Fail-safe fuel filtration with Racor

One morning in 1994 I was sitting in my FJ40 on a remote beach on the Sonoran Coast of Mexico, with a dead battery—ironically a Sears “Die-Hard,” and my second warranty replacement in about three years. (This was long before I knew anything about dual-battery systems.) I had six sea kayaking clients with me in three other vehicles—we were at the end of a week-long tour—and a trailer hitched to the Land Cruiser loaded with boats and gear. Fortunately I had jumper cables—this was also long before the days of the miraculous Antigravity Micro-Start and its relatives—and an assist from another vehicle got the 40 started again.

We headed south toward Punta Chueca and Bahia Kino, but soon another issue arose: The Land Cruiser could not maintain a speed above 30 miles per hour. I had little doubt what the problem was, because just before I’d met this group of clients I’d been doing some scouting of the coast, and had bought gas from an isolated and decidedly down-at-the-heels tienda, siphoned out of a very dodgy looking 55-gallon drum. My factory fuel filter was obviously clogging with debris from the drum—dirt, bugs, rodents, who knew what?

By this time my clients—all friends of each other—were getting antsy, as they had to be back in Tucson for work the next day. I figured I could proceed at 30mph to Punta Chueca, about 20 miles away, where I had friends who would help. I had a spare fuel filter—two, actually—but of course I’d have to shut down the engine to swap it out. The route was still remote, but was clear from here, so I sent my clients homeward and trundled on alone.

It was not to be. Soon 25mph was my top speed, then 20, then 15. By now I was worried the engine would choke and die suddenly, so I stopped and considered options. One seemed risky but remotely possible: simply changing the filter with the engine running.

With the six idling as though nothing at all was amiss, I got everything in place. I unfastened the existing filter and bolted a new one in place, loosened and removed the hose clamps on either side of the clogged filter, lined it up with the new one, then held my breath and popped each hose off and on to the new filter in under five seconds. I grabbed the carburetor linkage, and when the engine began to hesitate about 15 seconds later, gently tweaked it—and the engine caught and ran perfectly.

Of course I still had to drive all the way home with out shutting off the engine—which included trying to convince the U.S. Customs lads that no, I wasn’t planning on doing a runner in a 130-horsepower Land Cruiser towing a trailer full of boats.

Two things resulted immediately from this saga (was this the world’s longest lede?). One, I did some pre-internet research and spent three times what the “Die-Hard” had cost me on a little-known new battery called an Optima, the first one of which lasted seven years. Two, I significantly upped my game on the Land Cruiser’s fuel supply with a marine-grade filter and water separator from Racor.

The Racor comprises a permanently mounted base with in and out ports for the fuel line, and a spin-on cartridge the size of a large oil filter, with a clear receptacle on the bottom to inspect for water contamination, along with a tap to drain it. It was gargantuan compared to the goose-egg-sized inline factory FJ40 filter. I cut and painted a piece of angle iron to mount it to the bottom of my battery tray—and I’ve never worried about bad gas again. I left that first cartridge on for a good ten years (and many more backcountry Mexico trips), and finally replaced it out of responsibility rather than any lack in performance.

The initial outlay for the Racor (Now Parker-Racor) is around $130 for the complete assembly similar to mine, after which the filter cartridges are about $30.

If you have an older vehicle with a basic inline fuel filter, this is money well-spent to ensure a clean supply of fuel no matter where you access it. Racor has options for diesel engines as well.

The Racorstore is here; Defender Marine Outfitters has the model I use here.

Compact versatility: The roller carabiner

For years I’ve repurposed climbing gear, both my no-longer-used stuff and new equipment, for travel duty—especially for load-control purposes. For example, quick-draw slings are perfect for temporary attachment points on roof racks, trailers, and truck beds, from which I can create a criss-cross web of rope perfectly suited to the load. By threading the rope through carabiners attached to the slings I can tension the system simply by pulling on one end. Since slings and carabiners generally have an MBS (minimum breaking strength) north of 20 Kn or 4,500 pounds, they’re capable of safely securing virtually any load.

The same equipment can be used for hanging food out of bear reach, hoisting tarps or awnings or portable shower stalls—dozens of uses. You can rig the stoutest clothesline on the planet. And of course, if necessary, carabiners and slings comprise part of a rescue system to retrieve persons stranded on a cliff or in fast-moving water.

Recently I discovered the roller carabiner, available from Petzl as well as the Welsh company DMM, among others. At first glance it looks like an ordinary carabiner, until you notice the roller incorporated in one end, which transforms the carabiner into an ultra-compact pulley. Suddenly all the tasks that involve tightening or tensioning a rope laced through carabiners become nearly effortless.

In fact, given the strength and force-multiplication characteristics of the roller carabiner, I could envision using it in certain vehicle-recovery situations, for example—using the correct rope—as rigging to stabilize a vehicle tipping hazardously, while a winch recovery is arranged. The roller carabiner certainly won’t substitute for a proper, full-size pulley block or other heavy-duty pulley, but given the compactness and light weight having a few in the kit might prove extremely useful.