the vehicle is static. They probably don’t provide any resistance until the spring is significantly compressed.

Since this is in no way an existential threat, I’m re-evaluating. I might still try removing another leaf, or I might just live with it for now—I certainly don’t intend to spring for new springs just yet . . .

The ARB Pure View 800 flashlight . . . up to standard?

Anyone who has read my equipment reviews over the last 15 years knows I’m a loyal fan of the ARB line of products. My FJ40 Land Cruiser has worn Old Man Emu suspension and IPF driving lamps for at least a couple of decades, and more lately has an ARB locking rear diff and High Output compressor, plus a branded fridge—and I replaced the IPF lamps with ARB’s superb Intensity LED units. Our Tacoma has an ARB winch bumper and rear diff. The Land Cruiser Troopy we recently shipped to the U.S. from Africa is fairly bristling with ARB equipment, from the front bumper and Intensity driving lamps to the ARB Twin compressor and more.

Rather incredibly—or perhaps not—not a single one of those items has ever failed.

Even though I’m lucky enough to have been sponsored for much of this later equipment, my respect for ARB’s products came about through a straight retail relationship. The first OME suspension I installed on the FJ40 cost significantly more than those offered by other makers, but the company’s reputation convinced me it would be worth the extra cash, and that indeed proved to be the case, as it was with the then-state-of-the-art halogen IPF lamps. Every ARB product since has thoroughly proved its value-for-money to me before I recommended it to others. Still, someone who simply chanced on all our vehicles lined up could be excused for thinking I’m a secretly paid shill for the company.

Now, however, I have in front of me the new ARB Pure View 800 flashlight, which I’ve been using for a month or so. And for the first time, my reaction to an ARB product is basically a shrug of the shoulders. Not that it is by any means a bad flashlight; it simply breaks no real new ground and includes no genuinely outstanding features (well, one, which I’ll get to).

The 800 refers to the flashlight’s maximum output of 800 lumens—an astounding figure just five years ago, but today merely good (and no doubt accurate—many of the claims you see for cheap internet flashlights are wildly exaggerated). The pattern is just about perfect—a penetrating central spot with an even cone of more diffuse illumination surrounding it. Clicking (or half-pressing) the large rear “tactical” switch again gets you a 400-lumen beam, another step goes to 200, and another to a strobe. Running time is claimed, in order, as “up to” 1.5, 4, 7, and 24 hours (although why one would want to leave a strobe on for 24 hours is beyond me). These strike me as no more than ordinary run times despite the chunky body of the Pure View and its lithium-ion battery. But at least it’s rechargeable.

I also have an issue with the circuitry in the switch. When you turn the light off for more than a few seconds, it reverts to the highest setting rather than staying where you left it. So if you turn it off on low in your tent before going to sleep, then turn it on in the middle of the night for a toilet excursion, you and any tent-mate will be blinded by the 800-lumen beam. I’d rather have the option of choosing my own setting. Additionally, I do not recall ever using a strobe function on any of the three thousand flashlights my wife claims I have owned (it’s no more than two thousand). I would have much preferred a 10 or 15-lumen low beam suitable for reading or walking around, one that would have then had a run time measured in hundreds of hours. The 200-lumen “low” setting is far too bright for reading or looking at a map, or even most camp chores.

The Pure View charges via a micro-USB port cleverly hidden behind a rotating collar, which keeps it dust-free and dispenses with the usual rubber plug that inevitably breaks. Nice. However, when charging you must remember to turn on the flashlight before plugging it in, at which point the lamp goes off and a red “charging” light surrounds the charging port until a green “charged” light replaces it. If you forget to turn on the light, you’ll get a false green “charged” light but the light will not in fact be either charged or charging. Charging time is slow—four to five hours, limited by the capacity of the micro USB—yet ARB warns not to exceed six, so you should not simply leave the light plugged in overnight to charge. Incidentally, that outstanding feature I mentioned? It’s the included charging cord—a red-and-black fabric-wrapped cable of superb sturdiness and style. I’m actually considering ordering spares for my other micro-USB appliances. (The included belt holster is also excellent.) 

Just as I was becoming concerned that I might be being too hard on the Pure View, I was walking along with it dangling by the lanyard when one end of the lanyard pulled free of its plug and the flashlight whacked to the ground (with no damage). But really? 

Don’t get me wrong—the Pure View is a fine flashlight I’ll be happy to keep around. And—importantly—it’s priced very competitively at $57, with a two-year warranty (one year on the battery). But, unlike so many of ARB’s other products, it does not stand out from a crowded field. And until the company adds a true low-power setting (an easy modification, I suspect) I wouldn’t recommend it as one’s only all-around flashlight.