Transform your Hi-Lift jack

It isn’t very often I test a product that defies criticism even when subjected to the harshest analysis. But I’ve just been using a brand new accessory for the Hi-Lift jack, and I find myself at a loss to write anything that would approach even the level of nitpicking. 

Anyone who has used a Hi-Lift jack knows it will do things no other jack will do. Anyone who has used one also knows the thing is a widow-maker if not handled with the same circumspection one would employ with a pissed-off rattlesnake. The operating handle continuously lies in wait for the head of a careless user to stray within its arc of movement. (Lose your grip then and a broken nose would be light punishment.) The lift mechanism is prone to jamming until doused with WD-40, and the selector lever frequently requires a stomp with a boot rather than a push with a finger to switch from “raise” to “lower.” 

Then there’s stability. Now and then you want an unstable Hi-Lift, when using it as a “casting jack” to raise one end of a vehicle and then tip it sideways out of a rut. Far more often, the thing tips on its own when you don’t want it to. Woe to anyone trying to insert sand mats under the tires at that point—much less anyone attempting to change a tire. And human body parts are not all that are at risk: The Hi-Lift’s main beam will crease truck-body sheet metal effortlessly if the vehicle tips away from the baseplate.

Until now we just put up with these hazards to exploit the inarguable versatility of Bloomfield Manufacturing’s century-old invention. Now Richard Bogert of Bogert Manufacturing has solved one of the Hi-Lift’s salient drawbacks with a product of palm-to-forehead simplicity.

The Safe Jack comprises a sturdy, powdercoated steel baseplate into which the base of the Hi-Lift slots snugly. The plate offers exactly the increase in area (144 square inches total) as the ubiquitous orange plastic ORB jack base, to enhance flotation in soft sand or mud.

The Safe Jack base (left) offers the same flotation as the plastic base

But the brilliance of the Safe Jack lies in the two swaged steel cables bolted to each corner of the base, which triangulate the jack’s structure by connecting to the top of the main beam with a quick-connect clevis pin. The user tensions the cables by simply screwing in an eyebolt snug against the main beam, and . . . shazam: Suddenly that tippy Hi-Lift is the Rock of Gibraltar. I raised the front of my FJ40 with the Hi-Lift a foot off-center—normally a recipe for a drunken sideways flop as soon as the weight comes off the tires—hung both wheels in the air, then shoved sideways on the vehicle. Nothing—it rocked an inch or two and settled back comfortably. The total extra time to set up the Safe Jack system was maybe 30 seconds.

The Safe Jack's cables attach with a pin and tension with a simple eyebolt.

In the end, I found one small thing I thought would improve the Safe Jack, although it’s far from a criticism: I plan to replace the bolts securing the bottom ends of the cables with clevis pins and J-clips. That way if I want just the base I can quickly remove the cables to keep them out of the way.

The Safe Jack provides all the flotation benefits of an expanded baseplate, then adds a different universe of stability and safety. I’m finding myself viewing my 20-year-old Hi-Lift as an entirely new tool. If you’re a Hi-Lift jack owner—or have avoided buying one because of all the horror stories you’ve heard—trust me, this accessory will change the way you view your jack too. For 69 bucks it’s a steal.

The Safe Jack is available direct from Bogert Manufacturing: Go here. They also make some intriguing accessories for bottle jacks which I hope to test soon.

 

Update on 2013-10-09 16:12 by Jonathan Hanson

An update, if you missed it elsewhere. Bogert has improved an already excellent product by modifying the top piece. See the review here. It's available as a very affordable upgrade if you bought the original version.

The King of Luggage

How many of us have gazed enviously at photos of Edwardian-era travelers as their steamer trunks and leather suitcases were hauled off the ship in Mombasa by befezzed stevedores groaning under the load? No excess baggage fees for them. Do you suppose Teddy Roosevelt was told sternly, “Sir, we’ll have to charge you extra for that second suitcase. And the third and fourth. And the gun case . . .” when he set off on his African safari? Unlikely. 

Sadly, times have changed for travelers in the world of airlines struggling to stay in business. Even first-class passengers are now subject to luggage restrictions and extra fees. Of course, some of this is our own damn fault: Airlines have had to revise calculated passenger weight, and thus fuel usage, upward thanks to the additional, um, personal baggage now carried by the majority of Americans. I’ve long advocated a simple calculator based on height: If you’re, say, five-foot-nine like me, you get a total allowance of 300 pounds for yourself and your luggage. If you weigh 150 pounds, you’re allowed 150 pounds of luggage. If you weigh 290 pounds . . . pack lightly. I suspect this system will never be implemented.

Where was I? Right—luggage. Another issue for the modern traveler is the laissez faire attitude airlines have toward the care of luggage entrusted to them. According to a recent study, on an internal U.S. flight you stand a one in 137 chance of having an item of luggage lost, significantly damaged, or pilfered. That might not sound like a big risk, but it means that on virtually every flight one or two people have luggage issues. In Europe the odds are worse: one in 60. And these are the developed areas of the world, with sophisticated, computerized baggage-handling systems. (Hmm . . . could that be the problem? Heathrow has eleven miles of automated baggage conveyor belts, in one terminal.) To be fair, the frequency of complaints on domestic flights has actually been dropping the last few years. Nevertheless, if you haven’t experienced lost or damaged luggage yourself, I’ll bet you know someone who has.

Considering these facts of life, the perfect piece of luggage must combine maximum volumetric efficiency with extreme resistance to abuse. Given the propensity of most people reading this to be headed to destinations other than Disney World or the Bellagio, that resistance to abuse should extend to unavoidable exigencies such as being lashed down on a roof rack three vehicles back in a dusty convoy, or packed at the bottom of a stack of bags in the back of a Land Cruiser Troopie. Plus, dare we hope that it might complement one’s kit with the right amount of style as well?

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you . . . the duffel.

A nearly new Filson duffel and a well-worn Filson field bag.

Not what you were expecting? Something in aluminum from Zero Halliburton, perhaps? Or a wheeled Pelican case? Stout options both, and indubitably stylish in the case of the Halliburton (although Pelicans have their own functional chic). But the Halliburton is frighteningly expensive, and its aluminum is surprisingly susceptible to dents from hard edges and blunt objects. Subjecting one to the abuse of an overland trip would be silly unless you bring a personal porter. Meanwhile, the Pelican, while unequalled at protecting fragile contents such as photo equipment, is not only awkward as a suitcase but heavy for its volume—you don’t want a quarter of your baggage limit taken up by the bag itself just to keep your khaki shirts and underwear from being squished.

No—soft luggage is the way to go for bush travel. And while it might be tempting to choose a bag with multiple outside pockets and flaps and zippers for easy organization, every one of those extra openings and fasteners is a failure point just waiting for the most unfortunate time to happen. And the more external impedimenta, the more chances for the bag to catch on the corner of a luggage-conveyor chute and be ripped asunder by the 240 Samsonite suitcases piling up behind it. 

Thus, the simple, rugged duffel*. Not the easiest thing to load or organize, it’s surely the best at insuring your clothes and sundries survive the trip. With careful packing, and a bit of just-one-more-thing stuffing, I’ve fit everything I needed for a month-long trip to Africa (except for camera equipment) into a single medium Filson duffel. I guarantee that showing up with one piece of luggage will win you instant credibility among guides and bush pilots. (Tip: Look at Eagle Creek’s line of packing accessories, especially the brilliant Pack-It folder for shirts, which miraculously compacts seven or eight crisply folded shirts to the thickness of one or two.) 

 Over several years I’ve used and reviewed a dozen or more duffels from various manufacturers. Here are three that stood out.

Filson Medium Canvas Duffel $295

 One of my favorite product-promotion photos of all time is Filson’s image of one of their duffel bags dangling by its leather carrying straps from an engine hoist. Inside the bag is, indeed, an engine—an entire air-cooled Volkswagen Beetle powerplant. Not much more needs to be said about the burly 22-ounce cotton twill fabric of the Filson, its thick bridle-leather carrying handles and shoulder strap, or the heavy stitching, all done in the U.S. My own Filson has shrugged off the abuse of 12 trips to Africa, plus a bunch of North American and European explorations.

 The fabric of Filson’s twill comprises two-ply thread running one direction, and three-ply running the other. This, combined with the one-warp-over-two-weft weave that defines twill, lends the finished fabric a characteristic ribbed texture, and unbelievable durability—my bag shows absolutely no signs of deterioration, even on the heavily punished bottom corners. The 1 1/2-inch-wide leather carrying straps run all the way around the bag to fully support the load.

A single massive brass zipper secures the contents of the Filson. Unfortunately the opening is straight rather than U-shaped, so loading the bag is akin to stuffing packages through a mail slot. But that straight zipper is the simplest and thus most fail-safe opening possible, and would be the least likely to spill contents if it did fail, so the trade-off is fair. A buttoned flap helps keep dust out, but provides only minimal backup closure (the carrying straps would help as well). A leather shoulder strap is included, the shoulder patch of which could use some padding.

 The paraffin water-repellent treatment on the Filson duffel seems to attract dirt at first, but after a while the smudges and smears merge into an even patina that somehow simultaneously gives the bag an air of vast experience while rendering it less conspicuous to potential baggage thieves. Sighting it always gives me two concurrent thoughts—one, fond memories of our travels together, and two, relief that it made it to Arusha with me and isn’t circling endlessly on an airport carousel halfway across the globe. filson.com

 

BAD Bags #4 $104

Malcolm Vetterlein is the man behind BAD (Best American Duffel) Bags, and he’s the one likely to pick up the phone when you call. His philosophy and goals are encapsulated in the business name: He wanted to produce the best duffel around, and do so in America. Fifteen years of success—and a stellar reputation among hard-core travelers—has proven that it’s still possible to run an outdoor-equipment business the old-fashioned way.

Not that the bag itself is old-fashioned. Malcolm takes the opposite approach to Filson: The BAD is constructed of thoroughly modern, urethane-coated 1,000-denier Cordura nylon. The carrying straps are 6,000-pound-test seatbelt webbing; the main zipper is a virtually burst-proof #10 YKK; the hardware is nickel-plated. Grab handles on each end are so overbuilt you could probably use the bag as a short winchline extension. (Even more significant: My BAD bag successfully resisted all afforts at destruction by a young cheetah named Tommy T, a member of the Cincinnati Zoo’s Cat Ambassador Program and a recent star in National Geographic Magazine.)

The result is a duffel that, while perhaps lacking the earthy character of the Filson, is no less rugged. A huge horseshoe-shaped opening makes loading easy. The zipper is uncovered, so theoretically some dust could infiltrate there, although I have yet to notice it. The downside of the big opening is that in the (very unlikely) event the zipper does fail you’re left with a gaping hole in the top of your bag. Two one-inch cinch straps that wrap all the way around the bag would help corral the contents if that happened. I carry several industrial-sized safety pins in my repair kit for such a situation.

Two long, zippered inside pockets are perfect for underwear and socks on one side, odds and ends on the other. However, I have yet to figure out much use for the long, flat exterior pockets except to hold the carrying strap. One dislike: The rings that hold that (very comfortable) strap attach on the lower corners, so you carry the bag on its side with the bottom against you. It’s less awkward than the usual arrangement—except the bottom of a duffel is inevitably dirty and/or greasy, which means your trousers soon are as well. A final nice touch: The ID holder is stitched flat to the bag, so there’s no chance of it getting ripped off in transit. Clearly this duffel was meant to go places. badbags.com

Military A10 $30

Depending on your background, this could bring back really good or really bad memories (or, of course, none at all). For around 30 bucks, any number of military supply companies will sell you the same duffel currently issued to U.S. military personnel—and, fittingly if a bit surprisingly, still made in the U.S. (although beware of numerous offshore copies).

If you’re on a budget and are willing to put up with the hassle of unloading everything in the bag every time you need something (because universal law states that the thing you need will always be at the bottom), a classic end-loading military duffel will hold all you’re likely to need for a two-month deployment, I mean vacation. Current issue duffels are now heavy Cordura nylon instead of cotton canvas, but other details have changed little if at all. To close the bag you fold the top flaps and thread a toggle through three grommets, then secure with a spring clip (which could be replaced with any number of substitutes if it happened to break). However, that clip or its substitute is the only thing keeping the contents from spilling out. Doubling up wouldn’t be a bad idea—a padlock would be perfect.

The issue duffel is well-made, but don’t expect fine detailing. There are plenty of raw nylon edges to fray, most notably on the dust flap under the top, which came pre-frayed on my sample and didn’t appear to have been hot-knife cut in its manufacture. A quick treatment with a lighter helped. At least all the major seams are double-stitched, and the handle and dual padded shoulder straps are closely cross-stitched. It’s not likely to come apart on you.

My only caveat—and it could be significant—is to avoid taking this bag to countries that have, or think they have, reason to be suspicious of people carrying military-type equipment across their borders. I probably wouldn’t try to get into Zimbabwe or Libya at the moment with a U.S. government-issue Bag, Duffel, Nylon slung over my shoulder. Available from many sources, including armynavysales.com

*No one knows the exact history of the duffel—it developed gradually from earlier bags. We do know the origin of the name, a town in Belgium where much of the original heavy fabric was made—which tells us that the correct spelling is duffel, not duffle.

Update on 2014-01-28 15:08 by Jonathan Hanson

Reader Jeff sent this delightful note:

Jonathan, I noticed your comment about the VW engine in the Filson duffel bag. In the mid 1990s, I was managing Bry's Auto Wrecking, in Seattle, when the Filson retail store manager, a regular customer of ours, came up with the idea for the photo. We had tons of the air-cooled engines, so we wrapped a complete engine up in the bag, lifted it with a forklift, and got a few photos. We let it hang from the forklift for a long weekend, to see if the bag would fail, it never did. It is fun for me to see that photo still used.

Power for the JATAC

“ . . . and nine—nine rings were given to the race of Men, who above all else . . . desire power.” J.R.R. Tolkein

In our case, a pair of 100-watt photovoltaic panels should be enough to give us all the power we desire. 

One of our major goals with the JATAC was self-sufficiency in terms of 12-volt DC and 120-volt AC electricity. We wanted to be able to spend a week or two—or more—in one spot and produce sufficient power to operate the fridge, water pump, LED interior lights, and our computers and camera-battery rechargers without the need to run the truck’s engine and alternator to recharge the camper’s batteries (idling results in very slow charge at best, besides using fuel, producing pollutants, and destroying the peace and quiet of your camp). A few minutes with an amperage chart led me to believe that about 125 watts of theoretical photovoltaic (PV) power generation should be enough to stay permanently ahead of all our consumption in reasonably sunny conditions, even with the fridge working hard.

Hyper-efficient LED interior lights use minimal power.

A few months ago, Walter Stoss and Urs Schoop of Global Solar—fortuitously based in Tucson—showed us their semi-rigid PV panels, designed to be cemented directly to the roof via a pressure-sensitive adhesive backing.  This eliminates drilling or through-holes, reduces the maximum wind profile to about an inch—essentially invisible aerodynamically—also reduces overhead clearance for branches and carports, etc., and renders the panels unnoticeable to passing potential thieves and makes the job of stealing them vastly more difficult anyway. 

The Global Solar panels utilize the most efficient Copper Indium Gallium DiSelenide (CIGS) thin-film technology, which maximizes gain at low sun angles and overcast conditions. Partial shading also has only minimal effect on the CIGS material (some types of PV panels shut down nearly completely if a branch or other object shades a small section).

We decided to err on the side of more power rather than less, and installed two GS PowerFLEX modules. Each of the 81.5 by 21.5-inch modules weighs about 22 pounds and is rated at 100 watts. The cylindrical MC4 connectors leading from the panels are themselves hooked to waterproof SAE fittings; thus the entire system required only two holes through the roof.

Waterproof SAE fittings connect the modules to the interior wiring.A Global Solar charge controller prevents overcharging, and eliminates the slight bleedback of power into the atmosphere that occurs at night with an uncontrolled PV panel. The controller’s display can read either voltage or incoming amperage, and can be selected for lead-acid or AGM batteries. Tom Hanagan at Four Wheel Campers recommended Exide AGM (Absorbed Glass Mat) batteries given his recent experiences, so, to ensure we had plenty of capacity to exploit the incoming amperage, we had him install two of the company’s group 24 batteries in the camper’s well-secured compartment. The charge controller mounted neatly above the camper’s other electrical panels.

So far we’ve subjected the system to a single easy test: a long weekend in the Dragoon Mountains east of Tucson (where Cochise and his Apaches made fools of the U.S. army in the 1860s). The weather was cool, which both maximized charge (PV panels work better in the cold) and reduced the load on the fridge. Nevertheless, by an hour after sunrise each day the charge controller was floating the batteries at a full 13.5 volts. Meanwhile, our friends Brian and Marisa, who’ve yet to install solar power on their Dodge/FWC combination, had to run their (VERY LOUD CUMMINS TURBODIESEL!) engine on the second day to top up their single camper battery. Just joshing, Brian.

Two Exide FPAGM-24DP batteries store power.

If we lived in town, I could literally hook this system up to the grid and sell power back to Tucson Electric. Instead, I’m considering adding an exterior plug and offering 12V power to fellow campers . . . for a small fee or a good beer.

Global Solar offers one- and two-panel RV kits, and many other solar products, here. 

Leveling the JATAC

The Tacoma and Four Wheel Camper sitting—level—in camp in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge.

(Note: When we announced that our new expedition vehicle was to be a Toyota Tacoma, a forum member obviously expecting something more exotic and expensive posted, "Oh—it's just a Tacoma." And that immediately became the nickname for the new vehicle: Just A Tacoma and Camper. More images of the setup are on our Flickr pages.)

As I mentioned in this piece, the suspension on our 2012 Tacoma was ridiculously stiff from the factory. Nevertheless, adding a 750-pound-plus camper called for some sort of modifications to maintain a level ride height and provide adequate roll control while retaining as much compliance as possible. There are really only two ways to do this properly—substituting heavier rear leaf springs, or augmenting the stock springs with adjustable air bags, in effect adding an auxiliary spring. (I’ll discuss shock absorbers in another article.) 

A third approach is to insert an “add-a-leaf”—a single extra spring leaf designed to increase the rate of the spring and raise the ride height. But our experience with these—and the experiences of several people we know—has been unfailingly poor. The problem is that the extra leaf is rarely matched properly in rate and shape to the existing spring pack, and ends up exerting and experiencing excess pressure. (This is particularly true when an add-a-leaf is used in an attempt to rejuvenate a tired spring pack.) We’ve broken two add-a-leafs (slow learners), and know of at least a half-dozen others. 

A properly designed complete replacement spring pack works very well to accomplish the task, and in fact Tom Hanagan, the owner of Four Wheel Campers, took this approach with his own Tacoma. However, in both the previous trucks on which we mounted our first FWC, we left the stock springs in place and installed adjustable air bags to carry the extra load. This worked extremely well for us, with the notable exception of a faulty spring bracket on an Air Lift kit we used on the 2000 Tacoma, which walked free of its mount. 

To my mind, advantages of the air bags are several. First and most obvious is the adjustability. The weight of the camper can vary by several hundred pounds depending on whether it’s empty or loaded for a month-long trip. With the air bags you can compensate perfectly. Also, the bags essentially comprise an entire backup spring in the event of trouble with the main pack. If you break a leaf on the stock spring somewhere far from home, you can simply remove the leaf and add more air to the bag on that side. 

Although it’s a secondary consideration for me, an air bag kit is less expensive than a set of custom springs, and easier to install as well. Finally, if the air bag kit is equipped with a compressor and independent in-cab control for each side, you can use the bags to level the vehicle when camping—both front to rear and side to side. 

Although we never had trouble with the actual bags of the Air Lift kit, I wanted something a little more heavy duty for this truck—and fortuitously got an email at exactly the right time from Reece Tasker of Canadian Suspension Importers. CSI handles the Boss system from Australia, and a brief look at the specs convinced me this was the kit to try. The Boss air bag, with a working range of around 15 to 150 psi, is tested to seven hundred fifty psi. That seems like reasonable safety margin to me. 

Reece moved a couple of mountains to have a kit delivered to the FWC factory in time for me to install the kit before we left with the new camper. I was impressed with the bags, and just as impressed with the high-quality compressor and in-cab control kit/gauge combination. All the air line and every fitting I needed was included.

 

This configuration requires drilling two holes in the frame above each axle, which I was able to do with a sidewinder drill by jacking up the truck until the rear wheels were just loaded enough to keep the axle in place while I marked and bored the upper holes, then loosened the U-bolts to each spring and inserted the lower mounting bracket. (Reece plans a bolt-on kit requiring no drilling, but I didn’t find it a chore.) I didn’t have time to install the compressor and control kit, and simply connected both air lines to the manual-fill valves also in the kit.

The Firestone air bag kit I had been considering mounts in such a way as to preclude the fitting of larger-diameter rear shock absorbers. I was pleased to see that the Boss kit introduced no such restriction, so the Icon shocks we'll be adding should slot right into position. 

With the camper in place, a quick jet of shop air into each bag raised the truck to a perfectly level stance. On the leisurely 900-mile drive home (two camps and, er, one hot shower each in the FWC’s cunning shower stall) I didn’t have to add air once. The only change I’ll make so far is to add a right-angle air line fitting at the bag—currently the line has to curve down almost below the axle to avoid crimping before traveling up through the frame. 

I’ll report further after installing the control kit, and a trip into the Sierra Madre in Mexico to retrieve some trail cameras we have set up there to survey the mammal population (an assistance project of our charity, ConserVentures, for the southwestern conservation organization Sky Island Alliance).

The Boss kit includes a stout compressor and a high-quality in-cab control gauge and switches.