VERLAND O
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WE ARE ADVENTURERS Constantly traveling. Testing and using gear in real-world situations. Gaining experience, which we readily share.
OUR RESUME
7 continents | 161 countries | 496 years combined experience
WE ONLY KNOW THINGS WHEN WE LIVE THEM
PUBLISHER AND CHAIRMAN Scott Brady
DIRECTOR OF DESIGN Stephanie Brady
CHIEF TECHNOLOGY OFFICER Christian Pelletier
CHIEF BUSINESS DEVELOPMENT OFFICER Brian McVickers
CHIEF FINANCIAL OFFICER Andre Racine
DIRECTOR OF EUROPEAN OPERATIONS Michael Brailey
EDITOR IN CHIEF Tena Overacker
SENIOR EDITOR Ashley Giordano
SENIOR EDITOR Matt Swartz
MEDICAL EDITOR Dr. Jon Solberg, MD, FAWM
ARCHAEOLOGY SENIOR EDITOR Bryon Bass, PhD
CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Graeme Bell, Åsa Björklund, Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent, Cody Cox, Rocky Donati, Susan Dragoo, Paul Driscoll, Roger Gaisford, Dan Grec, Jennie Kopf, Jack Mac, Karin-Marijke Vis, Kirk Williams, Lisa Williams, Michelle Francine Weiss
SENIOR PHOTOGRAPHER Bruce Dorn
CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS Chris Burkard, Kasper Høglund, Coen Wubbels
COPY EDITORS Arden Kysely, Jacques Laliberté
TECHNICAL EDITOR Chris Ramm
CARTOGRAPHER David Medeiros
PODCAST HOST Matthew Scott
PODCAST PRODUCER Paula Burr
VIDEO DIRECTOR Ryan Keegan
OPERATIONS MANAGER Garrett Mead
CONTACT
Overland Journal, 3035 N Tarra Ave, #1, Prescott, AZ 86301 service@overlandjournal.com, editor@overlandjournal.com, advertising@overlandjournal.com, 928-777-8567
MOVING?
Send address changes to service@overlandjournal.com. Include complete old address as well as new address. Allow two to four weeks for the change to become effective. Overland Journal is not forwarded by the US Postal Service. It is the subscriber’s responsibility to inform Overland Journal of an address change.
Overland Journal is a trademark of Overland International, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. Overland Journal is a wholly owned subsidiary of Overland International.
We carefully screen all contributors to ensure they are independent and impartial. We never have and never will accept advertorial, and we do not allow advertising to influence our product or destination reviews.
SPARE PART PUZZLE
Thank you for your recent podcast on overland expedition campers; it was very interesting. One question that I don’t think you addressed is how suitable for international travel are campers based on American trucks (F-350, etc.)? Some people seem to think that getting spare parts for them in Zambia or Mongolia would be difficult compared to, say, a Fuso-based vehicle.
Jeff Kinney
RESPONSE
The original Fuso is an excellent choice for international travel, as the chassis and drivetrain were shared with global offerings. Unfortunately, newer Fusos now use domestic engines and transmissions and no longer benefit from that worldwide serviceability. In general, most large expedition campers of any make suffer from parts obscurity
and often require parts and even technicians to be flown in for significant repairs. -Publisher and Podcast Host Scott Brady
INTRIGUED
Fall 2021’s “Purchasing an Overland Icon” was a fun article about [Cody Cox’s] journey finding and purchasing the Toyota. Please consider incorporating specific aspects of this class/model vehicle that make it particularly well-suited for overlanding.
Also, is the way the snorkel mounted to the airbox in the engine compartment a screwup with the OEM canister design that would normally spin dust out of ingested air? Or is it a factory-supplied snorkel?
Mark Grunenwald
ROW 1
@wagon_life
Chronicles of summer.
@theroadtozero
A Balkan backroad at its finest, somewhere in North Macedonia.
@overlandsite
Coffee and a good read in the morning.
ROW 2
@somewherewilder
We don’t know anyone who takes snuggling as seriously as Henry.
@autoturisti
Set in a beautiful Apurímac valley and at 3,700 meters above sea level, Q’eswachaka is the only remaining handwoven Inca bridge.
@yakoverland
Still finding sand in our shoes two days later.
ROW 3
@bicycle_touring_apocolypse
Jannis, aka @coco.overland, is the owner of this @expeditionportal featured vehicle, a BMWpowered 1987/1997 Defender featuring a 1969 Land Rover Series II ambulance body and a suspension setup that would make Dakar drivers blush.
@suboverland
Food always tastes better when it’s cooked on a Coleman stove out in nature. Our family does Shiner Night, where we take the labels off a bunch of canned food, and you eat what you get—it’s always memorable.
@offgridtrek
The weekend is getting closer.
RESPONSE
The air intake system is largely stock with only two exceptions. First, the pre-cleaner for this older, square-bodied factory snorkel would normally have been a cyclone style. The second modification required a bit of cutting and welding to connect the air filter housing to the turbo crossover pipe. The Troopy is currently undergoing a full engine rebuild and interior revamp. Upon completion, an in-depth article will be written detailing the mindset behind modifications. -Cody Cox
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WHERE HAS YOUR OVERLAND JOURNAL BEEN?
Send us a photo, along with your name, the location, make/year of your vehicle, and a brief description. editor@overlandjournal.com
Kirk Williams is an adventure photographer, overlander, dreamer, and quadriplegic. He has traveled the entire United States of America numerous times, making his way as far north as Fairbanks, Alaska, and as far south as Ushuaia, Argentina. While traveling, Kirk sets an example for other wheelchair users to learn from. He uses photography to showcase the high moments as well as the challenges faced with being on the road while being a quadriplegic. In 2018, Kirk founded Impact Overland. Impact Overland’s goal is to teach others about adaptive overlanding while also raising awareness and fundraising to help bring mobility to those who can’t afford such equipment as a wheelchair.
Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent is a travel writer and broadcaster with a particular love of wandering alone through remote regions. The author of three books, she’s raised more than £60,000 for charitable causes and once held the highly competitive Guinness World Record for the longest-ever journey by auto-rickshaw. Her latest book, Land of the Dawn-lit Mountains, was Shortlisted for the 2018 Stanford’s Travel Book of the Year. Antonia writes for the Telegraph, Financial Times, Wanderlust, the Guardian, and Radio 4’s From Our Own Correspondent. Her first radio documentary was aired on BBC Radio 4 in early 2020. In 2019, she was the recipient of the Royal Geographical Society’s prestigious Neville Shulman Challenge Award. She used the grant from this award to fund her latest Naga expedition.
Graeme Bell was born in Johannesburg, South Africa. Together with his wife and two children, he has spent much of his adult life chasing momentous experiences and campfire smoke across five continents. He has traveled overland to Kilimanjaro from Cape Town, circumnavigated South America, explored from Argentina to Alaska, Europe to Asia, and across the entirety of coastal Western Africa, all in a trusty Land Rover. Graeme and the family are now encouraging their self-built Defender livein camper (and permanent home since 2012) to find a way from Cape Town to Vladivostok. Graeme is a member of The Explorers Club, the author of five excellent books, and an Overland Journal contributor since 2015.
Freelance writer Karin-Marijke Vis, along with her partner, photographer Coen Wubbels, combine their love for adventure with work they enjoy. Sometimes described as being the “slowest overlanders in the world,” they believe in making connections and staying in a place long enough to do so. In 2003, the couple purchased an antique BJ45 Land Cruiser and began a three-year trip from their home in the Netherlands to Asia. Terminally infected by the overland bug, they traveled in South America for nine years, and in Japan and South Korea for two years. They are currently making their way through Russia and Central Asia. They’ve been published in magazines around the world, and in 2013, Expedition Portal awarded the pair the coveted Overlander of the Year award.
No money in the bank, but gas in the tank. Our resident Expedition Portal Bikepacking Editor Jack Mac is an exploration photographer and writer living full time in his 1986 Vanagon Syncro. He spends most days at the garage pondering why he didn’t buy a Land Cruiser Troopy. If he’s not watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, he can be found mountaineering for Berghaus, sea kayaking for Prijon, or bikepacking for Surly Bikes. Jack most recently spent two years on various assignments in the Arctic Circle but is now back in the UK preparing for his upcoming expeditions—and looking at Land Cruisers. Find him on his website, Instagram, or on Facebook under Bicycle Touring Apocalypse.
I am a somewhat aged South African who grew up and went to school in Pretoria. After military service in the South African Navy, I completed a BA degree at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, majoring in history, archaeology, and African languages. I worked as a mineral prospector in South Africa and Botswana before marrying Anne Louise. We settled in Eshowe, Zululand, where I took up a teaching post. I have a son, John, and daughter, Lizzie, and a passion for boats and old Willys Jeeps. I am now retired and spend most of my time rebuilding jeeps, enjoying wild travels in Southern Africa, and writing.
Dan Grec is an adventurer, snowboarder, and photographer who now hails from Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. Growing up in Australia, family camping trips gave Dan a passion for wilderness exploration in remote destinations. After studying and working as a software engineer, Dan went in search of a more vibrant life. Eventually driving 40,000 miles from Alaska to Argentina, he became inspired by the characters he met along the way and is now dedicated to helping others realize their own overland dreams. To this end, Dan created and maintains WikiOverland—the community encyclopedia of overland travel. After years of planning and preparation, in early 2019, Dan completed a circumnavigation of the entire African continent in his Jeep Wrangler Rubicon.
At the age of 22, Kasper sold everything, including a city apartment, and cut all ties to normal life. As a photographer, he wanted to be as free as possible. And that’s when a Land Rover came into the picture. Kitted out, Kasper headed for the Arctic, where he lived out of the truck for more than a year. Now he’s back in Norway, having built out the vehicle for greater adventures. The photographer didn’t really plan for the traveling to become this frequent. Nor did he think he’d be doing it for this long. But now, it is hard to go back. Some big trips and a second build are already in the works.
Rocky has a quirky sense of humor, the mouth of a sarcastic sailor, and talks supersonic fast. Her insatiable drive and knack for creative problem-solving meant a decade of spearheading high-level business strategies for the outdoor industry. Now she manages her own consulting firm, Donati Agency, but more often than not, elects to play hooky with her partner in crime and two Aussie pups. From wheeling to jet-setting out of a remote Park City chalet at 8,000 feet, she and her husband are constantly in search of the perfect pocket water for fly fishing. This decade, she’s embracing the hermit lifestyle, writing gibberish for hire, and renting out the adventurous getaway of your childhood dreams, The Treehouse Utah, on Airbnb.
Chris Burkard has seen more of the world than most of us could hope to see in several lifetimes. He has always gone his own way, impelled by his idiosyncratic desires. Often referred to as a surf photographer, Burkard describes himself as a landscape photographer with a peculiar relationship to the sea. He has published several books including The California Surf Project (co-author Eric Soderquist), The Boy Who Spoke to the Earth, High Tide: A Surf Odyssey, Distant Shores, Under An Arctic Sky, and his latest, At Glacier’s End. Burkard’s work has been published in National Geographic, the New Yorker, GQ, Men’s Journal, Vogue, and Surfer Magazine. Chris and his wife, Breanne, live on California’s Central Coast with their two sons, Jeremiah and Forest.
Shedding light on the obscure, especially at the juxtaposition of man and nature, drives Susan Dragoo to explore the historical treasures of the American Southwest. On wheels or afoot, an old trail and a camera are her key ingredients for a fulfilling adventure. A writer, photographer, and student of history since youth, Dragoo’s work is found in motorcycling, 4WD, hiking, and other travel publications, and her scenic photography in state park lodges and cabins in her home state of Oklahoma. Gallivanting in their Toyota “Tacoma GS” is a favorite pastime for Susan and her husband, Bill, when they are not at home in Norman, Oklahoma, enjoying their family and running Dragoo Adventure Rider Training (DART).
Born and raised in southwest Montana, Paul Driscoll has lived and worked throughout the West as a newspaper reporter, technical writer, editor, illustrator, and website manager. He is a fair backcountry skier, a passable dry-fly fisherman, and a damn poor elk hunter. He currently lives outside of Helena, where he develops natural history and travel articles for regional and national publications, including New West, the Washington Post, and Weber—The Contemporary West. Paul is currently working on a collection of natural history essays, due out soon. He has owned a 1965 Series IIA Land Rover for almost 35 years and estimates that many of its 250,000 miles have been racked up on two-track dirt roads to nowhere.
Cody Cox is a driver and an aficionado of the inline-six engine. He thrives on the creative environment surrounding vintage vehicles and the stories they often help create. Through his travels, he has become an acquaintance of roadside breakdowns and tow trucks. Behind the wheel of an analog vehicle is where he feels most comfortable. As a member of the Toyota Troop Carrier ranks, he relishes each occasion to open the engine bay and turn a wrench on his 1985 HJ75. The mingling scents of sagebrush and diesel are the fuel that drives him as he explores the high deserts of the American West.
Swedish-born, Åsa has roamed the globe working as a waitress, a factory employee, and a dozen other odd jobs “that made life more interesting.” As a human rights lawyer, she worked with development aid in Central America. When she escaped the office, she explored the remote areas of Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, and Honduras in a Land Rover. With a desire to write full time, she switched careers to journalism before returning to the nonprofit sector. Her work includes topic articles for international magazines covering overland travel, wildlife, current affairs, and social issues. Åsa has a love for animals and a particularly soft spot for horses. Whenever she can, she explores the Colorado backcountry with the help of Desert Daisy, a 1987 Land Cruiser FJ60.
Lisa Williams is an Arizona native that spent much of her childhood exploring backroads with her family in whatever project vehicle her father was wrenching on at the time. She has traveled the continental United States by foot, by Ford Econoline, and most recently, by Jeep Cherokee. All her passions center around driving, connecting with nature, and a deep love for adventure. Though a practicing weekend warrioress, she aspires to write, photograph, and eventually rally race around the globe and share her journeys through photojournalism. Upcoming goals include competing in the Rebelle Rally, the Baja 1000, and an immersion into the less-traveled roads of New Zealand in her 2019 Toyota Tacoma.
I love to cook and grew up on a resort in northern Minnesota. We fed our summer employees, and when I got old enough, my Mom gave me the option to cook or clean up—I cooked. I started catering over 25 years ago when my kids were very young, and my little cottage industry bloomed into a full-blown biz when they got older. My family enjoys having great food when we are out under the stars, and I enjoy making that happen. We own Colorado Backcountry Trailers, and I helped design the kitchen for the off-road trailer—it allows everyone to come together to create something spectacular, the perfect recipe for dining en plein air.
Michelle is an architect; partner Roy is a businessman. But when work inside four walls no longer provided them much satisfaction, they took courage and dropped normal life in their home country of Brazil. They decided to search for their true passions and left for two round-the-world expeditions by truck. The wealth of information provided by the six years away from home led them to the decision to share their experiences in the most diverse ways. And so, they became photographers, writers, and speakers—disseminating the cultural diversity of our planet. They are the authors of Mundo por Terra or World by Land, detailing their travels and adventures.
Overland Journal is the original publication for environmentally responsible, worldwide vehicle-supported expedition and adventure travel.
SUBSCRIPTIONS AND BACK ISSUES
5 issues/year, online at overlandjournal.com or 3035 N Tarra Ave, #1, Prescott, AZ 86301
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DIGITAL
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It’snot an exaggeration to say that the Flex Canvas pants from Livsn Designs have quickly become my go-to apparel choice for just about anything other than winter sports. They are made from 7.3-ounce EcoFlex duck canvas which is 58 percent GOTS certified organic cotton, 40 percent recycled polyester, and 2 percent spandex. The name Livsn comes from the Swedish saying livsnjutare, which basically means one who loves life deeply—an enjoyer of life. While I certainly feel like this phrase describes me well, the bigger story here is the sustainable approach and smart features behind the Flex pants.
Starting with a mix of environmentally conscious stock materials, Livsn creates garments that are designed to last. Their prices are not what I would call inexpensive, but they reflect a more responsible supply chain and labor practices. Unlike an $18 pair of fast-fashion pants that will only last you a few months of regular use, a $99 pair of Flex Canvas pants will last you for years. And if they wear out prematurely, the company’s rock-solid warranty guarantees a refund, repair, or replacement for free. If you happen to be extra demanding of your clothing and need some repairs from normal wear and tear, Livsn also has you covered with repair services at cost (no markup).
A pair of Flex Canvas pants will last you for years. And if they wear out prematurely, the company’s rock-solid warranty guarantees a refund, repair, or replacement for free.
Upon initially receiving the Flex pants, I was surprised to find that they were stiffer and more robust than I anticipated. But after one wash, they took on a more supple, comfortable-on-the-skin quality. Their tailored fit is both flattering and functional, and they don’t restrict my movement during activities like hiking or scrambling. While they do have a very minimal stretchy quality to them, they haven’t stretched out over time like many natural-fiber garments I’ve tried. Because of their comfort and fit, I often find myself wearing them for an extra day or two instead of reaching into the dresser for a clean pair of pants.
The overall design of the Flex feels well-thought-out, with reinforced heel cuffs, strategic bar-tacks, a gusseted crotch, and plenty of pockets. The interior of the front pockets is constructed with a synthetic mesh which breathes nicely and reduces bulk. Additional partitions within the front pockets help keep a cell phone or keys from bouncing around excessively. I especially appreciate the EDC pockets that sit just outside both thighs, the perfect place to unobtrusively stow a small knife or pen. Recessed zippers on the rear pockets provide heightened security for a wallet but aren’t uncomfortable for sitting. The only feature that I found difficult to use is the roll-up leg system which feels uncomfortably snug on my calves.
$99 | LIVSNDESIGNS.COM
Practical, durable comfort in an environmentally friendly package.
Asoverlanders, we are determined to leave little physical evidence of our interaction with nature. We seek to preserve the beautiful spaces we are fortunate enough to visit, and hopefully, leave them better than when we arrived. Fireside Outdoor, founded in 2016 in Phoenix, Arizona, shares these goals and aims to help others Leave No Trace. For heat, cooking, or just for ambiance, the Pop-up pit lets you add fire to your adventures while leaving no impact on the ground.
This attractive fire pit is designed so you take the remnants of your fire away, ashes and all. Once your fire is extinguished, the innovative materials of the pit cool quickly, making fire dispersal hassle-free. It can be used with an existing fire ring or in places without access to a designated fire area such as remote camping, on a deck or patio, at a beach cookout, glamping, or even on a multi-day rafting trip. The included heat shield prevents heat from reaching the ground and causing damage to other surfaces.
Though devised for repeated heating and cooling cycles, some discoloration is expected over long-term use of this product. I noticed the fire mesh had permanent burn marks after the first use, but this adds to the unit’s character. Constructed with durable aluminum and stainless steel, the fire pit is lightweight at 8 pounds, despite its size of 24 x 24 x 15 inches.
For heat, cooking, or just for ambiance, the Pop-up pit lets you add fire to your adventures while leaving no impact on the ground.
The frame expands with little effort but remains sturdy once opened. No tools are needed for assembly, though I found the fire mesh somewhat difficult to place. Lifting the individual corners was not easy, and the mesh does not stretch, but it does provide a sturdy base to build a fire up to 100 pounds, including fuel and ash. The mesh provides the fire better oxygenation, and in turn, produces less smoke.
Four ember guards reduce the risk of errant sparks causing wildfire. The ember guards are lightweight aluminum and are compliant with Bureau of Land Management, United States Forest Service, and National Park Service guidelines. Each ember guard is L-shaped and 24 x 4 inches; the fire should be kept an inch or more away to allow air to flow properly.
A convenient black carrying case with a shoulder strap makes for easy storage and transport. It will protect your ve-
Keep your campfire off the ground with this compact, portable solution.
hicle from any residual ash or soot, though I would prefer the same material as the case for the optional 24-inch Tri-fold Grilling Grates.
The stainless steel Tri-fold grates can hold up to 75 pounds of food and provide a 23.5- by 16.25-inch cooking space; boil water for pasta while simultaneously grilling vegetables or meat on the side. My first setup took around three minutes through trial and error, with one minute designated to reading the instructions; setup is possible in less than a minute, though. Cleanup is a cinch, and an included vinyl carrying case packs the grill grates to 23.5 x 5.5 inches.
POP-UP FIRE PIT/$120, TRI-FOLD GRILLING GRATES/$80 | FIRESIDEOUTDOOR.COM
Setting up the Pop-up pit is straightforward and protective of any terrain. Right: The heat shield effortlessly protects Arizona’s arid forest ground.
Simple, well-thought-out tools that improve our cookhouse experience, both outdoors and in.
WhenI think about ways to add enjoyment to my cooking experience, it’s nearly always about a new recipe or a fresh set of knives. Maybe even some new pans, but a spatula was never on the list. Earlier this year, I had the opportunity to test out Dryad’s lightweight titanium spatula, and I was pleasantly surprised at the experience. The off-centered design seemed slightly odd at first, but it quickly became apparent this was a purpose-built tool. The flat tip slices right under food when stirring, and the offset 20-degree ergonomically designed lift handle provides access to a whole new way of scooping food onto your plate. When you are really going at it on a cast-iron pan, the spatula has the perfect amount of flex. It’s available in three colors with options for both left- and right-handed users. The spatula set rounds out nicely with the addition of a Dryad leather skillet handle cover. The material is quite stiff upon arrival, but a few minutes of working it by hand results in a pliable grip. The leather conforms nicely to the handle and is thick enough to attenuate the heat of even the hottest pan. And since they are made of leather, you know they will age nicely. (CC)
SPATULA/$54, HANDLE COVER/$15 | DRYADCOOKERY.COM
A dash of reality with a sprinkling of research and backcountry access is unlocked.
Iamnot an experienced backpacker, but I enjoy high-alpine fishing, and if my truck can’t get me sleeping next to water for prime-time dawn strikes, out comes the inevitable. Like any new hobby, I often allow the (not so accurate) influencer interpretation of myself to buy gear for its never-used fancy features, but not this time. I recognized that I was never going to be Cheryl Strayed tackling the PCT; I only wanted 35 pounds to feel like 25 pounds. So here is my self-proclaimed pro take on why Mystery Ranch should be every woman’s trail life genesis.
Because no two ladies’ curves twin, the hip belt is the sole makeor-break attribute. Cushy is crucial to prevent hot spots and minimize pressure points, but only a custom-tailored fit can ensure it doesn’t get sloppy under load and retains that magical weight reduction capability. Mystery Ranch solves this primary requirement instantly because you can swap out the belt for different sizes, mak-
ing a stock pack feel like a bespoke kit. All other decisions are pure seasoned preference, and newbies shouldn’t stress any of it. I will say, however, that since my conditioned need to never be without a purse doesn’t end while traversing the wilderness, I truly dig the Stein’s detachable daypack, which acts as a lid when connected, but doubles as a smaller grab-and-go transporter. It’s fantastic for ditching anything heavy while on my quest for cutthroat. And that’s your official green light from a fellow rookie on how to get outside without feeling like an overburdened mule. (RD)
$299 | MYSTERYRANCH.COM
TheE-Clik starts with a Made-in-USA shock, manufactured and assembled by SDi using a combination of in-house (and locally machined) parts, and adapted electronic components. Next is the proprietary touch-screen controller that replaces the transfer case shifter on the Jeep JL, incorporating a touch screen and dial configuration to review and change settings. The system is controlled by an ECU that gathers data from 12 different inputs, including the supplied eight-axis inertial measurement unit. The system adjusts the damping of all four shocks in real time, autonomously and transparently, with no input needed from the user. Additionally, there is a user-selectable Road Mode and Trail Mode. For advanced users, the system allows extensive manual (via the touch screen) adjustability and sensitivity biasing.
To accommodate for a heavy overland load, the E-Clik has a provision to adjust the rear valving based upon a percentage of available payload. It’s a significant advantage for backcountry travel as the Jeep can run daily driver duties with little gear onboard and then be adjusted for a travel load.
Another use case that immediately came to mind is a dynamic roof load. During my testing of the E-Clik, I conducted a series of tests to help simulate dynamic handling scenarios and body
Proprietary electronics and tuning offer seamless adjustment and control.
control conditions, which included higher speeds on the dirt with the sway bar disconnected. With a loaded roof rack or a roof tent (hopefully, never both), the E-Clik is able to adjust the dampers automatically to limit sway and help keep the hood flat through transitions at speed. It is particularly noticeable with the rear suspension, as most roof loads will have a rear bias. I was able to adjust the system by increasing the pitch sensitivity and upping the rear load percentage.
In cross-axle terrain with the sway bar disconnected, it was impressive to watch the system actively adjust throughout an articulation event, firming a corner as it dropped into a hole and loosening a lightly loaded corner. This was also evident during side slopes, where the system would firm the downslope dampers to minimize compression of the loaded (downslope) springs. We pushed right up to a 30-degree side slope at various speeds to gauge effectiveness, and it was confidence-inspiring.
The system adjusts the damping of all four shocks in real time, autonomously and transparently, with no input needed from the user.
In a high COG, lifted 4WD with largediameter tires, the result is usually some degree of “lively” handling and a lot of driver fatigue. This is where the E-Clik shines, providing relaxed valving while cruising along but adapting within 1/250 of a second during an emergency lane change. I pushed the JL through multiple limit handling situations, including hard braking in a turn, lift-throttle events, lane changes, and more. During each of those scenarios, the Jeep remained predictable and composed. The E-Clik cannot overcome physics, but it does move the limits much closer to the edges.
Overall, the SDi E-Clik system is genuinely revolutionary, incorporating technology not currently available in the segment. As a last consideration, the Pro system is an investment, something that should always be weighed against the goals of the traveler. Technology at the fringe of the future is never cheap—but it can make all the difference.
$4,999 | ECLIKSHOCKS.COM
Integrating the controller into the 4WD shifter is an impressive result, putting adjustability at your fingertips. Due to the adaptive nature of the shocks, they can be paired with nearly any lift spring and alignment bracket combination.
Dwarfed by the rock formations of Kazakhstan’s Mangystau region.
By Karin-Marijke Vis
LIMESTONE ROCK FORMATIONS REFLECTING IN THE WATER, islands rising from the salt plains, mountains streaked with greens, purples, and reds, and spherical rocks spread all around us for hundreds of meters. This is the Mangystau Oblast, arguably the most surprising part of Kazakhstan and a true paradise for overlanders.
The Mangystau Region is bordered by the Caspian Sea on the west, the Aral Sea in the northeast, and Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan in the east and south, and has never been a densely populated region. Although there is some evidence of sites dating from the Neolithic Period, the first written records date only from the 9th century AD. From then on, the Mangystau Region has been inhabited by Turkmens, Mongols, Kazakhs, and Russians.
Testimony to those early days of settlement includes the underground mosques that may once have been remote locations for Sufis to be closer to God. Cemeteries are scattered across the dry plains, varying from tombs of a few rocks to boastful mausolea and fairytale domes. From the immense necropolis of Koshkar Ata just outside Aktau (the capital of the Mangystau Region) to cemeteries of just 25 graves, all have eye-catching kulptyas. These carved stone columns or decorated stone tombstones tell us whether the deceased was a good Muslim, a young woman, or a warrior. Unattended for many centuries, many of the tombs and kaytas tombstones in the form of stylized sheep—have partly sunk into the ground or have been eroded by the fierce winds that howl across the plains.
With the discovery of oil and gas deposits, the region has attracted an influx of new habitants. Donkey pumps nod in formation as you drive the few asphalted roads that cut through the plains. You will be driving nearly exclusively on unpaved roads, though. For hours, days even, you may be shaken apart on rutted tracks that cut through the clay desert covered with low-growing scrub with the sporadic appearance of a small tree. Distraction in the sometimes monotonous terrain is found in the camel herds; these fierce animals are most beautiful when enveloped in their thick winter fur.
Wild horses also dot the landscape and scatter as soon as our drone leaves the ground. The noise cuts through the silence of the Ustyurt Plateau, which covers a large part of the Mangystau Region (77,000 square miles). Suddenly the plateau ends, and you may find yourself on a cliff edge looking out over limestone deposits that have been transformed into
spellbinding rock formations; it’s hard to tear yourself away from such sweeping views. Trails and unpaved tracks zigzag up and down the valleys, taking you deeper into the dried-up bottom of the sea and through the Valley of Balls, where thousands of spherical rocks lie scattered across the desert land.
Amidst all this beauty lies the Ustyurt National Preserve. Far away from any habitation, going there requires a GPS and detailed satellite maps, as well as a careful calculation of how much fuel and water to take. Bring proper recovery gear because if your vehicle breaks down here, you are on your own since you may not have a cell phone connection for days. A digital detox, however, can’t get much grander than here, amidst a Martian panorama of solitary mountains rising from a massive salt depression and the Boszhira Tract. We set up camp below Boszhira’s towering limestone peaks among the extraordinary rock formations and pillars and discovered a sublime wonderland.
OUR LAND CRUISER, SLOWLY RUMBLING AWAY AT 1,500 RPM ACROSS THE SEEMINGLY ENDLESS DRIED ARAL SEA. BOTH TIME AND LANDSCAPE PASS BY AT A SLOW SPEED. WE ARE IN OUR ELEMENT, WITH NO TRAFFIC OR SETTLEMENTS IN SIGHT AND NO OBSTACLES ACROSS THE PATH.
WE FOLLOW TRACKS AROUND THE ARAL SEA, WITH SPORADIC VIEWS OF THE WATER’S LARGE BLACK SURFACE. A DRONE SHOT REVEALS THE MAGNIFICENCE OF THE DRIED, GRASSY ISLANDS WHICH SEEM TO BE FLOATING IN A VAST WHITE OCEAN.
SALTING AND DRYING MEAT IS COMMON PRACTICE TO ENSURE IT WILL LAST THROUGHOUT THE WINTER SEASON; THE TRADITION IS STRONGLY INFLUENCED BY THE NATION’S BYGONE NOMADIC WAY OF LIFE.
AS WE STROLLED ACROSS A CEMETERY JUST OUTSIDE BOZOY, WE WERE PUZZLED AS TO WHY ONLY CERTAIN TOMBS WERE COVERED IN A THIN LAYER OF ICE, GLISTENING BEWITCHINGLY IN THE SUN. DOES IT HAVE TO DO WITH THE TYPE OF STONE THEY WERE MADE OF? THERE WAS NOBODY TO ASK.
TESTIMONY OF THE DISASTER PLAYED OUT DURING SOVIET TIMES, WHEN THE RUSSIANS PURPOSELY DRAINED THE ARAL SEA TO FULFILL AN INCREASING NEED FOR WHEAT AND COTTON. HARBORS DRIED UP, AND SHIPS WERE LEFT TO RUST IN THE DESERT. MOST HAVE BEEN BOUGHT UP FOR THE VALUE OF THE METAL, WHILE THE HANDFUL THAT REMAINS TODAY SERVE AS A MEMORIAL.
THE CONSTRUCTION OF A DAM BETWEEN THE NORTH AND SOUTH ARAL SEA TURNED THE TIDE, THE NOW SLOWLY EXPANDING SEA GIVING HOPE TO FISHING VILLAGES SUCH AS KARASHALAN TO FLOURISH AGAIN.
(OPENING SPREAD):
THREE DAYS OF UNPAVED, FROZEN TRACKS LIE AHEAD OF US ACROSS THE DRIED-UP PART OF THE ARAL SEA. A SPRINKLE OF FRESH SNOW HAD US WORRIED AS THE STILL-VISIBLE TRACKS MIGHT HAVE DISAPPEARED UNDER HEAVIER SNOW.
MORE THAN 80 PERCENT OF THE CAMELS IN KAZAKHSTAN ARE THE DOUBLE-HUMPED CAMELUS BACTRIANUS. WITH THEIR FINE PHYSIQUE AND SHAGGY COATS, THE BACTRIAN CAMELS ARE FAMOUS FOR THEIR MEAT AND HAIR, WHILST MILK PRODUCTION IS HIGHER IN THE DROMEDARY OR SINGLE-HUMPED BREEDS.
KAYTAS ARE STYLIZED SHEEP TOMBSTONES CONSISTING OF A HORIZONTAL CYLINDER ON A PEDESTAL, MANY OF WHICH COME WITH THE CARVING OF A DAGGER. MANY HAVE BEEN LARGELY EATEN AWAY BY THE ELEMENTS, BUT THIS LITTLE POCKMARKED ONE STANDS WITH PRIDE AT THE SHAKPAK ATA NECROPOLIS.
BUILT INSIDE A LIMESTONE ROCK, THE 800- TO 1,100-YEAR-OLD UNDERGROUND MOSQUE OF SHAKPAK ATA HAS A FLOOR PLAN SHAPED LIKE A CROSS AND DRAWS LIGHT FROM HOLES IN
THE DOMED CEILINGS. SMALL NICHES IN THE WALLS CAN HOLD CANDLES FOR EXTRA LIGHTING.
WE ARE GRATEFUL THE ZILLIONS OF TRACKS ARE FILLED WITH ICE INSTEAD OF KNEE-DEEP MUD. IT IS ONE OF THE PERKS OF DRIVING THE DRIED-UP ARAL SEA DURING WINTER.
THE RENOVATED ENTRANCE TO SHAKPAK ATA’S UNDERGROUND MOSQUE ALLOWS EASIER ACCESS TO THE INCREASING NUMBER OF VISITORS. NOW ISOLATED FROM THE ELEMENTS, YOU CAN STILL SEE HOW WIND EROSION SCULPTED THE LIMESTONE WALLS INTO A HONEYCOMB STRUCTURE.
SCATTERED THROUGHOUT SHAKPAK, AS WELL AS IN OTHER CEMETERIES, ARE THESE LITTLE LIMESTONE OFFERING BOXES, WHICH FACILITATE
A PAYMENT SYSTEM FOR THE CARETAKER TO UPKEEP THE GRAVES AND RECITE SUTRAS FOR THE WELL-BEING OF THE DECEASED.
THE EARTH IS SCARRED BY A LABYRINTH OF ROUTES PLYING AMONG DRILLING STATIONS, OIL TESTING FIELDS, AND A RECENTLY BUILT GAS PIPELINE TO CHINA. AS WE DISCOVER ON A NON-FROZEN STRETCH, TRACKS EASILY BECOME QUAGMIRES, WHICH WE ASSUME IS THE REASON DRIVERS CREATE NEW TRACKS.
FROM ABOVE, THE ELABORATE AND TIGHTLY PACKED MAUSOLEA OF KOSHKAR ATA APPEARS TO RESEMBLE A TOWN WITH PROPER STREETS. IT IS UP CLOSE THAT YOU ARE CLUED IN, AS STREET SIGNS AND ELECTRIC WIRES ARE MISSING, AND THE HOUSES SEEM AWFULLY SMALL. THIS NECROPOLIS, WHICH ONCE BEGAN AS A SMALL CEMETERY FOR NOMADIC PEOPLE, NOW PRIMARILY HOSTS ETERNAL HOMES FOR URBAN KAZAKHSTANIS, INCLUDING HUGE, EXTRAVAGANT MAUSOLEA FOR THE WEALTHY.
AMIDST THE VASTNESS OF GRASSY PLAINS RISE THREE HUMUNGOUS MONUMENTS, MAUSOLEA OF FAMILY MEMBERS THAT LAY BURIED AT THE KENTY BABA NECROPOLIS. IMPRESSIVE AS THE LARGE STRUCTURES ARE, WE ARE PARTICULARLY ATTRACTED BY THE SMALLER DETAILS OF SOME OF THE TOMBSTONES’ CARVINGS, SUCH AS THIS FLOCK OF SHEEP.
EXITING THE SHAKPAKATASAY CANYON INVOLVES SEARCHING FOR THE PROPER (FAR FROM OBVIOUS) ROUTE. LUCKILY, THE LAND CRUISER LAUGHS AT THESE KINDS OF TRIALS.
AMIDST THOUSANDS OF OTHERS, WE COME ACROSS A MINI BALL NEXT TO ITS GRANDFATHER VERSION SOME 3 METERS HIGH IN THE VALLEY OF BALLS—TORYSH IN KAZAKH. AMONG THE THEORIES SURROUNDING THEIR CREATION IS THAT THE CURRENTS OF ANCIENT SEAS MAY HAVE FORMED THEM.
FUNERARY STONES ARE USUALLY ADORNED WITH CARVINGS THAT GIVE INSIGHT INTO THE LIVES OF THE DECEASED. WEAPONS ARE FREQUENTLY USED FOR MEN AND COMBS OR KETTLES FOR WOMEN. OTHER CARVINGS ARE LESS EXPLICIT IN THEIR SYMBOL OR REMAIN A MYSTERY TO US, LIKE THIS ONE.
A SWORD AND AX INDICATE THE GRAVE OF A WARRIOR AND ARE AMONG THE MOST COMMON CARVINGS ON MALE FUNERARY STONES, SUCH AS ON THIS KULPYTA, A CARVED STONE COLUMN.
THE FREQUENT SLIDING OF THE CARPET MAKES THE ENTRANCE TO SULTAN EPE’S UNDERGROUND MOSQUE A HAZARDOUS ONE. THE SUBTERRANEAN COMPLEX CONSISTS OF SEVERAL ROOMS SUPPORTED BY PILLARS AND DATES FROM BETWEEN THE 9TH AND 12TH CENTURIES.
THE SUNSET CASTS LONG SHADOWS ACROSS THE VALLEY OF BALLS, WHERE A MULTITUDE OF THREE- TO FOUR-METERHIGH ROCK FORMATIONS FILL THE VALLEY, AS IF THE GIANTS JUST LEFT THEIR GAME OF MARBLES FOR US TO FINISH.
EONS OF EROSION HAVE TURNED THE REMOTE MANGYSTAU REGION INTO A SURREAL DESERT LANDSCAPE WHERE SUPERLATIVES RUN SHORT OF THE MAGNIFICENT SCENERY. IN THE USTYURT NATURE RESERVE, WE JOURNEY AMONG WHITE LIMESTONE ESCARPMENTS, ISOLATED BLUFFS, TAKE IN THE THREE BROTHERS ISLANDS RISING FROM A BRACKISH LAKE, AND SET UP CAMP UNDER THE TOWERING BOSZHIRA ROCK FORMATION.
Testing the latest fridge-freezers to their limits.
By Scott Brady
Clockwise from top: We gathered power data via an inline PowerWerx meter and a Bluetooth-enabled Fluke clamp meter. The Fluke generated both graphical and CSV data logs. Heat output is an important consideration for both mounting and venting when the fridge is installed in the vehicle. Dual temperature data loggers were used to ensure accuracy and redundancy during the tests. These units are accurate enough for medical use and are certified for that purpose. Opening page: There are few accessories so universally loved as the 12-volt fridge/freezer, usually occupying a place of convenience and admiration in the vehicle.
Having interviewed hundreds of overlanders, we often ask what their favorite piece of kit is, and almost sheepishly, many reply “my fridge.” The reasons vary, like making ice for margaritas, keeping ice cream frozen for the kids, or preserving that fillet of wild Atlantic salmon for a BBQ in the Maze District. Regardless of why, the 12-volt fridge is a much-loved accessory for the vehicle-based traveler.
Each overlander is different, some eschewing nearly all comforts, crossing continents on a motorcycle with the most minimal of equipment, and there are four-wheeled counterparts that bring everything, including the Nespresso coffee maker. Both have their merits, but few luxuries match the fridge for pure homeyness, improving culinary outcomes paired with a breathtaking view. I have found that a fridge stocked with food and drinks makes the campsite feel like a home away from home, allowing me to cook healthy, plentiful portions for my travel companions, and prepare the proper sundowner for the end of a dusty day.
While fridges have become more technology-heavy in recent years, Bluetooth, remotes, and USB ports have little benefit for their intended use, and should be considered a secondary influence on the decision set. Primary attributes are matching the size in liters to the number of travelers (or the days remote), and pairing the insulation and compressor efficiency to the available battery/solar capacity.
Selecting the correct-sized fridge is the most important decision, as travelers often purchase too large of a model that unnecessarily robs the vehicle of interior volume. A solo traveler can easily use a 25- to 35-liter unit, and a couple with children can manage with only a 50-liter. The trick is to avoid refrigerating items that do not need cooling (like eggs, most cheese, and a surprising number of fruits and vegetables), and to only cool drinks needed for the day. A smaller fridge takes up less space, costs less to purchase, and typically uses less amps to run. Fridges larger than 60 liters are challenging to integrate in most vehicle layouts, and are best reserved for large 4WDs, trailers, or campers. As this test focuses on newer models to market, we do evaluate a wide range of sizes.
Primary attributes when selecting a fridge are matching the size in liters to the number of travelers (or the days remote), and pairing the insulation and compressor efficiency to the available battery/ solar capacity. PLEASE
Another important decision point is the efficiency of the motor and the insulation. While tests like these will often praise higher performance units, those successes come at a cost in both purchase price and overall volume efficiency. If the traveler tends to move each day, then efficiency is far less important. High insulative values require thicker, more expensive injected foam, which requires more labor to assemble, and the walls of the fridge will be thicker. Which in turn
either makes the unit larger for the same interior volume, or costs interior volume for the same exterior dimensions. We suggest not buying performance you don’t need.
Through our travels, we have found a few things worth investing in, including a cabinet temperature gauge, a lowvoltage cutoff, and a freezer unit. The temp readout puts the user at ease, and helps prevent spoilage or frozen radicchio; fortunately, all of the units in this test have some form of gauge. A low-voltage shutoff preserves starting power in the battery and also helps prevent battery damage. The right lowvoltage cutoff can even reduce the need for a dual battery in some configurations. However, there are units like the Engel that will run all the way down to 9 volts, which can permanently damage expensive house batteries. It is best to find a fridge with an adjustable cutoff, which lets the user adjust the shutoff point to the system configuration. For example, I run a much higher shutoff voltage when the fridge is running on the starting battery. Lastly, we prefer a unit that includes a freezer compartment, for the simple reason that a freezer makes ice, which will support additional food in a cooler, or cool warm drinks that do not need to take up space in the fridge. Meat can keep for months in the freezer, and there is just something special about unwrapping an ice cream treat in the Gobi Desert.
Our evaluation relied on good system design, repeatability, environmental controls, and vigilant oversight. The objective data was collected by our Operations Manager Garrett Mead, who coordinated with me on the testing methods and controls. Each test started with a digital scale weight before moving on to determining start-up amperage, cooldown amp hours and effectiveness (time to 46°F), steady-state amp hours (maintaining 46°F), and time to warm up (to 56°F).
To measure start-up and running amps (which allows for amp hour calculations), we captured the current with a Fluke data logger paired to Garrett’s iPhone. This permits exporting the data as a comma-separated values file (CSV). The data was validated with interval readings from our PowerWerx inline power analyzer. For temperature measurements, we purchased two identical certified data loggers with +/- .6°F accuracy. Both loggers ran during each test to ensure accuracy and to identify possible logging errors. These data loggers export to CSV for analysis and charting. Interestingly, obtaining these units proved quite challenging during Covid as they are used for vaccine storage monitoring. For a fluid thermal load of 423 ounces, we used 38 cans of S.Pellegrino flavored water, arranged without touching the interior sides, placing the temperature sensor probes deep within the center of the load (but not touching the cans) to ensure that the thermal mass achieved our benchmark temp of 46°F.
Additional tests included a decibel measurement of the compressor during peak cooling to determine fan, vibration,
and other sounds that contribute to a noisy sleeping environment. We also took four cooling vent temp checks with a thermal IR gauge to determine how hot the units ran (to help the buyer consider required cooling spacing and airflow), and we captured Forward Looking InfraRed (FLIR) thermal images of the fridges to look for concentrated heat zones and potential cooling loss areas (for example, around the lid).
Subjective tests included lifting, moving, mounting, loading, and lashing the units, and using them in the field. Considerable insight only comes with adequate use, so all of these fridges have been used on long trips to expose design benefits or flaws. These subjective observations are reflected in the individual reviews and contribute to the final rankings.
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has designed the most intuitive and comprehensive app in the test. The ARB fridge app is easy to use and accurate. The Truma app is functional yet lacks some of the interface design and logic of the other solutions. Using a FLIR camera provides critical insight into the data the loggers capture, like the poor sealing of the ARB lid. This undoubtedly contributed to its reduced performance. The Engel has a massive venting area which helps it to work effectively in more confined spaces. Good airflow also helps improve efficiency.
ARB has become legendary in the overland market, providing quality components for a wide range of vehicles and a laundry list of accessories. This brings several benefits to a product like fridges, including a global distribution network and economies of scale, driving down costs while improving service and support. When it comes to 12-volt coolers, ARB has regularly outsourced their production, starting with rebranded Engels, then in-housedesigned units produced by Dometic. More recently, they have sourced the Zero line from Asia, with an emphasis on the durability of the packaging (i.e., impacts and vibration) and their on-unit and app interfaces.
PROS
Serious volume for large parties
Durable construction 12-volt inputs on both fridge sides
CONS
Less space-efficient than others in the test
Heavy
Below-average performance
The Zero’s size is further enhanced by the thickness of the insulation and plastic case, mass of the handles, and sturdy corner guards. It all feels robust in a genuine way, and at nearly 70 pounds, could almost use two people to carry it. All of this mass and volume results in it being the fridge for large families or larger vehicles. It is roughly twice the size of the Engel in overall dimensions, which results in a huge freezer zone and a fridge-side that swallows whole gallons of milk. It is also possible to remove the freezer divider and improve space efficiency even more. Another advantageous feature is the basin drain, which makes cleanup so much easier. This model has the best lashing solution of the test, with stamped stainless steel clip-in brackets and four heavy-duty integrated tie-downs to keep it in place. The phone app is useful and lets you keep tabs on the contents from your beach chair. A few other items I like are the reversing lid and the brilliant idea of putting the 12-volt input on both sides of the case. Accessories are numerous, including mounting kits, wiring kits, covers, and slides. In use, the weight and size of the ARB are immediately noticeable and will require the right application to fit properly. The performance of the fridge is below average, with faster cooling initially, followed by slower performance as the temperature closes in on the benchmark of 46°F. Interestingly, the resolution of the data logger showed a less than optimal cooling profile, with the controller idling the compressor for short periods despite it being set to maximize cooling. The warmup was also below average, with the ARB warming 10° faster than any other unit in the test (albeit similar to the Truma as expected). The volume of the fridge is a serious benefit; and the larger volume, when compared with others in the test, will have an impact on cooling and warming efficiencies.
$1,526 | ARBUSA.COM
DOMETIC | CFX3 55IM
55 LITERS, 47 POUNDS
multiple features.
Dometicis a powerhouse of the RV, marine, and overland markets, generating everything from stoves to mobile air conditioners. They have also been producing chest, drawer, and upright fridges for decades, and it shows in the level of refinement and features. We have watched the Dometic units evolve, and the current incarnation presents their most travelfriendly model yet, with rounded and reinforced corners, a waterproof LCD user interface packed with information, and one of the best Bluetooth apps in the test.
Best display (and location) in the test
Best overall performance
Lowest weight in the test
Lack of traditional freezer (which might be a pro for some)
Plastic case and lid will be less durable against scratches
The CFX looks like a fridge designed for the 2020s, with a modern soft-touch matte finish, sculpted corners, and smooth lid integration. The handles are all that protrude, and lack sharp edges to cut or mar vehicle surfaces. They are also the primary lashing point, and are more than up to the task. When picking up the fridge, it is clearly different, being the lightest in the test, despite average interior volume. This is primarily due to the extensive use of reinforced plastics, but that technology has proven to provide several benefits, including insulation. The downside is scratches and scuffs in the plastic, something the stainless units never show.
The Dometic provides the most useful app in the test, including amp hour usage by hour, day, or week. We noticed that the graph does not have enough upper limit range, with the unit using above the 5 amp hours shown on the app graph. Despite this, the daily graph is helpful for gauging power consumption. It is possible to change the set temperature in the fridge from the app and see the current temperature, both of which are convenient to the passenger while driving—no more spoiled or frozen food. The last feature of note is the lack of a true freezer, but the ability to make ice. For many travelers, the layout is perfect, providing more fridge space, as well as evening libations on the rocks.
For performance, the Dometic gave an impressive result, with the fastest cooling rate of the test. In fact, the effectiveness was so notable, that we tested the unit multiple times to validate the results. Power consumption was also modest at 4.6 amp hours under rapid cooling, owing to the design of their compressor and condenser/evaporator capacity. Dometic did not skimp on insulation either, having the second-slowest warm-up rate in the evaluation, keeping the drinks cooler for longer than all but the National Luna.
$1,099 | DOMETIC.COM
Top to bottom: The Engel is the most compact unit in the test, which will be a benefit for some. As the first Engel fridge-freezer combo, it uses a simple insulating design. While still very analog, this model is the most advanced of any Engel model. We see that as an advantage for many users.
The
first 12-volt fridge I encountered was owned by my neighbor, an old Engel that had served as his garage beer fridge for more decades than he knew. He had only turned it off once—when he moved just down the street from me. I acquired it and used that fridge for years before selling it to a friend. The fridge is still running in their garage, filled with drinks. There is one critical thing to know about an Engel, and that is the swing motor technology. The Sawafuji compressor has only one moving part, the piston, which slides back and forth inside the cylinder, self-lubricating as it runs. The other benefit of this technology is the industry’s lowest start-up amperage (by more than half in some cases), which allows the Engel to be plugged into OEM 12-volt sockets (which have small-diameter wire).
Upon initial review, the Engel’s modest appearance belies its strengths, with a stamped, powder-coated steel shell and molded plastic interior. The unit is notably compact for the volume, lacking anything non-essential (no bulky bumpers or bottle openers, etc.) The handles, from our experience, are only suitable for carrying the unit, not proper lashing. For that, there are robust brackets (sold separately) that affix to the factory captive inserts. This new-model Engel features significantly more detail on its display, including the temperature of the cabinet, the set temp, and the battery state. Another notable feature is an adjustable low-voltage disconnect, which is a first for the brand. The cooling function is simple and robust, with the fridge zone factory set to 0-5°C, and the freezer adjustable from -18°C to +10°C. The size of the fridge can be adjusted to three different volumes, including fridge only.
Lowest start-up amperage
Lowest amp hour draw in the test
Most space-efficient for volume
Coil configuration is less effective when used as a fridge
Handles not robust enough for rough terrain lashing
Average cooling and warming performance
The performance of the Engel is toward the middle of the pack but should not be considered slow. The data logger showed how steady and consistent the cooling rate was, complemented by the lowest power consumption in the test. On the warm-up, the Engel beat out the ARB and Truma for a mid-pack finish. The strength of the Engel is its reliability and efficiency, including the low start-up amperage and average running draw. Engel addressed many of the upgrade desires we have expressed through the years, including more precise temperature control and an adjustable low-voltage disconnect. The release of a combination fridge-freezer is a win for Engel lovers, although the cooling plate/coil configuration undoubtedly impacted the cooldown times for the thermal load we selected.
$1,099 | ENGELCOOLERS.COM
50 LITERS, 55 POUNDS
Top to bottom: The National Luna is arguably the most classic and attractive of all available fridges, with a dimpled stainless steel case and quality materials throughout. The layout is a traditional combi layout, with a large fridge and smaller freezer with a lid. To ensure a good seal, the Legacy uses two lid latches.
The
South Africans have been overlanding for a long time and en masse, which resulted in some of the earliest and most notable market innovations for the vehicle-based traveler. This includes the ZA manufactured National Luna fridges, which have been made in Africa for over 30 years, and won the previous two Overland Journal fridge-freezer tests. They have a wide range of options to suit the needs of the traveler, including models with over 70-millimeter-thick walls filled with premium injected insulation. More recently, they introduced a new Legacy line of fridges that found the optimal confluence of performance, material quality, and value.
High quality and attractive materials throughout Lid can be mounted in multiple directions
Precise, independent compartment controls Class-leading insulation performance
CONS
Slower to cool than previous models
Two latches to access chest
The Legacy line incorporates a proprietary “off-road” compressor (still similar to the Danfoss-style) and several improvements in useability, like a fully selectable temperature range for both compartments. This is clever, as the buyer may choose to have a large freezer, and a small fridge, or vice versa. The display is easy to read but can be bright in a sleeping area. The control panel allows easy adjustment to the threeposition low voltage cutoff and activation of the turbo mode. It is important to note that this fridge in turbo mode will pull significant power (upward of 7.2 amps), so wiring should be sized accordingly. The fridge is genuinely handsome and classically styled with a dimpled 430-grade stainless steel shell and three-way configurable lid. The handles are robust and fold tight against the body and thoughtfully include a channel to run a strap for lashing. The interior is assembled from aluminum panels and is cooled with copper piping (all contributing to fewer cold or hot spots, an attribute we validated with the FLIR).
The performance of the Legacy compressor is notably different from National Luna units in the past. Despite bottoming the set temperature and selecting turbo mode, the cooling profile would not keep the system at a steady rate. This may be to maximize efficiency (this unit did have one of the lowest amp-hour draws) or to protect the compressor, but it did slow the rapid cooling rate when compared with their past units. Warm-up, however, was right in alignment with the past products, keeping food colder than any of the other models in the test. The thermal load took over 18 hours to warm up 10° in our test environment of a controlled 78°F. The Legacy benefits significantly from the precise and independent control of the two storage chambers. The National Luna switching system actively cools the larger or smaller compartment depending on the user’s needs, which can even change during a trip, like starting with a larger freezer and then shifting to a larger fridge as the trip progresses.
$1,295 | NATIONALLUNA.COM, EQUIPT1.COM
Truma appears to be new to the market, but they are one of the oldest companies in the test. The business was started in 1949 as part of the Marshall Plan for German economic development after World War II. As a way of honoring US President Harry S. Truman, the founder, Philipp Kreis, called it Truma. The company’s first product was a gas lamp, followed by 70+ years of camping and RV equipment for the European market. In 2013, Truma opened its North American operations, providing hot water heaters, air heaters, combi-units, and more recently, portable refrigerators like the 69-liter unit in this test.
The lineup of Truma fridges is impressive, offering everything from 36 liters to 105 liters. Their adventure line of dual-zone units includes 69- and 96-liter models, so we selected the unit closest to the test size range. Initial inspection reveals robust construction with reinforced rubber corners and handles that fold flat against the sides. Connecting the 12-volt power supply is available on both sides of the fridge, which is a clever solution shared with the ARB. The lid can also be reversed to allow for more placement options. The on-unit display allows for the adjustment of compartment temperatures, along with a turbo mode for rapid cooling. The display shows the current temp or set temp for the individual compartments. Using the smartphone app allows for additional adjustments, including battery voltage at the unit and adjusting the low-voltage cutoff settings.
Robust, reinforced plastic 12-volt inputs on both ends
Dual control over the 69-liter volume
Lower space-efficiency with bulky walls and rubber corners
The Truma fridge is a solid performer, providing the secondfastest cooling time of the test. It just bests the National Luna Legacy, with a similar cooling cycle to the ARB, featuring short waves of slightly faster and then slightly slower cooling intervals. The cooling rate was generally consistent, which speaks to the compressor performance and the support of the fan and overall coil and condenser surface area. The freezer configuration uses a lid and insulation barrier, combined with increased coil density on the freezer side of the chest. Its modular solution allows for less control of the freezer compartment temperature, but it also allows the entire unit to be used solely as a fridge.
Average insulation performance, despite wall thickness
Heavy
For the warm-up, the Truma demonstrates a lower insulation effectiveness than all other units, with the exception of the ARB (which performed similarly). It is difficult to assess the type of insulation used without destroying the test unit, but it warmed the contents almost 40 percent faster than the supremely well-insulated National Luna. The Truma benefits from a robust, stylish case and a feature-rich display and app control. This unit is a great choice for travelers with more vehicle space and the desire for a larger fridge volume.
$1,549 | TRUMA.NET
This is Overland Journal’s third comprehensive fridge test, the first completed nearly 13 years ago. In the previous two tests, the National Luna was the standout performer, showcasing the company’s near solitary focus on vehicle-based fridge-freezers. A lot has changed in the subsequent decade, with fridges becoming extremely popular, even in the general consumer space, allowing for significant investment in technology, design, and manufacturing. All of the fridges are improved, and the gap closed around our reigning champ. There are now solutions for every buyer.
For the Value Award, it comes down to the Engel Combi and the Dometic CFX3. They are both priced at $1,099, and are outstanding performers in their own right. Beyond that, each unit is quite different in the benefits they provide.
The Engel is the most space efficient (exterior versus interior volume) and the most power efficient in the test. I especially like the classic and simplified metal case and easy-to-remove lid. Having used Engels for over two decades, their reliability cannot be understated. The Dometic packs class-leading overall performance, along with light weight and the best display of the test. It is worth noting that the National Luna is a great value too, with premium materials and class-leading insulation, albeit at a higher price. Objectively, they are all exceptional values, but the Engel epitomizes the spirit of value and minimalism, requiring less power (start-up and running amps), less space, and a modest purchase price. It also benefits from one of the most important value predictors of all—reliability.
For this test, the Editor’s Choice was a surprise, the result only possible because of the resolution, diversity, and controls of the testing process. We have found it important to have repeatability in the testing model, at least as much as possible within reasonable constraints. This effort demonstrated how good fridges have become, as well as the strengths and weaknesses of each model. While all of the subjective and objective criteria are important, there are a few
criteria that matter on nearly every day of an overland journey, like unit weight (which impacts payload), cooling efficiency, insulation, and average amperage draw. There are also more subjective considerations, like ease of use, interior layout, and straightforward cleaning. All of these elements culminated with the Dometic and National Luna vying for our Editor’s Choice.
In past tests, the National Luna has dominated both cooldown and warm-up results, a combination of both insulation and coil construction/density. For the first time, a National Luna model was bested in cooldown performance, the Dometic cooling rapidly and smoothly down to our benchmark 46°F. The Dometic cooled down nearly twice as fast as the slowest unit in the test, and did so with an average of 4.6 amp hours. On the insulation test, the National Luna was better, resulting in the best-in-class warm-up performance. However, the Dometic was the second-best warm-up result. From here, the Dometic won out on usability, having an excellent app, the lightest weight in the test, a high-mounted display (which I prefer), and efficient power usage. While I have also personally used National Luna fridges for almost two decades, I have selected the Dometic CFX as my Editor’s Choice because of its near optimal execution of the functions most needed in a 12-volt fridge-freezer.
DISCLOSURES Even our best attempts to control variables and ensure repeatability of our tests results in a degree of falsifiability. Disclosures surround the function of how fridges determine their case temperatures, and any competitive advantage around compartment design.
As a control, we set each fridge to their lowest possible set point, and then monitor the temperature of the thermal load by the display on the data logger. The load cools much more slowly than the walls of the fridge, and thereby the fridge’s temperature probe. While most fridge controllers compensate for this effect, it is possible for unusual cooling profiles to present themselves as the fridge is tricked by its own probe data. This could be represented in the National Luna cooling profile, as the unit attempts to gauge the rate it is actually cooling the fluid load in the cabinet. Cooling over 400 ounces of liquid from room temperature to 46°F is a particularly challenging expectation of a fridge.
Each of these fridges have a freezer capability, but the Dometic only freezes ice in two small trays. As a result, the Dometic has some design advantages toward rapid cooling of a single compartment. We tested the Dometic by also including room temperature ice trays, effectively increasing the total fluid it needed to freeze. Despite this, it still performed faster than others in the test, and the slower of the test results are reflected in the chart. The opposite is true for the Engel, which uses a unique coil plate design, which allows for a combination fridge-freezer. This design is less efficient at cooling fluids quickly, but was still tested in accordance with the unit’s published use case as a fridge or a freezer.
We intentionally selected newer models that incorporate a freezer function and brands that are known for reliability.
The cooldown chart shows how quickly the fridge cooled the load from 75°F to 46°F. Warmup performance is a greater indicator of long-term effectiveness than any other attribute.
A secret world, turning back the clock to a better time.
By Graeme Bell
Wehad been warned by European friends and the US government travel advisory not to travel to Turkey. The government of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was said to be sliding towards totalitarianism while struggling with terrorism and the war in Syria. The relationship between NATO allies Germany, the United States, and Turkey was particularly strained for many well-documented reasons. Though we are not German or American, we are large and blonde and may be mistaken for either nationality. A month earlier in 2018, while waiting out winter on a friend’s island in Greece, we decided that we would travel to the country but be careful of our statements on social media while there and cautious of our activities, particularly near military installations. We had to make the same decision when we entered tumultuous Venezuela four years earlier, determined to overland through northern South America and complete our circumnavigation of that continent. Our goal in Turkey was to explore a country that many international travelers consider one of, if not the best, overland destinations on the planet.
In late February 2018, our family of four entered northern European Turkey from freezing Greece and made our way rapidly south, seeking sunshine and blue skies. An ice-cold wind blew us to Gallipoli, where Churchill’s 1915 strategy to sacrifice the aging, redundant British naval fleet for control of the Dardanelles—thereby securing the Suez Canal and year-round warm water supply routes to Russia—was ignored by nostalgic
admirals who had dithered for weeks before the attack. The element of surprise was lost, allowing the waning Ottoman Empire precious time to fortify, resulting in the slaughter of thousands of brave Australian and New Zealand soldiers (and an equal number of Turks, 250,000). We crossed the Dardanelles on an old ferry, one of many that weaved confidently through crowded shipping lanes of oil tankers and colossal, surging container ships, and rolled the Defender onto Asian soil. It was our fifth continent overland.
The ancient city of Troy, site of the Trojan Wars, guarded access to Mount Ida (Goose Mountain) which stood tall, fighting to hold back the European winter, the sun shining warmly on her southern slopes. We travelled as far as the coastal town of Burhaniye, where the beleaguered Defender decided it was time to refuse further passage. The motor had developed a debilitating misfire since Greece, and it took a few weeks of speculative daily mechanical inspection, fault finding, and repair before we eventually opened the engine (in camp) and replaced the injector seals and washers. It was a delicate task which solved our mechanical problems despite a large, obnoxious dove divepooping in cylinder three. During this period of forced immobility, we learned a few important Turkish words and phrases and immersed ourselves, at least partially, in the community. Serendipitously, we had asked Turkish immigration for the maximum three-month visas; the cost was 100 euros for the four of us. With two months left to explore the large nation, we headed south past Izmir, the wealthy Mediterranean city. Using the app Wikiloc, we found a little peninsula that was almost an island where we could free camp near an isolated rocky beach. We cleaned the beach of plastic litter and lost shoes (probably, but hopefully not, the lost apparel of Syrian refugees who braved the sea to reach Greece and Europe). Local fishing boats bobbed nearby, a sheepdog left his shepherd to become our new friend, and a military helicopter conducted rescue drills, training navy swimmers. Nearly every island surrounding Turkey belongs to Greece, thanks to a long history of dispute and the involvement of the Western powers, and refugees need only reach one of those islands to be granted asylum in Europe.
Turkish hospitality is legendary, as we would soon experience. Upon leaving the island, the Defender again developed an infuriating misfire. While working on the electrical system outside a roadside restaurant, we met Khan, a young entrepreneur who diagnosed a bent pin on the crank position sensor and invited us to his home. We enjoyed a meal of olives, pastries, cheese, and tea before being offered a night’s accommodation, a shower, and 90 large brown eggs. Accepting 30 eggs and a family photo, we left our new friends, drove 200 kilometers, and camped next to a park that serviced a beach with a view of a military base and an oil refinery. Later a head-scarfed woman approached the Land Rover and offered us a still-steaming, freshly baked cake and a bottle of cold Coca-Cola. When my girls returned the washed cake dish to her, they were invited to indulge in two hours of pastries and conversation before the woman offered us all a bed for the night in her large modern home. Her daughter was a famous television and social media
personality who offered to fly home from Istanbul to show us around the area and teach us about Turkey. Not since the USA had we experienced such hospitality.
Pamukkale is a town in western Turkey known for mineralrich thermal waters flowing in perfect blue, rolling over sparkling travertine terraces. Pamukkale neighbors Hierapolis, an ancient Roman spa city founded around 190 BC. Ruins there include a well-preserved theater and a necropolis with sarcophagi. The Antique Pool is famous for its submerged Roman columns, the result of an earthquake. We needed a place to camp for the night and were surprised to find ourselves driving up a little-travelled
We had driven up into a secret world far from the beaten track, far from tourism, back in time to a better time.
4WD track to an area overlooking the terraces, ruins, town, and the River Menderes, the ideal location for a hotel. The muezzin called the azan at sunset, and lights flickered across the valley. Below, buses bustled, and visitors ate cold plates of hot food while we made a barbecue and quietly witnessed the various transactions below. A large dog joined us and enjoyed a meal of bones and rice; he lay at the door of the camper and protected us until dawn before being called away to another purpose. Of the million annual visitors to Pamukkale, I am positive that very few had the opportunity to enjoy the World Heritage Site quite as we did, and I would not have it any other way. As we would later discover in Cappadocia, the Turks allow freedom of movement, and few fences prohibit exploration.
In Turkey, unique experiences are common, which is uncommon indeed. After a brief stay in Fethiye, a tourist hotspot favoured by the British, we continued south, where we found a place to camp next to a small white beach and crystal clear sea near Kaş. We felt perfectly safe. Chinese sightseers stopped to have their photo taken with us, and a Turkish wedding party pulled over to dance, the bride dressed in an explosion of white silk and lace. We swam in the sea and relaxed completely; a fishing boat took advantage of the small bay to anchor and wash the deck as the sun set over the islands of Greece, a short boat ride away.
Only a few days later after Luisa filmed a hipster barber abusing me with hot wax and a cool attitude (the resulting video has had over 100 million views), we found ourselves having breakfast in the Taurus Mountains that separate the Mediterranean coast from the Anatolian Plateau. Luisa, our navigator, had plotted a route through the Taurus Mountains to Cappadocia, and we were amazed that there was an endless supply of trails which we were free to travel, and that we could camp almost anywhere. Driving through rural villages, the population would stop and stare as we passed. It seemed that this paradise was not explored by many of our kind, the kind of people who would rather be free in the mountains than standing in a ruin queue. We felt like we were back in Peru. Although the Taurus Mountains are not nearly as impressive as the Andes, the peaks and valleys and blue rivers have an indelible charm. We had driven up into a secret world far from the beaten track, far from tourism, back in time to a better time.
With dusk approaching, we exited the mountain range and emerged onto the Anatolian Plateau after a week of exploring— tired, thrilled, and dusty. Luisa pointed to rolling hills in the shadow of the 3,916-metertall Mount Erciyes, “There is a national park there, apparently. Maybe we can find a place to camp.” She guided us into the hills, but instead of finding a national park, we found only a small rural village and a network of dusty trails looping up and around the hills. We drove on, following our instincts until we found a perfect, level site to camp—the snowcapped mountain before us and a valley spread below. Wherever we looked, we saw only beauty. The sun set too soon, and we ate a meal, chatting about our experiences and our plans for Cappadocia.
A full moon rose from behind the mountain, and a flashlight swayed across the hills that flanked us. A voice called out, “HA, HAA.” The voice grew closer until I decided to step out and meet the man with the flashlight and booming voice. A dog, the size of a lion, surprised me as I walked towards the walking light. I approached the man who shone the light in my eyes, blinding me until I greeted him, “As-salamu Alaikum.” Immediately the light dropped to shine a circle on the ground. “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.” We shook hands as the shepherd smiled at me inquisitively, “Where are you from? Africa?”
After a short chat, the shepherd moved on, but the large dog remained, settling down in front of the Land Rover, keeping an eye on both us and the herd of scraggly sheep which were the same colour as the Kangal dog (or it might have been an Anatolian shepherd, I can’t tell the difference). The Kangal is a fascinating breed that serves as excellent flock guardians, known to care for their charges for up to a year without human contact, never eating from the flock but surviving on rodents and ground squirrels. Throughout the night, the Kangal protected us as well, occasionally barking if he spotted something in his territory. There were two more Kangals in the pack, and between them, they surrounded and secured the flock. Safe from harm, we slept as if in a fortress and woke to a clear blue sky.
Cappadocia is unlike any other natural tourist site we have encountered in our seven
We stepped out of our camper and witnessed an immense flock of hot air balloons floating towards us. As the sun rose, the colors became more intense, the scene completely surreal. Eventually, we chose just to sit quietly and contemplate this magnificent but all too rare collaboration between the genius of human creativity and the sublime perfection of the natural world.
years overlanding the planet. Unlike Yosemite or Machu Picchu, Cappadocia is not fenced, and there are people living within the ruins of cave cities and churches. It is possible to explore the valley by foot, horse, or vehicle, and we were free to camp virtually anywhere, though some areas are restricted. Luisa again used the Wikiloc app and directed us away from the hordes of tourists and tour operators and up to a plateau overlooking the wind-carved sandstone spires. We followed one track and then another until we found ourselves camped, surrounded by steep cliffs, above the valley, with the town of Göreme in the distance. The sun set over the most spectacular view we have ever had the good fortune to witness. Lights sparkled in the distance, the muezzin called, a half moon rose.
Cappadocia is famous for the hundreds of hot air balloons which create a spectacle as they fly over the valley. But we were not guaranteed to see the calm chaos of a hundred balloons in flight as they do not fly every day since the weather has to be perfect. We did not mind if we missed it; this evening was simply enough for us to be completely satisfied, if not overwhelmed by our Cappadocia experience. We made a small campfire, sipped some wine, and sat quietly, soaking in the atmosphere.
I awoke that morning to a loud whoosh. Looking out the windows, I at first saw nothing but again heard the sound, whoosh. “Luisa! Wake up; the balloons are right here.” We
We were lucky to find and enjoy this quiet area to camp in Pamukkale; one day soon a hotel will likely stand there.
stepped out of our camper and witnessed an immense flock of hot air balloons floating towards us, the sun just beginning to rise behind them. Each carried 10 or more passengers, some pilots choosing to fly as high as possible and others floating down below between the gulleys surrounding us. We chatted to the passengers, “Good morning; did you bring coffee?” A few pilots proved to have extraordinary skill, floating down among the spires close enough that the passenger could reach out and touch the sandstone, rising against the airflow and only then up above the valley. As the sun rose, the colors became more intense, the scene completely surreal. Eventually, we chose just to sit quietly and contemplate this magnificent but all too rare collaboration between the genius of human creativity and the sublime perfection of the natural world.
All too soon, we left Turkey after heading back toward Istanbul along the Black Sea, which could not impress us after the magnificence we had already witnessed to the south. During our stay, we felt completely safe and were never bothered by the police or the military (with the exception of a curious policeman who was confused as to why we were camping on a Black Sea dock).
Our experience in Turkey was indeed unique and incredible, and we will most certainly return one day, hopefully soon. We associated with Turks from all walks of life and had a wonderful experience with all, but found the followers of Atatürk and Kemalism most likely to share our modern Western values.
GETTING THERE Flights to Turkey from Europe are inexpensive and unbelievably cheap from Germany. By land, you can enter from Iran, Georgia, Bulgaria, or Greece. We entered via Greece, exited via Bulgaria, and drove from there to Germany via Serbia, Hungary, and Austria—a 2,000-kilometre journey with significant border crossings at Hungary/Serbia, Serbia/Bulgaria, and Bulgaria/Turkey.
There are currently ferries to Turkey from Greece and Cyprus; the cost is around 200 euros for two adults and a vehicle.
FOOD AND ACCOMMODATION Though not nearly as affordable as we were expecting, you can find most of the food you are accustomed to. Street food is cheap: a döner kebab with chips and an ayran drinking yoghurt will cost roughly one dollar. Supermarket prices are similar to those in the USA for most products. Restaurants serve good portions at decent prices.
OTHER INFORMATION Campgrounds are few and far between and very expensive. We found wild camping quite easily and occasionally rented a simple apartment for roughly 25 euros a day. Mobile internet is relatively cheap at approximately $8 for 10 GB via Turk Telekom, but a SIM card will cost around 14 euros. Roadside fruit and vegetable stands will rip you off with a smile, but if you know what you should be paying (and offer to pay that exact amount), you will find the prices reasonable.
A buffet of choices to serve different needs, from backcountry to backyard.
By Matt Swartz
MOUNTAIN SUMMIT GEAR has a Heavy-duty Roll-top Table (Large) with a maximum capacity of 70 pounds; it sets up in under one minute and is made from a combination of lightweight aluminum and steel. Weighing in at just over 15 pounds, this table has a 47- by 28-inch surface.
$100 | MOUNTAINSUMMITGEAR.COM
KINGCAMP offers Adjustable-height Folding Bamboo tables that combine function with beauty. The KC3928 has a 39.4- by 28.3-inch surface that provides enough space for four people to enjoy a meal together, yet it folds down nicely for travel. The adjustable legs have three different height settings which make leveling the table on uneven ground possible, a feature that many overlanders will appreciate in the field.
$150 | KINGCAMPOUTDOORS.COM
HELINOX The Tactical Field Office is an interesting and unique travel table combined with a 15-liter cargo bag. The whole kit only weighs 5 pounds thanks to an aluminum frame which can be separated from the cargo bag for an even lighter-weight setup. A variety of accessories help users further customize the cargo bag for carrying items like computers or camera equipment.
$200 | HELINOX.COM
LIFETIME For those of you who prefer more affordable alternatives to specialized camping equipment, folding plastic tables from Lifetime will give you a solid surface to work or cook on while also helping you save money for your next big adventure. Their 4-foot Adjustable Fold-inhalf model offers a 48- by 24-inch surface, has three adjustable height settings, and comes with a two-year warranty.
$70 | LIFETIME.COM
WhenI venture into the great outdoors in search of nature’s simplicity, there are many items that I am eager to leave at home, like my laptop, cellphone, and internet connection. But one thing that I’ve come to consider essential gear in the backcountry is the humble camp table. If you doubt my enthusiasm, just ask yourself: how often do you come across a perfectly flat elevated surface in the backcountry? Occasionally, a tree stump or rock might do the trick, but when you need to prep dinner for your whole family, a solid, level surface is worth its weight in gold.
Camp tables come in a surprising array of sizes, shapes, and finishes (trust me, I dove deep on this topic). Some are large and robust, while others are compact and lightduty by design. Naturally, I wanted to test a variety of tables, many of which had unique design elements and ideal use cases.
I began by compiling a list of well-regarded tables in the outdoor space and ultimately narrowed it down to seven different models for field testing. Unfortunately, I was unable to reach a few manufacturers who had tables that I would have liked to include in this article; see more about those products in the sidebar.
While many camping products on the market could be evaluated through complex scientific methodologies, camp tables are (thankfully) straightforward. Therefore, my biggest testing criterion was the ease of setup, a feat I attempted without instructions. I am happy to note that I successfully set up all of the test products without reading the included literature. Of course, some were easier to figure out than others, but that’s part of the challenge. It should be noted that I had previous experience using the Camp Time Roll-A-Table.
In addition to my setup test, I used each unit at home and in the field on multiple occasions to determine suitability for use while standing and sitting. I also tested each table for payload by placing an assortment of camping items on top, including a variety of battery banks, cooking gear, and other personal items.
While some tables seemed more sturdy and functional than others, every table in my test survived, and all are likely to have a use case that feels appropriate for the right individual. The only notable bias that I would like to point out is my shorter-than-average height of 5 feet, 7 inches. If you happen to be 6 feet tall or more, I suspect that you may be hunched over while using some of these camp tables for standing tasks.
Opening page: The Colorado High Country makes a great office, but every great office needs a great desk.
Utah-based
Camp Chef is known for its range of cooking accoutrements, from aluminum twoburner camp stoves to pellet grills and even smart smokers. But as it turns out, they also make a full range of accessories for preparing food as well as camp tables in various sizes.
This table was one of the first units I tested. I’ll admit that its name doesn’t make it sound particularly special. But upon removing it from its packaging, I immediately realized that this wasn’t your typical camp table. The extremely robust steel tabletop felt like it would outlive me. Another way to put it: it’s not the kind of thing you want to drop on your foot. The reason for its heavy-weight build quality? Heat resistance.
Camp Chef’s table can be used for Dutch-oven cooking using charcoal or wood directly on the table’s surface. And while that might sound a bit far-fetched, I had to test it out. The good news is that it really does work and improves the experience of cooking in this style. Because your heat source is elevated to a comfortable height, you no longer need to bend over or crouch down to tend to whatever meal you are cooking. Of course, this table also works just fine for more standard camp tasks, like food preparation and gear organization.
A small metal lip runs around the edge of the table which keeps small items from rolling onto the ground and helps corral charcoal briquettes. But while it offers utility, it also prevents you from resting your arms on the edge of the table.
Its legs are removable but not adjustable unless you purchase threaded leg levelers that cost an additional $27. I found it strange that the wingnuts which secure the legs to the table have plastic pieces, a design element that I believe is just waiting to be damaged if the table gets knocked over.
I found the table’s durable matte black surface to be an excellent place to lay out tools and other heavy items, in addition to its unique ability to withstand the heat of burning charcoal. It’s also a great place to put a battery bank so that it could be elevated off of the ground at an easy-to-use height. I’m not sure if it was intended, but the pre-cut holes in the table’s included windscreen were perfect for routing device charging cables from the back of the table to its surface.
$110 | CAMPCHEF.COM
Founded in Japan in 1980, Snow Peak made its way to the United States in 1999. Now a well-known name in the outdoor industry, their 60-year history in outdoor equipment design feels like it has matured. They offer a wide variety of design-forward items that blend the lines of form and function. This includes products like compact backpacking stoves and complete outdoor furniture solutions that have integrated cooking, seating, and weather protection. It’s quite incredible the diversity of products that Snow Peak has created.
The Single-action table, which lies at that intersection of beauty and function, is made out of brushed aluminum and bamboo. It is a perfect example of Snow Peak’s ability to create functional camping equipment that emphasizes aesthetics.
My first experience with the Single-action table was one of wonder as I opened the tabletop and witnessed the legs magically open like a piece of origami. It is one of the heavier and larger products in this test, weighing in at 28 pounds. But it also delivers over 9 square feet of usable surface area, the most of any table that I tested. Because of its size, this table provides a comfortable place to enjoy a seated meal with up to six people. But it could just as easily be a comfortable working surface to use a laptop, play a game of cards, or examine maps while planning your next adventure. This table is best used for seated tasks as it is a little bit too low to be used comfortably while standing.
Setup of the table was pretty straightforward, although without looking at the instructions, I neglected to identify and secure the locking mechanism the first time I tested it. Luckily this didn’t result in any incidents. But be warned, it needs to be set up correctly for the best stability. Because of the folding action of the legs, I would advise users to be gentle with this table. It helps if you think of it as an elegant picnic table—perfectly functional but definitely not designed for abuse.
To address an obvious concern, this table is expensive. I don’t see this as a shortcoming or a negative point, just a reality of its complex construction and overall design. Because of its unique emphasis on aesthetics, the Single-action table isn’t ideal for everyone. However, if you are looking for a table that can work in the backcountry and still be put to use on your back patio for a barbeque, picnic at the beach, or swanky garden party, this could be the do-it-all solution.
$400 | SNOWPEAK.COM
South African overlanding equipment manufacturer, Front Runner Outfitters, makes many off-road vehicle accessories, from modular roof rack systems to storage containers and even auxiliary vehicle lighting. They also offer a number of durable camp tables, including their Pro stainless steel camp table.
Upon removing the Pro from its packaging, I was immediately struck by how heavy it was; it felt like a tank. While it doesn’t bring anything new to the table (pun intended), its overall design is very slim in profile, and the materials used make it stand out visually against traditional folding tables.
Its working surface is fashioned from .9-millimeter-thick stainless steel and is surrounded by a black powder-coated aluminum frame with rounded black glass-filled nylon corners. It has two pairs of square tubular legs constructed from black powder-coated aluminum to match the frame.
Setting up the Pro is about as straightforward as it gets. You simply fold down the two pairs of connected legs, making sure to push their folding hinges all the way into the locked position. Setting it up can be accomplished by one person, but I found it slightly easier to have a helper.
While it has a thin profile, slender legs, and a minimalist appearance, the Pro is heavy in the hands and was one of the most stable tables in our test group, as long as it was located on flat ground (the legs are not individually adjustable). To drive home the solid build quality of this table, although it’s not necessarily recommended, I have stood on top of it to gain access to the roof of my travel trailer, a feat that I wouldn’t attempt with any of the other tables in this test.
While you might be thinking that purchasing this table is a no-brainer, its solid build quality does come with the highest price tag in the test group. So before you muster up the cash, you’ll want to figure out if you actually need the stability and build quality that the Pro offers.
One final and unique aspect of this table that I was, unfortunately, unable to test was its ability to be integrated into Front Runner’s Slimline II roof rack system for convenient and secure storage while traveling. A specialized hardware kit that can be easily installed allows you to attach the table below the roof rack slats, just above your vehicle’s roof. And because the Pro is made from stainless steel and powder-coated aluminum, you won’t need to worry about it being exposed to the elements.
$557 | FRONTRUNNEROUTFITTERS.COM
Ipridemyself on being knowledgeable about quality outdoor gear, so I was surprised that I hadn’t previously heard about Korean outdoor gear manufacturer Kovea. But then again, they have limited product availability in North America, so it is possible that they will be a new company to many of you. They offer a wide selection of products from stoves to tents, sleeping bags, heaters, camp furniture, headlamps, and even charcoal barbeque grills.
For this test, I got my hands on their AL Bamboo One Action table, a model that strikes a great balance between form and function. At 22 pounds, the table feels solid, but thanks to its compact folded footprint, it travels well and is also relatively easy to tote around camp, especially with its included storage bag.
Visually, the One Action is beautiful, with shiny aluminum hardware and a glossy bamboo tabletop. It blurs the lines between high-end patio furniture and camping gear. In addition to testing it in the field, I found myself setting it up in my living room on quite a few occasions when I wanted a workstation by the couch.
Setting up the One Action is very easy, and as the name might imply, the single movement of opening its folded surface deploys the legs in one smooth motion. Once open, it provides an ideal amount of space for two people but could possibly accommodate four. The legs have three different length settings, a useful feature that lets you adjust the table’s height and level it on uneven ground. This table had great adjustability, and finding a perfect height that matched our camping chairs was easy.
The table was fairly robust, and in testing, was capable of supporting heavier-weight items like a 50-pound off-grid battery. However, due to the orientation of its legs, which anchor to the table’s surface toward the middle, I would recommend locating your heaviest items directly in the center to avoid putting undue stress on the edges of the bamboo tabletop.
For me, this table has the perfect amount of surface area to perform most camp chores that might come up, from sitting down to eat a meal to working at the computer or just creating an elevated workspace off of the ground where you can organize gear. Because of its lower height (even at its highest setting), I would recommend this table for users who plan to primarily use it for seated tasks.
$250 | KOVEA.COM, NOMADICAOUTFITTERS.COM
GCI got its start by making chairs specifically for use outdoors. Naturally, their success led to the development of other products, including stools, rockers, and tables. Currently, they offer no fewer than 30 different models of camp chairs along with a variety of other products, including portable camp tables.
Their Slim-fold Cook Station (kitchen utility table, if you will) is a purpose-built solution that is, as you might assume, best put to use for cooking-related tasks. It offers surfaces at three different heights, some of which are best used for storing supplies, while others, like the top central surface, are optimal for supporting bigger items like a camp stove or full-size cutting board. This table was one of the most full-featured in my test, offering surfaces for a variety of storage and tasks as well as cup holders and utility hooks for hanging utensils or stuff sacks.
At just under 20 pounds, the Slim-fold is right in the middle of our range of test products in terms of weight. Its solid feel surprised me when I first set it up and while we used it as a camp kitchen in central Arizona. GCI says that any of its various surfaces (sides and lower section) can support 30-35 pounds, with the central aluminum tabletop (this material utilized for heat resistance) can support up to 48 pounds.
Setup was fairly straightforward, but folding the Slimfold back up into its original stored configuration was not quite as easy and took a little bit of effort. Because it doesn’t have adjustable legs, you’ll want to make sure to locate this table on a flat piece of ground when you set it up. And because the legs are connected with flat bars that sit horizontally on the ground, you may be slightly limited with table placement if there are objects like rocks or stumps on the ground (versus legs that come to a single point which aren’t connected to one another). I also found that putting larger items onto the centrally located lower shelf was somewhat difficult due to the metal bars that cross in front and behind the table.
The Slim-fold offers a lot of thoughtful features for kitchen and camp use, and although it isn’t the perfect camp table, its bargain price point deserves serious consideration. If you are looking for a table that won’t break the bank, this might be your best bet, at least in this group of products.
$100 | GCIOUTDOOR.COM
The Camp Time Roll-a-table has been around since 1980, when it was first created as an alternative to the conventional steel camping tables of the time. As the story goes, it was designed specifically to be taken along in a Zodiac where it wouldn’t damage the inflatable tubes of the watercraft. Now, 40 years later, the Roll-a-table is still in production, and for good reason: it’s a great addition to any camp, on or off the water.
Let us start with the name, Roll-a-table, because it describes this piece of camp furniture perfectly. The entire tabletop is flexible and rolls up around its removable aluminum legs, providing a compact and secure package that stows easily. It is constructed from Montana-sourced tamarack slats that are enclosed in waterproof laminated fabric. And while I initially thought that it looked like a light-duty piece of camping gear, it surprised me with its 10-pound weight and 100-pound load capacity.
The setup and breakdown of this table are very straightforward and efficiently accomplished by one person. It’s adjustability makes it one of the best in the test group for both seated and standing tasks and for use on uneven ground. It has an integrated mesh bag hanging off of one side that stores its legs and cross struts. I’m partial to products with integrated storage for parts because, without them, I am bound to lose something crucial. Finally, a soft nylon handle makes carrying this table from the rig to the campsite a pleasure.
At its highest setting, the Roll-a-table felt a little bit wobbly, so I generally do not completely extend the legs when using it. If you need the extra height, the wiggly characteristic can be mitigated by locating it against a solid object like a tree or bumper or by lashing it to a second Roll-a-table (although I’m not sure how realistic it is to expect that someone will purchase two). Camp Time also suggests wiggling the legs down into sand for additional stability if the option exists.
The minimal packed footprint of the Roll-a-table may be one of its best qualities, and for travelers that are short on space in their vehicles, this is one of the best options in our group of test products. It packs up small enough to fit behind a seat, in a narrow gear compartment, or could just as readily be lashed to a roof rack or other exterior mounting point. Its adjustability and minimal weight are also appealing qualities. Finally, the Roll-a-table is the only table in our test group offered in multiple colors, Blue or Jade Green.
$121 | CAMPTIME.COM
Many of the most well-known outdoor gear brands seem to be synonymous with high price tags, but Alps Mountaineering is a refreshing exception. And even though their camping gear is generally more affordable than their competitors, they don’t skimp on performance or quality. In fact, quite the opposite. Their products come with a limited lifetime warranty and a promise to exceed customer expectations.
Alps Mountaineering is the smallest and lightest product in the test group with their Utility table, a featherweight dualsurface camp table that weighs in at a scant 8 pounds, 10 ounces. Even though it is constructed from lightweight aluminum, the table is strong enough to support just about any camping equipment that you would likely use in the field, including stoves, offgrid batteries, food, or tools.
I’ve loaded this table up with literally all of the tools that I carry in my travel trailer, and it supported the whole collection with ease. And while I wouldn’t recommend trying it, I think it’s worth mentioning that in testing, I was also able to support my entire body weight, approximately 145 pounds, on the table’s frame (without the tabletops attached). Basically, this table hits way above its weight class.
Setting up the table is very intuitive. Its folding tubular frame, which looks similar to a tray table, expands to form a solid platform for attaching the tabletops. The two removable tabletops are made from aluminum and snap onto the tubular frame of the table via plastic clips.
The slats are connected with elastic shock cords, making them flexible and foldable.
Because of its height and smaller surface area, this table is best put to use as a cooking station or for organizing gear and smaller items from your camp kit. Its two-level design and side table fit my cooking setup perfectly, with room for a two-burner stove, a 1-gallon propane tank, and a camp utensil roll. The side surface can be folded down if the extra space is not needed for the task at hand. This camp table is also a bargain at $130.
Although I didn’t experience any durability issues during my testing, I am slightly concerned with the plastic clips that connect the tabletops to the frame. Longer-term testing will ultimately deliver a verdict on their performance. Despite the table’s lightweight construction, it has survived weeks of traveling in the bed of my pickup truck across the Western United States and being tossed around at campsites. I must say, I am thoroughly impressed with how it has held up for such a lightweight product.
$130 | ALPSMOUNTAINEERING.COM
A journey through India’s Mishmi Hills, one village at a time.
By Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent
Clockwise from left: Rice paddies, jungle, river, and huts—a classic Arunachali scene. An Idu man prepares freshly cooked mithun meat for the communal feast. One of the many rope bridges I crossed on my travels across Arunachal Pradesh—not for the faint-hearted. My Hero, on a muddy mountain road; note the homemade Top Box. A mithun, or Bos frontalis, the semi-wild oxen endemic to this part of South Asia. Highly prized by the Idu Mishmi and other Northeastern tribes, they’re often used for sacrificial purposes. Opening spread: Idu Mishmi igu chant together at a clan gathering in a remote village.
Theroad wound steeply through the mountains, hugging the forested flanks in a dizzying series of switchbacks. Waterfalls pounded onto the surface, gouging the mud into angry little streams. And all the time, the rain kept falling, falling, falling—slamming into the earth with such force I couldn’t hear my engine. There was no one else on the road today; everyone, except mad dogs and an Englishwoman, had sensibly stayed at home. Squinting against the deluge, I gripped the handlebars with cold, sodden hands, repeating, keep going, keep going, through gritted teeth. In a perverse way, I was glad to see the arrival of the rains, to bear witness to their flaying, visceral power. But I’d never ridden in worse conditions.
I was travelling across the remote Northeast Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh, a formidable knot of mountains at the far eastern end of the Himalayas. A place few Indians have visited, let alone outsiders, I’d first heard about the area while filming in Delhi in 2014, a well-travelled Indian friend firing my imagination with tales of unmapped wilderness, yeti sightings, and shamans who flew through the night. Here was a place hidden in the shadows at the edge of the map, a far-off land that spoke of magic, mystery, and the glorious wild. I had to see it.
Two years later, having wangled a rare 60-day permit to travel solo across the state, I rode out of Guwahati on a Hero
Impulse, a 150-cc Indian-made dual-sport bike I’d bought for 39,000 rupees ($535). Lighter and cheaper than the more fashionable Royal Enfield, I hoped it would live up to its name.
Nothing about travelling here was going to be easy. Arunachal Pradesh, meaning “Land of the Dawn-lit Mountains,” swells from the scalding plains of Assam to 7,000-metre Himalayan summits, its wild profusion of hills carved into steep, forbidding valleys by the main tributaries of the Brahmaputra. Home to almost every climatic zone on Earth, it also has the dubious accolade of being one of the wettest places on the planet. In 1926, whilst searching for rare orchids in these mountains, the British botanist and explorer Frank Kingdon-Ward summed up the weather perfectly when he wrote, “The frivolous might say there are two seasons; eight months wet, and four months damned wet.”
Prepared for every eventuality, my panniers bulged with gear: down jackets and a 4-season sleeping bag for the higher elevations, waterproofs, a tool kit for fixing the bike and a first aid kit for fixing me, emergency food supplies, a water filter, my lucky teddy bear.
My first major challenge was the Mishmi Hills, the tangle of vast, trackless ranges abutting the state’s eastern border with Tibet. Known for harsh terrain and climate extremes, the hills had
proved the nemesis of many a would-be conqueror and explorer. One, the British anthropologist Verrier Elwin, went as far as to call them “the most formidable in India.” Moreover, I soon discovered that my map of Arunachal—the best available in England—was largely fiction. The towns were misspelt, the roads in the wrong place. Nor was the offline mapping application on my phone much help since most of the area was an ominous white blank.
After three days of heavy rain, I reached Roing, a small town at the base of the Mishmi Hills. I intended to stay here for a day, to service my waterlogged Hero and wring myself dry, but landslides had closed the one road north up the Dibang Valley, and, until they were cleared, I was stuck.
While early explorers insulted the climate and inaccessibility of the region, it was nothing compared to their scorn for its inhabitants, the Idu Mishmi. Tibeto-Burman animists who migrated here from China some 800 years ago, the Idu Mishmi were known to early British explorers as a savage, quarrelsome bunch none too fond of foreign interlopers. The Tibetans thought them cannibals who feasted on the bride’s mother at wedding celebrations, while countless others insulted their character, hygiene, and “primitive” ways. But from the outset, I adored the Idu, and few more so than the owner of Roing’s Mishmi Hill Camp, the wonderful Jibi Pulu.
A puckish 50-something with cheekbones you could swing off and a thatch of black hair, Jibi rattled me around Roing in his old Suzuki Maruti, depositing me at the hearths of various friends and elders. There I’d sit for hours, cross-legged in smoky bamboo huts, entranced by stories about spirits and shamans. Whoever they were and whatever their age or profession, no one was in a hurry. Everyone had time to sit and talk and tell stories; their handsome, jovial faces lit up by the flickering flames.
After four more days of rain, the news filtered through that the road north was open again. With more rain forecast and landslides likely, I decided to leave the Hero—which had been serviced for the grand sum of 200 rupees ($2.75)—with Jibi and travel up the valley by shared 4WD taxi instead. During the monsoon, it wasn’t uncommon for remote villages to be cut off for months at a time, with the army having to helicopter in supplies. Without the bike, I’d at least be able to walk south again if further landslides closed the road. It was a week’s walk back to Roing from the upper reaches of the valley; with the bike, I could be stuck up there far longer.
The night before I left, I heard that one of the Idu clans was about to hold a rare festival—a five-day celebration aimed at garnering the good favour of the spirits; it was taking place in a small village near the Tibetan border. I must go, Jibi told me; he’d send a message to someone in the village and ask them to look after me. All I had to do was take a shared taxi to Etalin, a settlement a full day’s drive north of here, and wait there for someone to pick me up. There was no phone reception in the village, and Jibi didn’t know how he’d get the message through to my unsuspecting hosts—I just had to reach Etalin and wait. It all sounded thrillingly tenuous.
At dawn the following morning, I squeezed into a battered Tata Sumo taxi with nine Idu, a trussed-up piglet, a basket of live
chickens, and a widescreen TV. Soon we were climbing through lushly forested hills, the steering wheel spinning through the young Nepali driver’s skilled hands. It was the first clear day in weeks, and the steep slopes gleamed with dew and sunshine. Far below, the entwining fingers of the Deopani and Dibang Rivers shone like shards of silver on the plains. Occasionally, we’d pass a village, its huts encircling the slopes like crowns of thatch and iron. Around these, mithun, the semi-wild oxen endemic to the area, shied away from the verge as we passed—they are dark brown, muscular beasts with heads like battering rams and thick, conical horns.
We reached Etalin at 4:00 p.m. Only 40 miles from Roing as the crow flies, it had taken us 10 hours to cover the 160 miles by road. I watched the taxi disappear in a cloud of dust, then sat on my rucksack to wait, curious as to what might happen next.
At dawn the following morning, I squeezed into a battered Tata Sumo taxi with nine Idu, a trussed-up piglet, a basket of live chickens, and a widescreen TV.
It was dark by the time a white Mahindra Pik-up roared into the village and pulled up beside me. “Hello, my name Sadhu Mihu. I come to take you to festival,” announced its driver, a broad-faced young Idu in green cords and gumboots, a machete hanging from his waist. How Jibi sent the message, I never did find out, but whether by smoke signals or telepathy, it had clearly found a way through. Minutes later, I was bumping along a dirt track with this mystery tribesman. Wherever we were going, and whatever the next few days held in store, I felt sure it was going to be a marvellous adventure. I hoped my instinct wouldn’t let me down.
“Madam, the guest is god,” said Sadhu as we reached the village an hour later. “I am honoured to have you here.” Inside his simple bamboo-and-wood abode, the festival warm-up party was in full swing. A roistering, garrulous crowd was huddled around a central fire, the light of the flames falling upon halfdrunk whisky bottles, opium pipes, pistols, and the tips of elephant-bone knife handles. Unable to speak any English, they welcomed me with curious looks and smiles. One man, his long ebony hair tied in a knot under a wide-brimmed cane helmet, thrust a glass of whisky into my hand with a grin.
Over the next few hours, a stream of villagers drifted in— all of them, said Sadhu, coming to look at the “Britisher.” With Arunachal Pradesh closed to foreigners until 1998 and only a handful of outsiders visiting these wild eastern hills each year, some had never seen a Westerner before. Emboldened by alcohol, one older man, a bandolier of bullets slung across his embroidered waistcoat, said, “I luff you,” then burst into peals of laughter.
Several whisky-sodden hours later, I unrolled my sleeping bag on the floor of the communal bedroom and fell happily asleep, the sound of voices and laughter drifting through the wall.
At dawn, Sadhu led me to a bamboo hut where three male shamans, or igu, sat beside a fire, singing to the spirits in eerie, contorted voices. They were offering up the souls of the soon to be sacrificed mithun, Sadhu explained, their trance states achieved through singing, the beat of small handheld drums,
and the power of their guiding spirits. In the middle sat the chief igu, a gentle-looking man of indeterminate age, his long black hair tied in the traditional Mishmi knot. The whole scene felt closer to Alpha Centauri than Delhi.
“I’ve seen igu eat hot coals, jump through fires, and start talking in other languages,” Sadhu told me. “And I’ve heard about them bringing people back from the dead. They’re the glue that holds our society together, but they’re dying out. Without them, how can we survive?”
After a while, the chief igu walked to where six male mithun were tied to trees, chanting as he brushed their backs with a leafy branch. Then, in turn, each animal was slaughtered, men bringing their swords down on their muscular necks. The mithun fell silently to the ground, but it was an agonising 20 minutes before they let out their final, rasping breaths and died. As much as I’d felt it polite to watch, the scene tore at my vegetarian sensibilities: I could feel the bile rising in my throat, my stomach churning in revolt. Gagging, I slipped away and vomited behind a tree.
Amidst much laughter and jollity, the mithun were skinned and butchered. Sadhu, my gentlemanly host, squatted as he cut
out the tongues and strung them onto sharp threads of bamboo. Meanwhile, the women stirred great vats of rice and handed around bamboo flagons of yu, lethal rice wine. Still feeling a little queasy, I joined a crowd of them and self-medicated with some of the milky-coloured wine. By noon I’d had several flagons and was communicating in fluent nonsense with a diminutive, puckered old lady who had an uncanny resemblance to ET. She sucked her toothless gums and laughed at everything, lost in happy senility.
The rest of the day passed in an orgy of drinking, butchery, and carousing, like an Idu version of Burning Man, just with more blood and gore. At around 4 p.m., by which time so much rice wine had been consumed it was a miracle anyone was still
standing, a prodigious feast was served. Several hundred Idu sat in rows on the ground while lines of men and women handed out palm-leaf plates, piling them with armfuls of boiled mithun and rice. After witnessing the earlier slaughter, I settled for just the rice.
After nightfall, everyone crammed into the shamans’ hut to watch the chief igu dance: a slow, shuffling movement with his head bowed and his bare feet turned out at angles. Now he wore a richly embroidered red skirt, a headpiece of cowrie shells hung with tufts of a yak tail, and a necklace of yellowed tiger teeth, some 6 inches long. At his feet sat a rapt audience, their faces lit up by wide, joyous smiles.
Watching the igu dance, an old man snoring at my feet, I felt blissfully content. Solo journeys are an exercise in unshackling yourself from the safety and routine of everyday life at one end and letting go of your fears at the other. And on every venture, there’s a moment when the bonds are loosed, when at once the journey inhabits you, and you inhabit it. Now, a month into my travels, amongst these welcoming strangers, I’d reached that moment. The longer the trip progressed, the more I noticed a bubbling lightness of spirit, as if the odyssey was freeing me
from a corset of expectations, allowing happiness to rise like a sap. Later, walking back to Sadhu’s, I stopped to gaze at the sparkling vault above, its magnificence and my jubilation moving me to tears.
I wanted to travel north of here to Anini, the last town in the Mishmi Hills. With China claiming much of Arunachal Pradesh and the border still bitterly disputed, I didn’t know how freely I’d be able to move up there, so close to the boundary line. But that forbidden frontier held an almost mystical allure: I was determined to see how far I could get before mountains or the military forced me back.
My Sumo taxi jolted up the hill into Anini as the following day faded to another clear, stelliferous night. The Inspection Bungalow, a mouldering yellow guesthouse normally reserved for visiting government employees, had one room left, and, after some persuasion from a motherly fellow passenger, they allowed me to have it. For 300 rupees ($4.10), I had two single wooden beds, a cold concrete floor, curtains as thin as rice paper, and a patient congregation of fat, black spiders.
A phone call to my friend Jibi in Roing confirmed I wouldn’t be able to explore this sensitive border area without a local guide.
“I’ll find you someone,” said Jibi, his voice barely audible over the crackly line. True to his word, a lanky young Idu arrived the next morning, leaping off his motorbike in a cloud of aftershave. “Good morning, Ma’am,” he beamed, the sun glinting off his freshly waxed hair. “My name is Edi. Mr Jibi send me.”
Several fast-talking phone calls later, Edi had borrowed me a battered old 125-cc Bajaj Pulsar with sticky gears and a dodgy clutch, and we were winding north with a vague plan to ride to the end of the road and see what happened. Beside me rode Edi, his grey nylon trousers and black leather shoes more suitable for a day at the office than a Himalayan adventure. But he was an Idu, these mountains were in his blood, and he didn’t need all the gear us soft Western travellers lug around.
It was a drab day, and the sky was smeared with dark clouds. But I was in high spirits, exhilarated to be riding towards the end of the road, to be so near Tibet. Elevation and the cold had shaped the landscape differently here, and the luxuriant emerald jungle of the Lower Dibang Valley had morphed into tonsured hills, their bald copper pates ringed by slopes of thick green coniferous curls. Occasionally there’d be a single hut on a hillside, grand in its startling isolation, an ancient warren of footpaths embossed onto the surrounding slopes like lugworm casts on a beach. Below thundered the Mathun River, secure in its wooded gorge. If it weren’t for the frame of stately white peaks, it could have been Scotland in October.
After an hour, we reached the end of the tarmac road. I was expecting a checkpoint patrolled by heavily armed soldiers telling me I wasn’t allowed any further. But there was no checkpoint or soldiers, just two drunks lolling on a bench outside a wooden hut. Beyond, a footpath wound alluringly across the tawny hills.
“Ma’am, we have a choice,” said Edi, after talking to the drunks for a few minutes. “We can go back to Anini, or we leave the bikes with these people and walk. There’s a village half a day’s walk away; we could try and reach it.” The two drunks looked at me, waiting for the verdict. “Let’s go!” I replied, unable to resist the lure of adventure. It was midday; if we walked fast, we could reach the village before dark.
Ten minutes later, we’d wheeled the bikes behind the hut, pocketed the keys, and told the men we’d be back in a few days. Shouldering our rucksacks, we set off down the hill to the river at a brisk, jubilant pace, the inebriates shouting after us, “Be careful. They’re uncivilized people up there.”
What an afternoon we had. We strode across open hillsides, our feet swishing through dry, yellow grass, then dipped into elfish dells where gnarled branches were hung with ragged pennons of moss. And every time we emerged into the open again, there were the white mountains, ranged like guardians across the northern horizon.
It was six o’clock and almost dark when we reached a single bamboo longhouse on the edge of a forested hill. A glance at my phone showed we were at 5,600 feet above sea level and just 10 miles from Tibet. Edi disappeared into the hut, emerging a few minutes later with a surprised-looking older couple. “These my fifth cousins, Kormu and Mishing.” Anywhere else, I’d have been
surprised at such a revelation, but by now, I’d learned that almost all the Idu were distantly related.
Kormu’s threadbare tracksuit was caked in years of grime, his calloused hands engrained with ash and dirt. His wife, Mishing, was tiny and birdlike, her sweatshirt and sarong equally soaked in dirt. They seemed shy and extremely surprised to see us, but they were Edi’s cousins, so they welcomed us in for the night. “They never meet foreign person before,” said Edi, as we sat cross-legged by the fire. “They very surprised to see you here and very happy.”
I remember that night as one of the funniest of my entire journey. In my mind’s eye, I can see the hut clearly: the woven bamboo walls hung with a plastic clock, an old Indian National Congress election poster, and a few bamboo baskets—the old couple looking on with their work-blackened hands. I can hear the clack of mugs, Mishing’s girlish laughter, and Kormu’s rasping chuckle.
The longer the trip progressed, the more I noticed a bubbling lightness of spirit, as if the odyssey was freeing me from a corset of expectations, allowing happiness to rise like a sap.
We opened a bottle of rum I’d packed, and the more we drank, the more Kormu and Mishing’s initial shyness gave way to excitement. They were so happy to meet me, they said, to actually see a foreigner for the first time. They couldn’t believe it. The only outsiders who came here were Indian Army patrols who stole their cooking utensils and drank their yu. By the time the rum was half empty, Kormu was a staunch Anglophile. How wonderful the British were! How kind! Everything made by Britain and Bhutan was of fantastic quality, unlike the rubbish made by India, China, and Nepal. They were sorry they didn’t have more to give me, that their house was so simple. But I couldn’t have been happier and told them so repeatedly.
Afterwards, they fell asleep under thin blankets, with logs as pillows, and I lay there listening to the crackling embers, the gurgling river, and Kormu’s drunken mutterings. It was one of the most enjoyable days of my life.
In the morning, we warmly hugged each other goodbye. They’d miss me, they said, and asked when I was coming back. Then we all waved and shouted ji pra ji, stay well, until we were well out of sight. I walked back to the road with aching legs and a joyful heart, smitten by the Idu and their wild, untamed land. Around us, the world seemed equally effervescent. Wisps of cloud sailed across an azure sky, the sun shone warm on my face, and dragonflies darted through the long grass.
“What an adventure, ma’am,” exclaimed Edi, springing along beside me with his face split into a smile. I couldn’t have agreed more.
Impact Overland: My home on wheels changed my life.
By Kirk Williams
Iwake up to the van swaying in the wind like a gentle nudge from Mother Nature, letting me know it’s time to start the day. I wasn’t surprised; we are in some of the windiest latitudes of our planet, so it was expected. I reach for my phone to see what time it is: 6:00 a.m. Another gorgeous day, I think to myself and roll over to look out the window. Man, what a view. Torres is looking especially nice with the cotton-candy-colored clouds shape-shifting around the jagged peaks. Just then, the Webasto heater kicks on at 6:05 a.m., right on schedule. Give it 10 more minutes, I tell myself; that’ll take the chill off. This van has spoiled me.
As the interior temps start to rise, I toss my comforter to the side and start my morning routine. Reaching for my phone, I put on some soft music to get the blood flowing and set the mood. I shuffle to the edge of the bed and plop down. Once out of bed, I put some water on the stove as I prep the French press. Everything is where
it’s supposed to be—all within reach. There’s not enough space for clutter; I like it better that way. I slowly pour the coffee grounds into my press as I hear the water start to boil. Carefully picking up the pot, I pour the water into the press while the java aroma spills throughout the van. For four minutes, I wait. Four minutes until the first sip of a new day begins. Outside, there is a gaucho in the distance, guiding horses along the river. I think to myself, You did it, Kirk, you made it to Patagonia despite all the odds stacked against you.
Patagonia was a bucket list item. It was somewhere I dreamed about visiting via motorcycle or boat, but when I broke my neck mountain biking 11 years ago, I figured visiting a place like this was far out of my reach. As it turns out, though, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Overlanding came to me out of some sort of destiny—a way for me to see the world despite having paralysis from the chest down. I still have a thirst for adven-
ture; that hasn’t changed. What did change, however, were the tools I needed to make my dreams manifest.
My current vehicle, Spock, is my third van (“Van3PO”) and a compilation of the knowledge I have gained in 10 years of traveling in other vans. Spock has become so much more than just a vehicle for me. He’s a piece of equipment strategically designed to make my world more accessible. Within Spock, I can be independent and do everything; it’s once I get out that life gets tricky. When I was first planning on building a vehicle capable of world expedition travel, I knew I had a few key decisions to make. The first and foremost was picking a platform that is functional for me in a wheelchair. A Toyota 4Runner with a rooftop tent, for example, is not going to happen.
I knew I needed a pass-through cab, room for a wheelchair lift, enough floor space to allow for a living area, and some-
thing small enough to still be my daily driver. This criteria quickly eliminated about 95 percent of all vehicles out there. I basically had a choice between a van, box truck, or EarthCruiser-style expedition vehicle. Although I loved the idea of a Fuso 4WD EarthCruiser, my bank account did not. So I went with a van.
I chose a 2017 Ford Transit with a Quigley 4x4 conversion. I decided on the Ford over the Mercedes Sprinter due to its serviceability and because they offered the 3.5L EcoBoost gasoline motor. I knew I’d be traveling south of the border, and with the US diesel regulations, the Mercedes diesel offered in the States won’t work on worldwide diesel fuel. I also preferred the height of Ford’s medium-roof Transit because it will fit inside a high cube shipping container but still feels plenty spacious. Spock stands at about 8 feet, 10 inches to the tip of the MaxxAir fan with an interior cabin height of 5 feet, 9 inches.
Living in Colorado and spending much of my time off-pavement, a Quigley 4x4 conversion was a no-brainer. Unlike the AWD vans, the Quigley conversion includes a transfer case with a 50-percent power split between the front and rear axles and high/low range. Spock is still no rock crawler, but at nearly 9,000 pounds, I don’t expect to keep up with a Rubicon. The 4WD is still surprisingly capable and gives me the ability to get to some wonderfully remote camp spots.
After a few close encounters with Bambi, I protected the body with Aluminess front and rear bumpers. I then added Clearwater Dixi lights and a Warn VR12-s
1. Trying to get a lift to Antarctica in Ushuaia.
2. The dirt roads are seemingly endless in Cordoba, Argentina.
3. Exploring switchbacks outside of Mendoza, Argentina.
4. Fall colors are a feast for the eyes in Baxter State Park, Maine.
5. A rainbow surprise greets me in Torres del Paine.
Opposite: Large cacti make Spock seem small in Baja California Sur. Opening page: Traversing through the araucaria (commonly called monkey puzzle trees) in Villarrica National Park in Chile.
winch which sits cradled within the bumper for when things don’t go as planned. I also carry MaxTrax with me everywhere I go, along with a Garmin InReach and satellite phone (for South America). I rarely push my luck if I’m traveling by myself because chances are if Spock gets stuck, I wouldn’t be able to do much personally—but I always have a plan B. Communication with the outside world is vital since I can’t exactly walk out of the trail to find help. I take this precaution seriously.
The BFGoodrich KO2 255/70R16 tires give me decent clearance, but I still armored what I could on the undercarriage for added protection. Spock has a Van Compass intercooler and rear differential skid plates, and my custom spare 25-gallon fuel tank has a reinforced steel bottom. The suspension has been beefed up with Bilstein B6 struts, custom-tuned Fox 3.0 rear shocks, and Air Lift airbags. The airbags are used with a Bluetooth remote for leveling the van at camp. An unlevel house is a nightmare when you live on wheels like me.
Being a quadriplegic, I need special modifications to assist with my lack of finger dexterity and mobility. To get in the van, I push a button on a key fob, and the cargo
power sliding door opens. I roll up and hit a switch on the SuperArm lift which deploys down toward my chair. Then, I attach the straps to my chair, and the lift hoists me into the van. This type of lift isn’t very common, but it works great for this sort of application. It requires much less space, is a simple design, and just works.
Once inside the van, the power driver’s seat base moves back on a track system while having the ability to twist 180 degrees and raise up and down. This allows me to transfer out of my wheelchair into the seat from inside the back of the van and then move up toward the cockpit. I can also turn the seat to face backward at camp to allow for more seating.
Without having any active grip, I use a steering knob that holds my wrist known as a tri-pin to steer the wheel while my other hand pushes a lever down toward the ground for gas and toward the dash for braking. It takes a little while to get used to, but before long, it’s second nature.
The dash is my command center. I moved the electronic shift buttons within reach, integrated a Sena SR10 Bluetooth receiver with my head unit to give me a hands-free solution to communicate with other people I’m traveling with over ham, and have an iPad mini for navigation. I went
I HAD METICULOUSLY DESIGNED THE INTERIOR. I WANTED THE VEHICLE TO BE FUNCTIONAL, RELIABLE, AND ABLE TO HANDLE ABUSE AND THE GUYS AT BENCHMARK WERE THE ONES WHO MADE IT ALL COME TO LIFE.
ahead and upgraded the sound system to a full JL system because road trips are just better with good tunes.
The “accessiblizing” didn’t stop there, though. I also filled the drawers with adaptive cooking utensils, jar openers, and installed a motion-activated soap dispenser. Any trick or tool that makes my life easier has a place in Spock. I even have an air compressor outlet inside the van in order to pump up my tires if need be.
The interior was designed through experience and sleepless nights. I had traveled enough to know certain setups that worked and those that didn’t. When designing the layout, I would set up coffee tables in my living room to mimic how much space I needed in the galley. I measured table heights and how tall drawers needed to be to clear peanut butter jars. I implemented pull-out cutting boards that could be used as roll-under workspaces and made sure the transfer to the bed was feasible. I thought about light switches by my pillow, secret compartments for passports, and a place to charge your phone within reach from bed. It all went into the design.
The sink is undercut and makes washing dishes more manageable; it also al-
and organized
me the ability to transfer inside the
advantage of the lift to put an extra set of eyes on the undercarriage. 5.
up on my Spanish homework in Baja Sur. 6. Soaking up the day’s last light on my SuperArm lift. 7. Spock’s cockpit, ablaze with all its gizmos and gadgets. Opposite: Benchmark’s plans made it easy to make sure the use of space was practical.
lows me to turn around in my chair in the middle of the van. Fifteen gallons of water (in an 18-gallon tank) mounted under the van keeps me hydrated with an additional LifeSaver 5-gallon jerry can as a reserve/filter. Drawers with special latches were used nearly everywhere, allowing access to the far reaches, and the fridge was mounted off the ground so I can use two hands to grab items out without needing core muscles. The induction stovetop folds out of the way when not in use, making space for the driver’s seat, yet it allows me to roll under it when flipped up—win-win.
A 200-amp hour Battle Born lithium battery bank with an Aims 2,000-watt inverter is neatly tucked away under the bed yet serviceable if needed. And 180 watts of solar are on the roof, keeping things topped with a 60-amp battery to battery charger for quick replenishment when the engine is running.
Because of where I broke my neck, my body doesn’t regulate body temperature automatically anymore, so I insulated the van as best I could to stay climate controlled. I have a Webasto gasoline heater for when it’s cold and a Webasto rear AC unit for when it’s hot. I can open the screened windows,
turn on the MaxxAir fan and a couple of other 12-volt fans, and usually stay cool throughout even the hottest nights.
The interior was constructed by Benchmark Vehicles out of Portland, Oregon, and they did a great job. I had meticulously designed the interior, and they were the guys who made it all come to life. We used bamboo, primarily for its density and strength, and a darker walnut for the countertops. I wanted Spock to be functional, reliable, and able to handle abuse. The guys at Benchmark are the ones who made it look good in doing so.
All in all, I have been very pleased with how this build turned out. I prefer to stay in Spock rather than most houses or hotels because it’s easier for me. It’s my little home, my freedom pod. In the two years since the build’s completion, I’ve been from Seattle to Key West, Maine to Cabo, and spent four months driving around Chile and Argentina with my brother. I had planned to drive the whole way back up to Colorado, but then the pandemic started. My vehicle has truly changed my life, and my goal is to use overlanding as a way to help others change theirs too.
SPECIFICATIONS
2017 Ford Transit 250 (Medium Roof)
DRIVELINE
3.5L twin-turbo V6 EcoBoost gas motor
4:56:1 gearing
Quigley 4x4 conversion
Limited slip rear differential
Open front differential
Bilstein B6 HD struts
Fox 3.0 Van Compass tuned rear shocks
Air Lift airbags
SumoSprings coil
WHEELS AND TIRES
BFGoodrich KO2 255/70R16, E-rated
Factory powder-coated 16-inch wheels
RECOVERY AND ARMOR
Aluminess front and rear bumpers
MaxTrax
Warn VR12-s winch
Van Compass intercooler and differential skid plates
Warn heavy-duty Epic recovery kit
ARB high-output compressor
MOBILITY
SuperArm wheelchair lift
B&D 6-way power seat base
AutoCool power sliding door
MPS right-angle hand controls
Tri-pin steering knob
Sure Grip adapted shifter
FreeWheel wheelchair attachment
Smart Drive MX2+
QuadTools reacher
COMMUNICATION
ISat satellite phone
Garmin InReach Explorer+
Sena SR10 Bluetooth adapter
Baofeng UV-5r
ACCESSORIES AND UPGRADES
90-watt Zamp solar panels, two 200-amp Battle Born lithium batteries
2,000-watt Aims inverter
Sterling BB1260 battery to battery charger
True Induction single burner cooktop
18-gallon water tank
LifeSaver jerry can
Mr. Heater Buddy instant water heater
Webasto AirTop 2000ST heater
Webasto London HVAC rear AC
MaxxAir Deluxe fan
C.R. Laurence windows with vents
Clearwater Dixi lights
LED interior/exterior lights
Scheel-Mann Vario driver’s seat
25-gallon auxiliary fuel tank
AMP engineering power step
Isotherm Cruise 85-liter fridge-freezer
Primus Profile 2-burner stove
Alps mountaineering table
Ram mounts
Cape Vidal to Kosi Bay by beach highway in the early 1980s.
TheGirl, Anne Louise, and I were married on a Saturday in early April 1983, the ceremony and celebration taking place at her parents’ home near Durban in the [Kwazulu-] Natal Province of South Africa. She is an adventurous sort, and for our honeymoon, we decided to explore the north-easterly coast of South Africa, the Maputaland Coast, by Jeep.
Known to early Portuguese sailors as Medaos do Ouro, the Maputaland Coast stretches close to 300 kilometres from Saint Lucia on the northeast coast of South Africa to Inhaca Island off the Machangulo Peninsula on the southeast coast of Mozambique. Because of the ongoing civil war in Mozambique, we would limit our exploration to the South Africa section. That is, from Saint Lucia northwards to Kosi Bay, close to the Mozambique border at Ponta do Ouro or Point of Gold. This section of the coast is now part of the iSimangaliso Wetland Park, formerly known as the Greater Saint Lucia
Wetland Park, which includes three estuary systems. Our wedding coincided with a full moon period when spring tides occurred, a time of the highest and lowest tidal range, allowing for easy beach driving at low tide.
Maputaland is flat, low-lying country. Bounded in the east by the coastal barrier dune (which in places rises to over 100 metres), impenetrable forest, open beaches, and the clear warm seas of the Indian Ocean, the coast is exquisite, largely inaccessible, and almost deserted. It consists of long sandy bays, flat rocky points, and offshore reefs cut off from the interior by the barrier dunes crowned by climax dune forest. Inland there are wetlands, lakes, grasslands, and forests of great trees, cycads, rare palms, and flowers of the most delicate beauty, stretching to the Lubombo Mountains 80 kilometres to the west. Here, few rivers flow into the sea. In the south at Saint Lucia, the combined mouths of the Msunduzi and Umfolozi rivers create somewhat murky water. Hundred-odd kilometres to the north, one
finds the Mgoboseleni Stream at Sodwana Bay, a trickle draining lakes of clear silt-free water, fed by drainage from the white leached sands of the area. Seventy or so more dry kilometres farther lies the Kosi Bay Estuary, draining another system of lakes. So, with virtually no rivers to muddy the waters, the warm subtropical sea from Saint Lucia to Kosi Bay and beyond to Inhaca Island on the southern Mozambique coast is crystal clear.
In the warm coastal waters are found coral reefs, home to tropical fish of every size and colour. There too are dolphins, dugongs, turtles, and sharks—whales and coelacanth even. On land, the area is home to snakes and spiders, birds, beetles and mice, buffalos, elephants and rhinoceros, antelope, lions and leopards. In the lakes are every species of water birds, fish, hippopotamuses, and crocodiles, too, which take a toll on the unwary.
Maputaland is also a coast of people, some of the earliest to inhabit Africa. It began with hunters, who for millennia sat on the coastal sand dunes feasting on mussels, crabs, lobster, and fish. A long, long time after came people who made pots of fired clay and smelted metal; pastoralists with cattle followed. Then about 500 years ago came the people of Portugal, who sailed in their caravels on their way to India. Two hundred years later came the British to hunt, trade, proselytise, and control. Not long ago, this then rather sparsely populated area was served by footpaths as well as sand tracks where motor vehicles struggled and got stuck. Today, driving motor vehicles on the beaches in South Africa is unlawful, but at the time of our honeymoon, the beaches were wide open to those who would venture on them.
We left our wedding reception in a shower of confetti, hails, hallelujahs, and hoorahs. Our Jeep, a 1948 Willys CJ-2A, was loaded with booze, wedding cake, food, camping stuff, and fishing and diving gear. With but a simple canvas roof, we travelled in the weather of the day, with dust, fumes, and what have you for good measure. With its original four-pot Willys engine under the hood, the Jeep hummed along, keeping up with well-loaded trucks as we headed for the small resort town of Saint Lucia to spend our first night of married bliss.
Saint Lucia, the southernmost point of the Greater Saint Lucia Wetland Park, lies at the mouth of Lake Saint Lucia, which forms a common estuary with the Umfolozi, Msunduzi, Hluhluwe, and Mkuze rivers. From there, we would take a sand track for 40 kilometres north to Cape Vidal, as the coastline to Cape Vidal is very rocky in places, with cliffs and ledges, impossible for motor vehicles. From Cape Vidal, we would be on the beach to head 70 kilometres on to Sodwana Bay where we would spend the night with my brother Jeff, a parks ranger, before moving on north to Kosi Bay, the closest point to which we could drive to the border with Mozambique.
Our host at Saint Lucia was Rex Williams, proprietor of the Estuary Hotel. Forewarned by friends of our imminent arrival, he showed us to his honeymoon suite giving a gorgeous view over the estuary. An enormous fish decorated his pub, a giant brindle bass shot in the estuary some years before. Rex plied us with seafood and celebratory drinks, and The Girl took on all at darts. She has an uncanny eye. An occasion it certainly was.
We left in the freshness of early dawn, taking the sand track to Cape Vidal. Lake Saint Lucia lay on our left, glistening in the early morning light, while high forested coastal dunes on our right cut us off from the sea. The trail passed through forest, skirting wetlands with curious waterbuck gazing at our passing. Passing Lake Mgoboseleni, we climbed steeply through coastal dune forest before dropping to the beach at Cape Vidal. We deflated the Jeep’s tyres until they bulged somewhat, making driving in the soft beach sand a breeze.
Captain Vidal was a British naval officer who conducted a survey of this coast in 1823. It was popular with fishermen attracted by the rocky gullies and reefs, launching their ski boats from the beach to fish out at sea. A mast, anchor chains, and other debris from the three-masted barque, Dorothea, lay in the bay. She was wrecked on the reef in a storm in late January 1898 while on a voyage from Lourenço Marques and was reputed to be carrying 3.5 tons of gold stolen from the Johannesburg gold mines. None of it is known to have been recovered.
A stop at Castle Rock to stretch the legs. Proprietor Rex Williams, behind the bar at the Estuary Hotel, the record brindle bass behind him. A beachside feast of mussels and rock lobster. A section from the treasure vessel Dorothea’s hull, minus the 3.5 tons of gold. Opposite: Mabibi is an incredible diving spot; Lake Sibaya can be seen in the background. Opening page: Married. The Girl and I, about to leave Durban for our honeymoon adventure.
The coast south of Cape Vidal consisted of stretches of open beach interspersed with long stretches of reef and rock ledges, a haven for rock lobster—our anticipated breakfast. I was soon in the water with mask and fins while The Girl got a fire going. The hunt successful, we were promptly serving boiled lobster with oysters and mussels off the rocks with a most delicious chilli garlic sauce. With a bottle of wine, it was a fine first breakfast on the Medaos do Ouro. There was a most interesting phenomenon at the ledges, a spring of freshwater flowing from the sand and into the surf. This was fed from Lake Mgoboseleni inland and only visible at low tide, providing a welcome rinse after our time in the sea.
Leaving Cape Vidal, we headed north. We would now be entirely on our own for the 70 kilometres of deserted beach to Sodwana Bay. The forest-covered barrier dunes towered on our left, with the pounding surf and blue-green sea on our right. It was now the spring tide period which gave the highest and lowest tides over a twoweek period, low tide then being at about nine in the morning. The outgoing tide had
left the sand’s surface smooth and hard as a tabletop, and the Jeep hummed along in two-wheel drive, the beach wide open and flat with hordes of ghost crabs in the surf zone. There was not another person nor tyre track in sight. It was glorious. It was warm and sunny with but a breeze, the breakers of water curling and breaking in sheets of whitest foam alongside us, the flat beach disappearing into the sea-mist-shrouded distance ahead.
A little north of Cape Vidal, some gyre of ocean current deposits flotsam and jetsam onto the beach. Logs, a galawa canoe from Madagascar, dead whales, whale sharks, and bits of the Dorothea, too, have been seen. In hollows between the spectacular sand dunes may sometimes be seen patches of ancient seabed, pebbles, rocks, and the fossilised bones of fantastic creatures.
After 25 kilometres, we swept around Leven Point, also named by Vidal’s survey crew on the HMS Barracouta as they sailed past in 1823, plumbing the depths, or rather shallows with their lead line. Named after the survey ship HMS Leven, it marked the shallow Leadsman Shoal, 100 square kilo-
metres of reefs—a marine paradise and now a protected reserve.
Beyond Leven Point lay the remains of the Italian ocean liner, Timavo, driven ashore by her Italian crew when attacked by aircraft in June 1940 when Italy entered World War Two. The sailors left their vessel to the elements and walked north, headed for neutral Mozambique, but were intercepted by South African police before they got there. The ship can still be seen in the shallows—and on the beach in the form of two buried lifeboats.
A few kilometres more brought us to Easter Camp, another lovely shallow bay protected by an offshore reef. Because of its remoteness, the spot was virtually unknown. Stopping in a hollow among dunes, we lost no time in diving into the bay. Snorkelling along the reef, we caught more rock lobster. Supper was a Madagascan dish learned by The Girl while waitressing as a student in a Mauritian seafood restaurant in Durban. With red wine, it was a most excellent meal with which to celebrate our grand adventure and our first night on the wild open sands of the Medaos do Ouro.
An early morning swim and a line in the water brought bream for breakfast. Wandering along the beach, we chanced upon human remains in the foredune. What seemed like arm bones, ribs, and parts of a skull lay partly exposed by the wind. I could only think that the person who lay before us was a victim of the sinking of the passenger liner, RMS Nova Scotia, torpedoed and sunk by the German submarine U-177 on the morning of 28 November 1942. The Portuguese frigate, the Affonso de Albuquerque, reached the area the following day, rescuing 195 survivors in boats, on life rafts, or clinging to bits of timber. Many were attacked by sharks attracted by the disturbance. A week later, human remains drifting south in the current washed ashore on beaches as far south as Durban. Over 800 people, mainly civilian internees from Ethiopia, died in the sinking.
We left Easter Camp and its sad remains in the vaporous distance behind. The truck was humming along in true 4-cylinder Jeep fashion on the hard, wet sand of low tide, passing Ochre Hill, a wall of ancient red Pleistocene-era sand rising almost vertically 100 metres above the beach.
Shadows were forming across the beach as we arrived at Sodwana Bay. Sodwana means “the one on its own,” and is so named because it is the only place on the coast between Saint Lucia and Kosi Bay where a river of clean freshwater flows into the sea via the Mgoboseleni Stream, which has its origin in lakes Mgoboseleni and Shazibe close inland. Sodwana Bay was renowned for game fishing, diving, beautiful clear sea, and was a popular destination for visitors. For untold centuries it has been a place visited by man come to hunt the wetlands and lakes, and to harvest the bay and rocks for fish and shellfish. From the mid-16th century, Sodwana Bay was visited by Portuguese traders come for freshwater. And sometimes, most unwillingly, by castaways wrecked many hundreds of kilometres to the south, who stopped here for water while trudging north.
At the time, my brother Jeff worked for the conservation authorities, the Natal Parks Board, and was stationed at Sodwana Bay. We took the opportunity of spending a splendidly riotous evening with him.
The next morning, we went to sea. As a wedding present, Jeff had arranged we should join a group of divers to explore Two Mile Reef. Clad in wetsuits, we boarded an inflatable boat for an exhilarating launch off the beach and out to sea through the pounding surf.
Two Mile is a fairly shallow reef allowing free diving, so to explore the wonderworld below. And so it was, with shoals of grunter, salmon, occasional kingfish, and even a white-tipped reef shark to crown our excitement.
Later that morning, we topped up with fuel and fresh fruit and headed north up the beach once more. It was a glorious day, and we were soon at Mabibi, another incredible diving venue. Called Ponta Fumos, the Point of Smoke, on the Terra dos Fumos, the Land of Smoke by the Portuguese, the smoke came from incessant fires set by local people to clear bush for planting.
South Africa’s largest freshwater lake, Sibaya, lies immediately behind the giant barrier dunes at Mabibi. Covering some 70 square kilometres, with an average depth of about 14 metres, it was wild and littleknown. We had to see it.
All that is left
in 1940. Bleached-white bones from an unlucky human whose last stop was this dune at Easter Camp. Opposite top: Cape Vidal is the ski boat fishing mecca of the Maputaland coast. Crowds assemble around each returning craft to admire the catch of the day. Left: Ghost crabs in profusion crowd the surf zone.
A track off the beach took us steeply through the coastal dune forest, topping the barrier dune 100 metres above the beach, winding through woods and patches of grassland. Soon, the vast expanse of Lake Sibaya opened before us as we followed the sand track to the lakeshore. Mindful of crocodiles, we splashed in the clear water shallows, rinsing off the salt from our seawater swimming.
Back on the beach, Island Rock was our destination for the night. The weather had turned and it seemed we might be destined for rain. Nearing Island Rock, a large dark shape appeared on the beach—a dead whale shark. Massive, dark, and spotted, it lay with surf splashing against it, no indication as to its demise.
Island Rock is a detached point only exposed at low tide, and now with the tide pushing in, it appeared as a welter of spray and wild water. It was a place of legend among spearfishermen and divers, alive with large fish, huge rock lobster, and aggressive sharks. We stopped in a sheltered hollow among sand dunes, our sail set up for the night. Splatters of rain made us thankful we had this simple but appreciated shelter.
The following day we headed on to Black Rock, a mini-peninsula forming a
lovely sheltered bay. Long harvested by local people for seafood, Portuguese shipwreck survivors sheltered here in earlier times on their trek to Inhaca Island 150 kilometres further north. The famous Portuguese sailor Manuel de Mesquita Perestrelo anchored here “three days anxious to the members of my company, close inshore in contrary winds,” in November 1575, while conducting a survey of the coast from Mozambique Island to the Cape and back.
Black Rock is a most enchanting spot, and is the only place in Southern Africa where Bouton’s skink is found. This little lizard is adapted to an aquatic lifestyle. Although it lives in the rocks, it swims and hunts small fish, crabs, and shrimps in rock pools.
Leaving Black Rock on the low-tide highway, we soon reached Castle Rock, where a rare palm-nut vulture, a bird only found in the area, drifted above. Visible in a sand wall was a clutch of loggerhead turtle eggs, the nest chamber in the foredune exposed by wave action. And then we were at Bhanga Nek, the site of the Natal Parks Board turtle research centre.
Both leatherback and loggerhead turtles nest on the beaches of Maputaland, the majority seemingly near Kosi Bay. The Thonga
people of Maputaland have hunted them and collected their eggs for ages, but conservation authorities became concerned as turtle numbers were dropping, and so in 1963, a research project was initiated.
The Turtle Research Station is internationally known for the work done there, but it was a most unprepossessing joint with a number of very homemade-looking shacks and sheds and a few tents provided for research, storage, and accommodation. The turtle nesting season on the Maputaland Coast occurred during the summer months, and now with autumn in the Southern Hemisphere, turtles were absent, and the research centre closed for the season.
Ten more kilometres saw us at the mouth of the Kosi Estuary, the end point of our exploration. The Mozambique border lay but three kilometres farther to the north. The deep Kosi Estuary, however, denied further progress.
As bays go, Kosi Bay is little more than a minor indentation in a fairly straight run of coastline, but it is here that a system of four interconnected lakes and associated wetlands drains into a beautiful estuary and so into the sea. The Kosi system covers some 3,500 hectares, altogether an extraordinary environment.
The Thonga people know the estuary as the eNkovukeni, “the waters that rise and fall.” Here, fishermen have set a bewildering array of fish traps, creating the most wondrous patterns in the water. The salinity of the water decreases from lake to lake with the distance from the sea, with the water in the last lake, Amanzimnyama or the “Black Water,” being fresh. This results in an interesting progression of different plant life, and so, animal species as the salinity of the water changes.
The Girl and I set up our tarpaulin against the Jeep, which was parked close to the river mouth. Dinner was a fish curry made from the bream caught earlier at Castle Rock.
At dawn, we walked up the estuary to see the fish traps, a blue swimming crab scuttling away ahead of us. The traps, called utshwayelo by the Thonga people, have been used by fishermen on the East Coast of Af-
rica for centuries. Still used in places on the Mozambique coast, those at Kosi Bay are now the only ones still seen in South Africa.
An utshwayelo is made from mangrove sticks and poles and consists of a guide fence set at right angles to the main channel. Fish headed down the channel for the sea were herded by the guide fences into a smaller circular enclosure, and then through a flapvalve opening and so into the ijele, or jail, where they were effectively trapped. Ownership of fish traps was hereditary, there being about 80 in use, no new traps being permitted. A 30-metre-wide main channel connecting the lake system with the sea must be kept free of traps to allow for the unrestricted movement of fish.
A fisherman by the name of Sibiya sold us a tasty perch for dinner. The dark was lit by the Ponta do Ouro lighthouse flashing Mozambique but a few kilometres away, keeping watch over us as we slept next to the Jeep.
The sun rising saw us heading home. The Girl and I had a most wondrous time, and it was with regret we headed back south down the beach and home. Our Jeep had taken us on a marvelous adventure and has since on many more. We still have her and cherish her, as we do one another.
A few key staples can make a big difference when Old Man Winter gets down to business.
By Matt Swartz
Ilivein Colorado near the Rocky Mountains, where we have plenty of winter hazards that can slow you down on the road. Whiteout conditions due to high winds, avalanches, and, of course, heavy snow are all possibilities that could disable your vehicle or force you to spend an unplanned night in your rig, waiting out bad weather. But the Rockies aren’t unique in this way. Many regions of the US (and temperate locations around the world) experience similar hazardous winter conditions. Fall’s arrival in the Northern Hemisphere is a good reminder that winter is just around the corner and is the perfect time to consider assembling a cold-weather emergency kit for your overland or commuter vehicle. In the case that your vehicle becomes disabled due to bad weather or an accident, having an emergency kit could be the difference between a good and bad outcome. In the best-case scenario, where you can walk away from your rig, having a few essential items could help you get to safety. If you are unable to leave your vehicle, the proper gear could sustain you for multiple days until help arrives.
Starting with a rugged container is a must, and I chose to put my kit in a Front Runner Wolf Pack. I like these containers for a few reasons: they stack easily, the lids snap securely in place, and they are strong enough for me to stand on top of (I’m short, so it’s dual-purpose: container and step stool).
COLD WEATHER EMERGENCY GEAR
The gear I’ve chosen is based on my personal needs. You may want to add or remove items based on where you live and what you are likely to encounter in the winter months.
STOVE A small stove can melt snow or ice for drinking water and can also boil water for preparing freeze-dried meals. I’ve chosen a small Primus stove because it is an integrated system combining a burner and pot. Include a fuel canister in your kit as well.
An emergency cold weather kit should be unobtrusive so that it can live in your vehicle through the colder months of the year without getting in the way.
ISO-BUTANE CANISTERS HAVE REDUCED PERFORMANCE IN COLD/ HIGH-ELEVATION ENVIRONMENTS. WHITE GAS STOVES ARE A BIT MORE CUMBERSOME AND COMPLICATED TO OPERATE BUT OFFER IMPROVED PERFORMANCE AT COLD/HIGH ELEVATIONS.
foods
Select a pair of goggles with a clear or yellow lens because you’ll most likely need them when there is little ambient light. For insulated items like a jacket and gloves, synthetic insulation is preferable to down because it will insulate even when wet.
WATER Water is tricky in the winter because the chances are good that it will be frozen when you need it. I’ve chosen to use these thin, recyclable bottles because even if they freeze, you can use a small knife to slice them open and get the ice out to melt with your stove. Try doing that with a Nalgene or a metal water bottle—you can’t.
FOOD For food, I’ve picked a couple of different things. Freezedried camping meals are more substantial in the event that I get stuck with my vehicle for a couple of days. But if I just need a quick snack to help stay warm or feed myself while I walk to find assistance, I’ve included some energy bars that I can eat without having to cook/heat.
WHATEVER FOODS YOU CHOOSE TO PACK, PRIORITIZE HIGH-FAT CONTENT ITEMS AS THEY HAVE A HIGHER ENERGY DENSITY AND WILL HELP YOU STAY WARMER IN COLD WEATHER.
ELECTROLYTES I have included some electrolyte drink mix. It’s easy to become dehydrated in colder temperatures because you often don’t feel as thirsty as you do in warmer climates. Electrolytes will help you stay hydrated, which, in turn, will help your body keep you warmer.
ELECTROLYTE MIXES WITH SUGAR ARE PREFERABLE TO SUGAR-FREE MIXES. THE ADDITIONAL QUICK-BURNING SUGAR CALORIES WILL HELP YOU STAY WARMER IN COLD WEATHER.
MULTITOOL A multitool like this Leatherman Free P4 has endless uses.
HEADLAMP A headlamp is superior to a handheld flashlight in most instances. It’s great if you are performing a task that requires both hands, like vehicle repairs or shoveling snow in the dark. Make sure you use lithium batteries in your headlamp so that it still works in the cold.
FLASHLIGHT A super-bright handheld flashlight such as the LED Lenser MT14 is a great addition if you need more light than your headlamp can provide. It can be used to signal rescue crews or help make you visible to other vehicles if you are disabled on the road.
GOGGLES If you have to be outside in a heavy snowstorm to shovel your vehicle out or walk to safety, goggles are crucial for maintaining visibility. You can pick up a cheap pair of old goggles at many used sporting goods stores.
HAT Because of the density of capillaries in our scalps, a wool or fleece hat will go a long way to help keep you warmer in cold weather.
JACKET An insulated waterproof jacket is a good item to pack in your kit. It can provide that extra margin of warmth while
keeping you dry if you need to leave your vehicle. It will also help you stay warmer if your vehicle won’t run and you don’t have heat.
INSULATED, WATERPROOF SNOW PANTS WILL COMPLETE YOUR COLDWEATHER OUTFIT. ADDITIONALLY, A PAIR OF SYNTHETIC OR WOOL LONG UNDERWEAR WILL KEEP YOU WARMER THAN COTTON.
HAND WARMERS Chemical hand warmers are useful in a couple of ways: they can keep your toes and fingers warm, reducing the chances of frostbite in extreme cold; keep your cell phone battery warm so that it doesn’t die prematurely; and if nothing else, provide a tiny bit of psychological comfort in a stressful situation.
THERE ARE ELECTRIC AND REFUELABLE HAND WARMERS AS WELL.
GLOVES It almost goes without saying that a pair of insulated gloves are a must. I’d recommend picking a pair with a leather palm that can take some abuse in case you need to shovel or perform other physical tasks.
CONSIDER PACKING TWO PAIRS OF GLOVES SO THAT YOU HAVE A DRY PAIR IF ONE GETS WET.
SHOVEL AND SLEEPING BAG Two final items that could make a big difference in your comfort and ability to help recover a stuck vehicle: a shovel and a sleeping bag. A sleeping bag will help you stay warm if you need to spend the night in your vehicle. A collapsable backcountry ski shovel is very compact, yet its large scoop can move a lot of snow if you need to dig your vehicle out of a snowbank.
Just because you have some emergency gear doesn’t mean that you have nothing to worry about. Getting cold happens, but lucky for you, there are a handful of ways to warm yourself up, and most of them are very simple. Here are some ideas to get your blood flowing and help you feel more comfortable if you find yourself waiting around for help to arrive.
EXERCISE It might not be the first thing that comes to mind if you are stranded and cold, but aerobic exercise is one of the most efficient and quickest ways to warm yourself. If you have a safe place to do them, jumping jacks are extremely effective at getting your body temperature up. Try doing sit-ups in your sleeping bag or grabbing a shovel and moving snow around for 10 minutes. You’ll be surprised how quickly you begin to feel warm.
WHILE EXERCISING WILL WARM YOU UP, IT CAN ALSO MAKE YOU SWEAT. MAKE SURE THAT YOU DON’T LET YOURSELF GET DAMP; OTHERWISE, YOU ARE LIKELY TO GET COLD AGAIN.
EAT SOMETHING Another tactic to employ if you find yourself getting cold is to eat food. Your body converts calories into heat, so having a calorie-dense snack is a great way to give your body what it needs to stay warm. If you find yourself waking up cold in the middle of the night, you can eat a candy bar or energy bar without leaving the warmth of your sleeping bag. Trust me; this can make a very big difference.
KEEP A CANDY BAR OR ENERGY BAR IN YOUR POCKET AT ALL TIMES IN SUB-FREEZING WEATHER SO THAT IT REMAINS SOFT ENOUGH TO EAT WHEN YOU GET HUNGRY.
MEDICATIONS If you have any regular medications that you must take on a daily basis, pack at least two days’ worth in your cold-weather emergency kit (as long as it can be stored in freezing temperatures).
HYDRATION In colder environments, you are unlikely to feel thirsty, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to drink. Dehydration can increase your chances of getting frostbite or feeling cold. Aim to drink at least 2 liters of water per day, even in sub-freezing temperatures.
COMMUNICATION You can’t always count on your cell phone to work in an emergency, so having a backup plan for communication is smart. Let someone dependable know your travel plans and what to do if you are overdue for your arrival home. You can also carry a satellite communication device with you like a Garmin inReach Mini.
Dehydration can increase your chances of getting frostbite or feeling cold. Aim to drink at least 2 liters of water per day, even in subfreezing temperatures.
Two of the most basic items to have in your rig during the colder months, a shovel and sleeping bag could literally mean the difference between life and death.
Exploring the drive to venture deeper into remote wilderness, making records along the way.
Chris Burkard, Rebecca Rusch, and Angus Morton biking through the expansive interior of Iceland. Opposite: Chris channels his inner Ansel Adams (one of his biggest inspirations), shooting images atop his van in Yosemite National Park. These wild and remote surf trips are what jump-started Chris’ career, and the exploring has never stopped since. Chris amidst a mountain biking shoot near Tahoe, California. Over the years, he has worked on projects across a wide array of sports and disciplines. Opening page: Chris Burkard in his element—editing photos on the road in the back of his built-out Sprinter van.
Chris Burkard is best known for his work as an adventure photographer. But in more recent years, he’s built a warranted reputation as an ultra-endurance athlete. In the summer of 2019, he set a new solo record on Iceland’s WOW Cyclothon, completing the 844-mile distance in 52 hours, 36 minutes, and 19 seconds. Chris returned in the summer of 2020 to complete a world-first, bikepacking 606 miles East to West through the Highlands of Iceland with Emily Batty, Eric Batty, and Adam Morka. Forever a glutton for punishment, he returned in 2021 for another bikepacking first and quite possibly his most demanding challenge to date, an unsupported winter fat bike expedition North to South through the highlands. This epic expedition would see Chris, Rebecca Rusch (American ultraendurance pro-athlete), and Angus Morton (retired pro-cyclist) traverse 300+ miles through Iceland’s harsh winter interior. The riders were unsupported but were followed by a film crew in heavily modified vehicles that met alongside them when possible. While bikepacking the Highlands of Iceland during summertime is no easy task (I can vouch for that), the winter amplifies these challenges tenfold whilst creating new hardships and significantly more danger.
Chris, forever the gentleman, was a pleasure to interview, and it’s clear that the primary motivation in all his crazy
adventures is his deep-rooted love of Iceland and his passion for storytelling. We discussed the similarities and overlap between bikepacking and vehicle overlanding and how both are a means to bring you closer to remote wilderness, enabling a more profound connection with the environment. I’ve had a long-standing admiration for Chris; his passion for life is infectious. And whilst he’s best known for his incredible images and filmmaking, I respect him most for his tireless efforts to give back to the photography and outdoor communities and his active contribution to environmental charities. Read on to delve into Chris’ motivations for pursuing photography, his passion for overlanding vehicles, the North to South expedition, and finally, his thoughts on pursuing your dreams.
At what point did you decide you wanted to be a photographer and was there a key moment that motivated that decision?
I was born in a small town and was eager to travel. Like so many 19-years-olds, I was trying to figure things out. I quit school and my job, turning to photography as a Hail Mary. It wasn’t that I was overtly creative or wanting to express myself; rather, photography seemed like a way to [see the world]. Through the pursuit of photography, I eventually found a sense of purpose, and that was really special. That was the impetus in wanting to pick up a camera and use it.
I love your custom adventure-ready Sprinter and The Road to Inspiration film that documents the build. What were the goals for this vehicle?
I’ve been a huge fan of Expedition Portal and Overland Journal for years. The amount of time I’ve spent on that website is dangerous, [discovering] what I’m going to use, how I’m going to build it out—the forums are gold. Traveling on foot, by bike, horse, or overland vehicle, they’re all related, trying to get [us] deeper into remote wilderness. Each one has a role to play in creating an immersive experience, and that’s something I’ve always looked forward to in order to connect with the environment around me.
In regard to the Sprinter build, it has always been about functionality and ease of use. I’ve been in vans that have been built out to the nines and feature every accessory you can imagine. That’s very impressive and cool, but I think it’s different from a vehicle you need to rely on. I approach things [from a] function first [standpoint], whether that’s how I prepare bikes or the Sprinter build. There’s a lot of cross-pollination.
I know you have an appreciation for overlanding rigs. Any plans to explore this further moving forwards?
I’ve thought a lot about doing a proper overland-focused buildout, like a bed-off truck. I think what scares me is my attention to detail; if I commit to a build, there’s no way it’s going to be how I want it without spending considerable time and money. That said, I want to do it. I have a Toyota Tundra TRD on airbags, so the family and I take that thing out with a rad Scout camper, and that’s been our overlanding vehicle for the last year.
Clockwise from top left: The river crossings were one of the more challenging parts of the whole expedition. Oftentimes, the crew had to wait until early morning to cross the larger rivers as glacial melt was at its lowest in these early hours. One of the most special parts of the trip was feeling so small in such a wild, remote area. This region of the country is widely unexplored and rarely sees visitors. Braids of Icelandic glacial rivers shot from above. During certain times of the year, glacial sediment causes these bright and vivid colors. Chris’ recent book, At Glacier’s End, provides both a cultural and environmental perspective on the journey from glacier to sea. Only the most formidable of vehicles could cover any ground in this harsh terrain. A brief and incredible precious stretch of paved road on this long journey of biking on top of snow. Pavement never felt so good.
What do you think of the Icelandic Super Jeeps?
I [have] such a huge appreciation for the Icelandic vehicles [as well as] connections with the people who build them out. Every time I visit, I’m super keen to explore and spend time in and around them. Iceland is the mecca for building expedition vehicles. Those guys have set the stage for vehicles now used in the North and South Poles, Antarctica, Greenland—it’s pretty amazing.
How did cycling, and subsequently bikepacking, become part of your life?
I have a hard time doing anything without fully investing in it. I started riding for the commute, and it developed from there. I have an office a mile from my house, and I was driving; it was stupid and such a waste. Cycling was the perfect way to be healthier and not burn fossil fuels; it was the gateway drug. I bought a bike off Craigslist for $400, and it was so much fun. Suddenly my commute was super interesting, engaging, and I felt empowered by that. Familiar roads became unfamiliar. It’s not simply about exercise; it fuels creativity, and that’s powerful. It’s a fresh perspective, like jumping in a plane and seeing a landscape from the air that you’ve known forever. Suddenly you see it in a completely different way; the bike provides the same. Riding the usual route becomes boring, so I’d make small diversions to keep it fun. Then at a certain point, it became a way to be more immersed in the landscapes I’m passionate about. I love California; I love Utah; I love Iceland. The mega rides in Iceland came about because I love the environment and the opportunity to subject yourself in a way that is very raw, very real, very primal. That’s what bikepacking does; it strips back all the [nonsense] of daily life, calls, emails, etc. A lot of that stuff isn’t important in the grand scheme of things. The level of honesty that cycling brings out of a person, that’s what I crave.
We have to chat about the eruption of Iceland’s newest volcano, Geldingadalir, during your stay. What was it like to experience this wonder?
That was a crazy experience that I never expected to have in my lifetime. In some ways, luck favors the prepared. I’ve been there many times and always hoped to document an eruption. It was one of the most fulfilling things to set my eyes and camera on—the cherry on top of this trip.
What inspired the ride [North to South], and can you run through the objectives?
I’d already ridden around the country and bikepacked east to west through the highlands. However, someone had told me that Iceland in winter equaled freedom, and I never understood that. Planning for this trip, you suddenly realize that when there’s snow on the ground, you can ride almost anywhere. If conditions are right, you can point the bike in any direction; it’s like the whole country’s your skate park. So, this idea came about to ride north to south, coast to coast, on an unsupported fat bike expedition during wintertime. The end goal was to cross
the Mýrdalsjökull glacier on bikes, which hadn’t been done before, and we did that.
It was seven days total, with one weather day—it was gnarly. We had three big days; a 20-plus-hour effort, one fourteen, one twelve, and that was just the time moving, pushing, riding—not total hours. The route was actually about 95 percent rideable, but when you’re pushing, you’re doing 1 mph, so that time adds up. We had some brutal days trying to get onto the highland plateau, riding and pushing 3,500 feet. Sometimes conditions were nice, but the wind was so strong it was dangerous to ride. Icelanders have a hundred names for snow, and we rode on just about every kind: soft, fresh pow; super wet; mashed potato; super crust; and solid ice. There’s a finite amount that’s great to ride.
How much planning went into the expedition? Was the process reassuring, or did it amplify the risks and challenges? Planning does amplify the challenges, but you’re so full of adrenaline for the experience that you don’t think about that stuff. It’s only in the moment that the risks and challenges hit you.
What did your support/film crew look like? What vehicles were they using to cross such an inhospitable landscape? We were fully unsupported, but we had a film crew meeting up with us from time to time. The reality is they simply couldn’t travel through many of the places we could, but we met up where it made sense. We also wanted the freedom to be left on our own. They were using a highly modified Nissan Patrol and a monster Jeep with a 450-horsepower motor. They floated over snow; it was incredible. Some of the places they took those vehicles were mind-blowing. There were many occasions where the bikes were moving much faster (they tried to follow as close to our ride as possible). Our bike route was developed by an overlander, one of the best; he’s one of the guys who helped start Arctic Trucks. The four-wheel-drive community in Iceland knows winter travel in the highlands better than anyone. We relied on their expertise from previous trips to draw up a template that became the ride. There would be times they’d be on the road with you, then they’d disappear, and you wouldn’t see them for the rest of the day. There’s a real peace and significance in being completely alone out there, but it’s also important to recognize the danger or unknown and have sufficient support if something bad happens. I have a lot of respect for Icelandic search and rescue and didn’t want to have to call them out. That’s part of being responsible.
What did you take home from your previous East to West crossing of Iceland, and did you apply these lessons, if any, to your North to South ride?
It was more the cumulative knowledge of 44 trips to Iceland. I’ve just learned so much about that environment. How and when do I feel safe? When am I pushing it or not? When the weather’s changing, or the best time of year to do things? In the spring, the most dangerous weather is when it’s +1°C, and the
Maybe the worst part of the expedition was changing a flat tire in the middle of the night, on a glacier, in -20°C. Angus took his hand out of his glove to help and quickly got frostbite. The best part of any expedition always boils down to the people you do it with. Chris expressed gratitude for having completed this journey with these amazing people. The crew recalls close calls from the past few days as they soak in some warmth prior to the almighty glacier crossing. Opposite: Chris and crew take turns admiring a canyon within the glacier formed by a shift of tectonic plates.
snow’s melting on you. We did experience that once or twice; it made us very cautious.
Was this your first extended fat bike expedition?
Yes, I like being a novice. On fat bikes, all your suspension is built into the tires; the bike handles so differently from anything else you’ve ever ridden. The gyro stabilization effect of a fat bike is wild; it’s hard to turn, steer, and balance. It was almost like learning to ride again.
Any new high-calorie recipes for this trip?
This trip was different, and we had to rely more on the food that was there and available (I arrived a month and a half prior to the ride). It was one of those scenarios where we all had a slightly different approach. I was more focused on high fat, Gus was taking anything he could get hold of, and Rebecca had premade food. You have such deep fatigue from the cold that you’re trying to get calories in any way you can. Diet goes out of the window, and you’re just looking for the densest high-calorie food that can be stored easily. Carrying so much food meant the first few days were brutal; it was so much weight. Day one, we went through a town, so we tried not to consume any of our packed food. But then we had five days with no supply points, bar one small hut café serving burgers that was much needed. The small things on a trip like this become so significant.
Notable euphoric moments? On the flip side, any scary instances?
The funny thing is they both happened on the same day. That morning we started on one of the most glorious days I’ve had in my life. It felt like we were riding inside of a painting or some kind of 3D-animated experience. I was blown away by how visceral and incredible that felt and have been relishing that moment ever since. That was followed by this huge challenging day.
The crux of the trip was moving over the glacier. We had this epic weather window, and with a storm on the way, we knew that our goal of crossing the glacier was going to end. It would’ve meant being stuck in a mountain cabin for a couple of days and then crossing the glacier with fresh snow, which would’ve been really hard. We decided to go for it, and that’s the night I think we all remember. Some of us got frostbite on our fingers after having to change a tire on the glacier in -20°C. The sealant in our tubeless tires was coagulating because we had to run such low psi to get traction. In those moments, it’s crazy how quickly things get scary. That said, I think that lack of preparedness is the beauty of these trips. You’re constantly guessing and not sure what will happen next. Dealing with the unknown is so important to personal growth.
Has this adventure inspired any bikepacking trips for the future?
I feel like my mind has been opened up to what winter bikepacking travel is like. I feel more excited about the prospects and less afraid. Beforehand, you have all these worries: Are you
going to get frostbite? Or not survive? Afterward, you gain this confidence and wonder about other places like Greenland. I have a lot of friends who do winter expeditions. I don’t feel like this is my primary calling, but I respect it a lot. If part of telling deep and meaningful stories requires a winter expedition, then I’d love to do it.
How do the struggles and accomplishments of expeditions contribute to new ideas or professional work?
I always hope these trips translate into my career in some way. To transform it into a storytelling narrative or take away some deeper understanding or awareness—that excites me. That’s the space I’ve tried to occupy most, learning to be a better storyteller. Perhaps it’s not about directly translating these experiences into work opportunities, but just the ability to relate them to people. Being the participant, getting that experience firsthand is key.
After so many international adventures, is there any other place you’d consider calling home? Is Iceland a contender?
Yes, I’ve set myself up with the opportunity to perhaps call Iceland home someday. I would be honored to do so; I can’t think of another place as meaningful or significant to me.
How has success in your field impacted your approach to photography? What continues to motivate you?
I think it was Galen Rowell, wilderness photographer, who said photography was for the active participator, not just the
bystander. When you’re on a commercial set, you see [things] happen from a distance, but often you want to be more closely involved in that moment. I found this to be valuable. I want experiences in places where I can learn more about that environment and hopefully incorporate that into my work.
Let’s time travel. What advice would you give Chris Burkard the day he decided he wanted to pursue adventure photography?
I would say travel the world based on what inspires you, rather than simply chasing a paycheck or trying to keep editors happy. The latter for a certain minute will give you some sense of joy, but you’re fulfilling someone else’s needs, and long-term, it won’t provide the same satisfaction. It’s crucial to find a career path that’s fulfilling, that gives you something meaningful. It should feel like sleep’s not an option, as you’re so connected to the experience. That’s the greatest gift you could give yourself, the opportunity to love and cherish what you do to the point it doesn’t feel like work.
BOOKS BY CHRIS BURKARD: AT GLACIER’S END (LATEST BOOK), THE BOY WHO SPOKE TO THE EARTH, HIGH TIDE: A SURF ODYSSEY, DISTANT SHORES, CALIFORNIA SURF PROJECT, UNDER AN ARCTIC SKY PHOTO BOOK
Recognize your role as a visitor, whether at home or abroad.
By Ashley Giordano
Afterliving in Paris for 10 years, writer and artist Henry Miller returned to America, settling in Big Sur, California. Miller’s 1957 novel, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch, recounts his 15-year stay in the northern California town and is the origin of the quote, “One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of looking at things.”
Indeed, one of the beautiful things about travel is a fresh insight—a mere glimpse, really—into another perspective or way of life. The ultimate focus of one’s travels shouldn’t always be a culture’s impact on you (no matter how powerful) but should also include the impact you leave behind on the countries through which you travel.
An important aspect of ethical overlanding is cultural awareness. This goes beyond learning customs and local social norms, appropriate hand gestures, local table manners, and respectful etiquette for visiting holy or cultural sites. Cultural awareness also involves becoming conscious of our ingrained social norms and how they differ from others.
Professor Geert Hofstede (1928-2020), a Dutch social psychologist, IBM employee, and Professor Emeritus of Organizational Anthropology and International Management at Maastricht University in the Netherlands, was well-known for his research on cross-cultural groups and organizations. Hofstede compared national cultures based on a variety of dimensions, such as distribution of power and inequality, individualism versus collectivism, and how each society works to maintain a connection with its past while managing the challenges of the present and future.
Hofstede’s research provides insight into how varying cultures face similar challenges. For example, the United States ranks as one of the most individualist cultures in the
world. China and many of the Latin American countries, however, are highly collectivist cultures where people act in the interests of the group. This helps explain why as tourists overlanding the Ecuadorian coast, we were served last in restaurants. Foreigners are less likely to return, so priority is given to the locals who would be back for a meal, time and time again. Simply being aware of these differences can help prevent frustration caused by using your own cultural lens to attempt to explain the behavior of others.
Another way to practice cultural awareness is through understanding our historical context as guests in another country. As a Canadian citizen with a desire to travel through Iran, I was initially frustrated by the fact that I must hire a guide to travel through as an overlander. The lengthy history of Canada-Iran relations, which deteriorated following the 1978-79 Iranian Revolution and international diplomatic incident known as the Canadian Caper, provided me with an insight into why specific restrictions have been made.
One of the best ways to practice cultural awareness is by learning the local language. Communicating effectively is a great way to show respect, provide you with a broader perspective, and generate insight into how a distinct culture or group of people view the world. There might be certain phrases or words for feelings or terminology that may exist in another language but do not exist in yours. The delightful German term backpfeifengesicht, for instance, has no English equivalent and describes a “face badly in need of a fist,” while cavoli riscaldati, an Italian term, translates as “reheated cabbage” but means a pointless attempt to revive a failed relationship.
Cultural awareness also involves becoming conscious of our ingrained social norms and how they differ from others.
One of my biggest regrets is failing to learn Spanish before starting our Pan-American Highway trip. Sure, our Spanish was passable—but it only got us so far, and we missed out on more meaningful conversations. Whether at the market, on local transportation, or at restaurants, we only understood snippets of conversations around us. For inquisitive travelers and overlanders typically traveling off the beaten track, some competency in the local language is imperative.
Overlander Audrey Groenenboom, who owns the CasaCalexico and Kas Hamaka guesthouses on Bonaire, teaches her guests to use a few elementary words like hello and goodbye in the local Papiamentu dialect, which is a mix of Spanish, Portuguese, English, and Dutch. These few words open up conversation and interaction between the tourists and locals. “From my experience as an overlander, I find showing interest in local habits and culture is the most important thing when traveling,” Audrey explains. “It opens many doors, leading to joking around or having a beer with a fisherman on the pier or playing a game of dominos.”
Basic communication can also help bridge the crosscultural gap. While snorkeling the Red Sea in Jordan, my
husband and I came upon a few locals. We greeted them with our memorized greeting, “Salām! Kifak?” The Jordanians’ faces lit up immediately, and they exclaimed excitedly in English, “You speak Arabic?” This small gesture nearly always led to a conversation about travel, food, our respective hometowns, marital status (why don’t you have (more) children), local politics—the works. Inevitably, by trying, you not only learn much more about the people and places you’re traveling through but have memorable and unexpected experiences along the way.
If you are in the planning stages of a trip, check out your local community college, recreation centers, and continuing education programs for in-person or online language classes. One-on-one private lessons are another great option, as instructors can tailor their lessons to your unique learning style and pace. Conversation classes are especially helpful to travelers as they focus on practical communication and real-world interaction. Meeting up with a friend that speaks another language can be of mutual benefit. Once a week, my Chilean friend Coni and I would meet at the local coffee shop to practice my Spanish and hone her English skills. Language apps such as Memrise and Duolingo are a convenient and fun way to learn, while audio programs such as Pimsleur, the Michel Thomas Method, along with podcasts or audiobooks, are valuable for all learning styles.
Learning a new language can be overwhelming. To achieve an easy win, create and memorize a simple script. Start with “Hello, my name is...Nice to meet you. Goodbye.” Add commonly used verbs such as “I am,” “I like,” or “I have.” Focus on learning practical phrases or vocabulary that you will use on a daily basis. We found words related to camping, vehicles, food, and fuel were used the most. Translating potential road signs ahead of time is a proactive way to prevent confusion later on.
At the end of the day, no language course, podcast, or app will prepare you for your own personal, fully immersed experience in another country. The thrill of being able to decipher the Cyrillic alphabet in a small Russian town, understanding your first Italian words on public transit, or successfully asking to purchase a bag of avocados at the local produce market in Mexico (por favor) can only really take place on the ground.
Just as Henry Miller left the quaint cafés, glasses of French wine, and Paris Métro for the white-capped Pacific and a community of artists of Big Sur, we too look at life in a new way when we change our surroundings. As Professor Hofstede once said, “When in another culture in a way we become children again.”
by Chris
By Paul J. Driscoll
Theyear 1491 is a useful and deeply ingrained timestamp. Since 1937 in the US, Columbus Day has commemorated a certain hegemony of European mores and values—an assertion that may be less relevant with each passing year as a dozen states and many more cities mark the day to honor indigenous peoples. Before setting off on your next stateside overland adventure, it’s worth imagining what this land was like then—and how it came to be the way it is now.
The designation “pre-Columbian” applies to a range of environmental, archeological, and societal conditions. Although scholars differ, perhaps 12 million humans lived in today’s Lower 48 that year, embracing hundreds of rich and distinct cultures, shaping their respective environments, and, by any modern definition, owning it all.
It is known, however, that by the end of the 19th century, the native population in the contiguous US had shrunk to roughly 237,000. The collective scourge began with introduced diseases—principally smallpox but also various forms of “novel” viruses, including those that cause influenza. Manifest Destiny and all it entailed took its toll for many generations.
Over the four centuries since 1491, more than 97 percent of the land would be “appropriated” for Euro-American cities and towns, farms and homesteads, and later railroads and the establishment of the uniquely American public lands where many of us recreate today. Interestingly, many of the roads and trails we negotiate with modern vehicles were established by First Peoples many centuries ago. Most of these trails are known today by the names of later explorers who relied heavily upon local Indians for advice and direction: the Lewis and Clark Trail and Mullan Road over the Continental Divide,
for example, and the MacKenzie Heritage Trail in Canada among so many others.
These trails and destinations have attracted non-Indian visitors for over a century and a half—whether for sheer beauty, spiritual sustenance, or both. Most are likely important Native American cultural sites for many of the same reasons.
The US government came to recognize some of the negative aspects of 19th century white adventurism when it enacted the brief American Antiquities Act of 1906. Among its key provisions, the Act protected archeological and cultural sites from large-scale artifact collecting (a problem of the day) as well as smaller scale, casual pilfering. The Act had little effect on random collecting by visitors, however, and lucrative black markets emerged for the trade in Indian artifacts. Only upon passage of the Archeological Resource Protection Act of 1979 did stronger protections arrive with large fines for trafficking—up to $200,000 per offense.
The Antiquities Act is also the enabling legislation for national monuments in the US. The first, Devils Tower, was established almost immediately by President Theodore Roosevelt to begin his impressive run of 18 such designations, some of which later became large national parks. That geological feature in northeastern Wyoming is postage-stampsmall at 1,300 acres, but it is a culturally significant place to at least six regional tribes of the Northern Plains. The Lakota prefer the name Mahto Tipila; none recognize the Westernized name, Devils Tower.
This, then, is a background sketch of overland travel in much of North America. In a sense, we trespass, oftentimes unknowingly, upon sacred ground and navigate to places often improperly and insensitively named, from which we may want to take something home as a remembrance. We shouldn’t forget, though, that history remains a backdrop to the present. By destination or by chance, many overland journeys will likely venture near or across more than 56 million acres of US Indian Reservations, where Native people live, interact among themselves and with visitors, and continue to control their lands.
The so-called Indian Reorganization Act of 1934 ended most real estate exploitation of Indian reservation lands that resulted in checkerboard ownership among community tribal, tribal member, and out-of-tribe privately-owned lands. The Act encouraged self-governing, and visitors will find rules, regulations, and fees vary greatly among US Indian reservations.
As you travel, remember that our presence in Indian Country may not be fully appreciated. This is a good time to forget romanticized Native American tropes influenced by a favorite movie or novel. Recognize that today’s Native American cultures, social structures, and religious preferences remain incredibly complex. An overarching socio-religious theme simply does not exist. Deep-rooted, jingoistic bigotry exhibited by some locals throughout Indian Country also
should not exist but unfortunately does, and you may encounter that in your travels as well.
Most reservations and many national parks today house excellent interpretive cultural centers typically staffed by local tribal docents. A stop to gather authentic information is always worth the effort, and the centers can usually direct visitors to authentic local artisans.
Native American religions were deeply tied to animism, a belief in the sacredness of the natural world and all its inhabitants. Traditionalists among Native Americans keep these beliefs very much alive today. You may inadvertently come upon sacred areas on public lands. Indications may include a large sentinel tree, offerings of ribbons, tobacco, or other “out of place” items. Leave these sites alone and do not geotag a location. Do not remove an element as a talisman or, perhaps worse, contribute one of your own. Acknowledgment of traditional beliefs may be seen as a sign of respect among some Native Americans, while full adaptation will almost always be seen as cultural appropriation.
By destination or by chance, many overland journeys will likely venture near or across more than 56 million acres of US Indian Reservations.
There are 574 federally recognized tribes in the US, and perhaps another 100 or so recognized at the state level. Still other tribes have attained no formal recognition, and some choose not to seek it. Some Indian reservations host several affiliated or confederated tribes and may welcome and host still others. Keep in mind during your interactions that tribal affiliation is a highly personal self-identification, and many Native Americans do not appreciate casual inquiries along bloodlines.
Going to school, playing sports, and working alongside Native Americans has offered me many lessons in the value of expressed dignity and respect. It’s a universal desire, and overlanders are always well served by practicing basic social decorum. In a casual setting, many elders are more than willing to tell stories of their people, even to outsiders. Share a bit about yourself and convey a willingness to listen. Wait for an invitation and never interrupt an elder when he or she is talking. Generally speaking, Native Americans have a fantastic sense of humor and use it as a cultural tool. If you feel teased, relax—it’s usually a sign of approval.
As you travel, be the better part of yourself and remember the land remains alive and dynamic. Take care and be respectful of the land you cross and the people who inhabit it.
EDITORʼS NOTE Many reservations in the West remain shut down or are offering limited access to outsiders in efforts to contain the novel coronavirus. In this case, the most effective way to respect reservation lands may be to simply stay away. In the meantime, seek out good information on the Native cultures you may encounter on your next overland expedition.
OVERLAND ROUTES
SUSAN DRAGOO
Arkansas’ well-earned moniker of the “Natural State” is a nod to its playground of mountains, forests, and streams, natural resources which hikers, motorcyclists, mountain bikers, campers, and, of course, overlanders put to good use. The Ozarks, in northwest Arkansas and southern Missouri, are the better known of the state’s two mountain ranges. But a little farther south, just beyond the Arkansas River Valley, are the Ouachita Mountains, an east-to-west arrangement of parallel ridges that stretch into Oklahoma, with elevation topping out at about 2,700 feet. Solitude is the norm in this relatively undeveloped region of the Ouachitas, typified by striking rocky outcroppings and dramatic mountaintop views. While this route traverses the range over three to four days, the area affords plentiful opportunities for exploration beyond the trail.
While Lewis and Clark were venturing up the Missouri River in pursuit of the Northwest Passage, a lesser-known expedition commissioned by Thomas Jefferson was plying the waters of the Ouachita River from the south to explore the interior of the new Louisiana Purchase. “Ouachita” is the French spelling of the word “Washita,” which referred to the indigenous people of the area. The 1804-1805 expedition of William Dunbar and Dr. George Hunter penetrated from Natchez, Mississippi, all the way to the hot springs on the eastern edge of the Ouachita Mountains. Those springs, which Dunbar and Hunter found had long been an important site for people seeking its medicinal qualities, are now encompassed within Hot Springs National Park. The exploration of Dunbar and Hunter provided the first scientific examination of the landscapes, flora, and fauna of early northern Louisiana and southern Arkansas and gave us the first written record of the Ouachita Mountains.
Dunbar wrote in his journal on December 9, 1804: “...further on, the lands on either hand arose into gently swelling hills, clothed chiefly with handsome pine-woods: the road passed along a valley frequently wet, by numerous rills and springs of excellent water which broke from the foot of the hills: as we approached the hot-springs the hills became more elevated and of steep ascent and generally rocky; those hills are here dignified by the name of mountains, altho’ none of those yet in view exceed 4 or 500 feet; it is said that mountains of more than five times the elevation of these hills are to be seen in the Northwest towards the sources of the Washita (sic) river; one of those has been called the glass, Chrystal or Shining mountain, on its surface is to be found vast numbers of large hexagonal prisms of very transparent colorless chrystal...”
Today those quartz crystals are still mined in the Ouachita Mountains, a large portion of which lies within the boundaries of the Ouachita National Forest, a 1.8-million-acre preserve in Arkansas and Oklahoma. The Ouachitas’ unusual east-west orientation creates a dichotomy of ecosystems: the south-facing slopes are exposed to the sun and tend to be drier and covered with pine forests and oak woodlands. The northern slopes, protected from direct sun and consequently more cool and moist, grow a diversity of hardwoods. Atop the ridges, trees are often stunted by wind, frost, and fog, growing no higher than 20 feet. In 1819, English naturalist Thomas Nuttall commented on the stunted oaks as he crossed these same mountains.
This route traverses the Fourche and Kiamichi ranges of the Ouachita Mountains east to west for 225 miles, beginning near Perryville, Arkansas, and ending near Talihina, Oklahoma. Top up gas tanks at Perryville, as there is no fuel until Mena, about 165 mostly off-pavement miles to the west. Although the roads are easy-to-moderate dirt and gravel for most of the distance, some ascents become steep, rocky, rutted, and narrow. On the western end, the K-Trail, in particular, offers a challenge. For much of its distance, the route parallels and often intersects the Ouachita National Recreation Trail, a 223-mile through-hiking trail crossing the mountain range.
Leaving the pavement on the eastern edge of the Ouachita National Forest, the route starts just off Arkansas Highway 9 at Forest Trail 132, about 14 miles south of Perryville. Air down here for a softer ride on the rocky roads. The trail quickly ascends and runs along the north slope of Wildcat Mountain, offering the first of many long views of the parallel ridges of the Ouachitas. A narrow, leaf-covered trail runs along the North Fork of the Saline River, then the route follows a spur to an overlook of Lake Winona and campsite atop Crystal Mountain, at 1,699 feet. There’s room for one vehicle and tent here, maybe two in a pinch, and the view is breathtaking, with lichencovered, stunted oaks protruding from the rocky promontory. If you’re not lucky enough to nab this site, dispersed camping is available throughout the national forest, and there’s also the option of driving a short distance to the Lake Sylvia Recreation Area. No quartz crystals catch the eye on Crystal Mountain, but there’s public crystal hunting at Crystal Vista, south of Mount Ida, Arkansas.
From Crystal Mountain, the route runs through Flatside Wilderness, then traverses the spine of Cedar Mountain and veers off to another appealing campsite at Forked Mountain Bluff, a rock overhang blackened by fires of previous campers.
Soon the site of the Oak Mountain Lookout Tower offers an interesting spot for a break and a little exploration. Although evidence of the tower itself is no longer apparent, foundations and a collapsed stone wall remain, along with a concrete commode, in fine condition, from a long-gone outhouse.
The trail climbs over Powell Mountain (1,795 feet) on a rough, brushy road which leaves a little Texas pinstriping in the paint. Once off the mountain, it’s a short jaunt to another gem of a campsite, this one on the northern shore of Lake Ouachita, a reservoir created by the damming of that same Ouachita River that Hunter and Dunbar explored. On the cold, clear night of our visit, coyotes howled across the cove and a fingernail moon reflected in the still waters. A heavy fog enshrouded the lake the next morning, encouraging us to linger until the sun burned away the mist. From there, the trail continues to the hamlet of Story, on Arkansas Highway 27. The Bluebell Cafe and Grocery seems to be the only going concern in town, with a set of onceoperable gas pumps now offering only false hope. Bluebell is a popular resupply depot for through-hikers on the Ouachita Trail and a source of a hot meal for the mostly local lunch crowd.
After this brush with civilization, the trail heads back into the forest, soon coming alongside Fiddlers Creek then popping out on U.S. Highway 270 for a brief stint of pavement to Big Brushy Recreation Area. Back into the hills, the road climbs to the top of Grapevine Mountain at 2,103 feet, then winds down into Mena, a city of 5,500 with fuel, food, and lodging. We shamelessly indulged in the benefits of big city life with a luxurious night at the Janssen Place Bed and Breakfast and pizza at The Ouachitas, a coffee roaster and eatery in downtown Mena.
From Mena, the trail picks up on Arkansas Highway 88, aka Skyline Drive. This turns into a glorious 54-mile paved journey along the spines of Rich and Winding Stair mountains known
34°50′52.3″N, 92°53′44.9″W
34°37′59.4″N, 93°52′55.3″W
34°41′21.7″N, 93°21′50.7″W
34°50′55.8″N, 92°49′11.8″W
34°37′35.3″N, 94°48′43.5″W
OPENING PAGE
34°50′17.2″N, 92°56′12.6″W
34°47′14.4″N, 93°16′59.6″W, 34°34′56.7″N, 94°14′5.6″W
as the Talimena National Scenic Byway. Along the byway are Queen Wilhelmina State Park, Talimena State Park, and other camping areas, as well as abundant scenic overlooks and access points for the Ouachita Trail and other footpaths.
Our trail, however, leaves the pavement about 16 miles from Mena, turning south down the mountainside after reaching Rich Mountain’s summit at 2,681 feet. The rocky zigzag of a dirt road ends up on another paved highway for a short distance then picks up the county road that will become the infamous K-Trail as it travels west into Oklahoma. The “K” stands for Kiamichi, the mountain whose crest the route traverses. Its notoriety stems from both its tendency to destroy tires and scratch paint jobs thanks to its surface of sharp rocks and encroaching vegetation and from ongoing controversy over access. Part of the trail is in the national forest, part of it is not, and getting a straight answer about where it’s proper to drive is difficult. As a result, although the traditional route of the KTrail extends to the western edge of the Kiamichi near Clayton, Oklahoma, our route leaves the trail at the Indian Highway junction, about 23 miles west of the Three Sticks Monument at US Highway 259. It’s a very slow drive, and camping regulations are uncertain along this segment. Clearly, some do camp at the Kiamichi Lookout Tower, about nine miles west of 259. It’s best, however, to make an early start and get off the K-Trail before dark. At Indian Highway, it’s an easy paved drive north toward Talihina, with fuel, food, and lodging, or back east into the national forest for camping in the Pashubbe Trailhead area, near the beautiful Kiamichi River.
FROM PERRYVILLE, ARKANSAS travel south 14 miles on Arkansas Highway 9 to Forest Road 132 and turn west.
FROM TALIHINA, OKLAHOMA travel south on US Highway 271 for 4.8 miles to Indian Highway. Continue south on Indian Highway for 7.4 miles to the K-Trail and turn east.
Logging, hunting leases, and changes in national forest usage regulations all factor into access. Obtain and examine national forest Motor Vehicle Use Maps and seek out local knowledge as well. Improvisation may occasionally be required when roads are closed for various reasons.
TOTAL MILES 225
SUGGESTED TIME 3-4 days
LONGEST DISTANCE WITHOUT FUEL 165 miles
PERRYVILLE, ARKANSAS 35°0′19.728″N, 92°48′3.416″W
MENA, ARKANSAS 34°34′59.268″N, 94°14′8.556″W
TALIHINA, OKLAHOMA 34°45′6.372″N, 95°2′52.224″W
(2.0 out of 5.0)
The majority of the route follows easy to moderate forest and county roads, with the exception of rough, rocky, and steep terrain on mountain ascents. High-clearance four-wheel drive with low range is strongly advised.
Spring, fall, and winter are good times to go. Heat, humidity, and insects make summertime less enjoyable but not intolerable. Winters are generally mild and offer great views during “leafoff,” but late fall has the advantage of comfortable temperatures and colorful foliage.
None except where otherwise noted.
SUGGESTED CAMPSITES (All in Ouachita National Forest)
CRYSTAL MOUNTAIN
Accommodates 1-2 vehicles
Scenic overlook
34°50′17.232″N, 92°56′12.588″W
LAKE SYLVIA RECREATION AREA
Thirty-eight campsites, $15-25 per night
34°52′2.208″N, 92°49′20.712″W
FORKED MOUNTAIN BLUFF
Accommodates 4-5 vehicles
34°51′48.996″N, 93°2′5.82″W
LAKE OUACHITA
Accommodates 2-3 vehicles
34°41′21.732″N, 93°21′50.724″W
PASHUBBE CREEK TRAILHEAD
Multiple primitive campsites along main road
34°39′12.672″N, 94°37′22.944″W
OUACHITA NATIONAL FOREST JESSIEVILLE/WINONA/FOURCHE OFFICE (501) 984-5313
OUACHITA NATIONAL FOREST MENA/ODEN OFFICE (479) 394-2382
OUACHITA NATIONAL FOREST OKLAHOMA RANGER DISTRICT (580) 494-6402
OUACHITA NATIONAL FOREST fs.usda.gov/main/ouachita/home
CRYSTAL VISTA fs.usda.gov/Internet/FSE_DOCUMENTS/ fsm9_039424.pdf
It is recommended that the traveler utilize redundant GPS devices (like a phone and a dedicated GPS), along with paper maps and a compass. This track, along with all other Overland Routes, can be downloaded on our website at overlandjournal. com/overland-routes/.
Overland Route descriptions are intended to be an overview of the trail rather than turn-by-turn instructions. We suggest you download an offline navigation app and our GPX track, as well as source detailed paper maps as an analog backup. As with any remote travel, circumstances can change dramatically. Drivers should check road conditions with local authorities before attempting the route and be ready to turn back should extreme conditions occur.
OVERLANDERS HAVE THE POWER TO MAKE SMART FOOD CHOICES AND REDUCE ENVIRONMENTAL DEGRADATION.
More than one-quarter of all planet-warming greenhouse gases emitted each year result from food production, so it’s not a trivial matter to consider with what we load our forks. Besides, it’s in our best interest. The very places we explore for their exotic beauty will be less enjoyable the more unsustainable foods that are produced and consumed.
Yet, eating sustainably can be a tricky mission when traveling because of the unfamiliarity of language, food sources, and recycling practices. But here is the good news: the independent character of overland journeys lends itself to smart food choices. Rather than gorging down a resort buffet that relies on imported foods, overlanders have the perfect opportunity to use their wits and consumer power to reduce the environmental impact.
Here are some tips to keep in mind when that urge for a familiar Big Mac strikes.
1. Whether dining out or buying ingredients for a home-cooked meal in the truck, it’s better to pick the “mom and pop” place rather than international chains because transport emissions leave an environmental mark. “Food should be bought regionally and seasonally. Local markets, where locals also shop, are a good place to do so. An additional benefit is the support of the local economy,” said Stefany Seipp, founder and managing director of Green Pearls Unique Places, an information platform for sustainable tourism.
2. When in Rome, do as the Romans do—with one exception: don’t eat bush meat. It might have been an acceptable (and necessary) food source when the human population was a fraction of today’s, but now we might be chowing down on an endangered species.
3. Hopefully, everyone knows this by now: we need to cut down on single-use plastics, Styrofoam, and other packaging. It takes 450 years for a plastic bottle to decompose, and many nasty materials clog our oceans, killing fish and other sea animals.
4. If available, the smarter choice is buying organic or pesticidefree produce to reduce our ecological impact, except if the product has been imported from far away. Then the transport emissions outweigh the benefit of organically produced food.
5. We should avoid eating meat in countries where livestock may be raised on deforested lands. According to a study published in the journal Science, beef cattle raised on deforested land result in 12 times more greenhouse gases and use 50 times more land than those grazing rich natural pasture.
6. “If garbage is generated, it should be collected and, if necessary, disposed of at a later date. Nature is not a suitable waste garbage can,” said Stefany Seipp.
7. Finally, using apps that recommend sustainable food choices can be helpful, such as the Seasonal Food Guide, Seafood Watch, Happy Cow, Certified Humane, and How Good.
This list may sound like a tree-hugger’s catechism, but if nothing else, this approach to eating will lead overlanders to culinary adventures and cultural encounters that will enrich their travels.
Volunteering on a farm that produces sustainably grown produce is a great way to experience a new country, get to know local people, and contribute to a good cause. World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (WWOOF, wwoof.net) is a movement that connects volunteers with organic farmers. Volunteers live alongside their hosts, helping with daily tasks and experiencing life as a farmer.
Clockwise from top: Shopping at farmers’ markets is an easy way to get tasty, fresh, and sustainably produced vegetables that also supports the local economy. A Guatemalan woman is preparing tortillas and soup for visiting tourists. The proceeds are an important income source that gives her financial independence. By shopping and eating at small, independent businesses and restaurants, travelers support the local economy, and it often tastes much better.
A real-world perspective on the endless debate of whether to purchase a classic or modern vehicle for your overlanding needs.
It’scommon wisdom in overlanding circles that older vehicles are the smart choice for exploring remote and seldom-visited corners of the globe. Because they were built without computers, function perfectly fine without the need of fancy gizmos, and are made with virtually no plastic, it’s widely believed they’re simpler and more durable. It’s also generally accepted they can be repaired with little more than baling wire and a hammer, which is probably a good thing deep in the jungles of the Congo.
While traveling through 55 countries and covering more than 100,000 miles through Latin America and all the way around Africa, I met all manner of people driving a wide range of vehicles from shiny-new, million-dollar Unimogs to $500 beaters literally falling apart. With my eyes and ears open for five years as I moved through the Majority World, I’ve come to see this preference for older vehicles from another angle.
To traverse the length of the Pan-American Highway, I selected a gas-powered Jeep that was fuel-injected and only eight years old. It already had 65,000 miles on the clock when I purchased it, and after adding another 40,000 on the way to Tierra del Fuego, it still hadn’t suffered a single mechanical issue. Besides tightening the rattling 4WD shifter that was annoying me, the only wrenching I ever did on that Jeep was for routine tire rotations and oil changes. Talk about the perfect vehicle for the task at hand.
With that reliability record, I had no hesitation when selecting a bigger vehicle to circumnavigate Africa—a Wrangler Rubicon barely five years old. Built in 2011, this Jeep is heavily computer-controlled and has modern luxuries like electric windows, heated seats, and air conditioning; it’s packed with technology not commonly considered essential for an overland vehicle exploring the far-flung corners of Africa.
Because my two vehicles were designed and built within the last 10 years, they benefit from modern engineering and construction, and they’re not old enough for anything to break or wear out.
In Africa, I bumped into Ed, a friendly Australian driving a 1980’s Land Rover Defender 110 around Africa on an almost identical route to my own. On the day we met, Ed was up to his elbows in grease, desperately searching for a replacement alternator in Bamako, Mali. As I held various tools, Ed gave a rundown of the Defender’s numerous oil leaks and electrical gremlins, and I soon realized his lap around Africa had been entirely different from mine.
While I only performed routine maintenance on my Jeep, on his trip around Africa, Ed spent more than 85 long days wrenching on the 110. During the journey, he replaced the water pump, alternator, power steering pump (twice), two halfshafts, the clutch and transmission, ball joints, body mounts, and countless other bushes, bearings, and oils. As Ed says, “It’s never over with a Rover.”
No doubt it’s impressive he was able to source all those parts and keep the 110 running—though it begs the question if Ed would have spent more time enjoying his trip and less time lying under the leaky Rover if he had been driving a newer vehicle.
While it’s undoubtedly true older vehicles are easier to repair, it’s a strange catch-22 situation as they require vastly more repairs and constant attention directly as a result of their advanced age.
Not only do newer vehicles benefit from decades of engineering and manufacturing improvements, but because they haven’t been subjected to decades of heat cycles and corrosion, wear items simply haven’t had enough time to break down.
I’ve seen this story play out firsthand in Latin America, Africa, and also in North America in the form of a friend with a much-coveted Land Cruiser BJ70. Together we set out for a weekend in search of remote hot springs in the mountains of Western Canada. While the logging roads dished up dust and corrugations, I rate them a 1 out of 10 compared to what I experienced daily in Africa for three years. Nevertheless, the corrugations proved too much for the old Cruiser, and an aging tie rod end let go. Because they were designed almost four decades ago, these tie-rod ends fail completely, leaving one steering knuckle free to turn in any direction it pleases. For safety reasons, modern tie-rod ends are designed specifically not to do this, and while they may clunk and complain, they should never fail completely. Only a solid impact can induce failure in a modern joint.
Without spares, we spent the next 24 hours limping the Land Cruiser to paved roads before we could call a tow truck and begin the hunt for rare parts and someone able to repair a right-hand-drive Japanese import Land Cruiser. In another such example, I found myself visiting
Prescott, Arizona, during the first snowfall of the year, a deluge of wet flakes that reduced visibility to a handful of feet. My Jeep and I tackled the conditions in our usual slow and steady fashion, although my friend, Scott Brady, found himself with a problem. His mighty Defender 110 suffers from the typical electrical gremlins Land Rovers are infamous for, and on that particular day, all the indicator lights went dark. Driving in thick wet snow without brake lights and turn signals is not only illegal, it’s downright dangerous.
Meanwhile, my current Jeep still has the original tie rod ends and even light bulbs after tens of thousands of miles around Africa on the worst roads on the planet. Now it’s 10 years old and has over 170,000 miles all told, but it has still never experienced the kind of issues that plague 30+-year-old vehicles. To this day, it has never suffered a breakdown of any kind. Not only does my Jeep continue forward with its factory tie rod ends and light bulbs, but it’s also still sporting the factory radiator hoses, wheel bearings, and suspension bushings. Besides those housed in museums, virtually every vintage vehicle has had those components replaced multiple times over. Meanwhile, I’ve never had to replace them in my Jeep and have never required a tow truck.
It has become common to prefer vehicles with manual windows without an engine control unit (ECU) because everyone remembers when they would fail and leave people stranded. While that may have been the case in the late ’80s and early ’90s, modern vehicles have come a long way. To illustrate this point, I challenge you to think of a vehicle built in the last 10 years that has suffered a failure of the electric windows or the engine control unit. The simple fact is that those problems were eliminated well over a decade ago.
Furthermore, with the benefit of computer design and simulation, core vehicle reliability and durability have improved leaps and bounds. While it’s quite common for older vehicles to overheat, that is essentially unheard of in a vehicle designed and built in the last 10 years.
Safety is also a huge factor that shouldn’t be underestimated or overlooked. Drivers in the Majority World often operate with a sense of reckless abandon that needs to be experienced to be believed, which means deadly motor vehicle accidents are a way of life. I’ve met a handful of overlanders who barely escaped with their lives after suicidal truck drivers caused enormous crashes. While crash safety was barely an afterthought in the tin-can 4WDs of the 1980s, my modern Jeep has four airbags, ABS, stability control, and an engineered and heavily scrutinized crumple zone. While I hope my luck continues, it’s comforting to know I’m well protected if something goes horribly wrong.
I will admit the Jeep’s heated seats are not exactly essential for a circumnavigation of Africa, though I have to say keyless entry, a factory alarm, and air conditioning are very nice to have. It is always helpful to quickly unlock only
the driver’s door with a tap of the button in my pocket. And when going to sleep at night, it’s very reassuring to hit the lock button and hear the familiar clunk of the door locks.
On more than one occasion while parked in a city, I intentionally triggered the alarm by remote when teenagers got too comfortable sitting on the front bumper—an apt reminder to anyone nearby that the vehicle had a functioning alarm.
When driving into an overlander campground or hangout, it is always easy to spot the drivers battling constant vehicle problems—their first question is not where I’m from or where I’m headed—but where do I source parts for my not-so-common Jeep. They never seemed to like my reply. The answer is I just didn’t need to. My Jeep never broke down, and I only once turned a wrench for anything other than routine maintenance. I distinctly remember one couple in Peru asking if I had trouble running out of Tshirts. Not following them, I asked for an explanation, and they had to admit lying on the ground under their vehicle was a daily occurrence, and it had become impossible to keep their clothes oil-free.
While I’m sure this debate about old versus new will continue for years to come, we only need to examine the
vehicles chosen for the world-record-setting Expeditions 7 around-the-world endeavor. With the ability and resources to select any vehicle on the entire planet, the team decided to drive modern computer-controlled vehicles straight off the showroom floor. It’s no surprise they never encountered a single mechanical issue while crossing all seven continents.
THINK LONG AND HARD ABOUT HOW YOU WANT YOUR TRIP TO BE DEFINED: LYING IN THE DIRT WRENCHING ON YOUR VEHICLE OR EATING STREET FOOD AND BANTERING WITH LOCALS ABOUT THE PRICE OF A COLD BEVERAGE.
Think long and hard about how you want your trip to be defined: lying in the dirt wrenching on your vehicle or eating street food and bantering with locals about the price of a cold beverage. We should all think twice before romanticizing older vehicles that are extremely expensive and difficult to legally import into North America. It is almost a certainty an older vehicle will require more repairs and constant attention than the newer one already sitting in your driveway.
OVERLAND CHEF JENNIE KOPF
French Toast is a treat usually reserved for home, but I’ve concocted an easier way to bring this little extravagance to the road, and it does not disappoint. It’s a breakfast casserole I have made for years now for family, friends, and clients alike. And it is vegetarian, so it hits the mark for almost anyone.
We like to indulge on our camping excursions, and while this breakfast is nice and sweet on its own, my family likes just a little bit of maple syrup on top. Crispy bacon or sausages add a savory addition, and fresh fruit such as a mixture of fresh pineapple, strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries complement the blueberries. You can also use the pineapple juice as a sweetener over the fruit.
With some easy prep, you can let your Dutch oven do most of the work and enjoy the morning.
A good-morning breakfast casserole that skips the fancy and focuses on fulfilling appetites.
SERVES 8
PREP TIME 20 minutes
COOK TIME 35+/- minutes
EQUIPMENT large jar, heavy-duty foil, nonstick spray, tongs, spoon, large bowl, Dutch oven
1/2 cup whipping cream
2 cups whole milk (there is too much water in skim and 2-percent milk)
4 eggs
1/4 cup sour cream
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups fresh blueberries (frozen berries add too much moisture to the bread)
A loaf of French or challah bread, cubed Syrup (optional)
Prep ahead at home or the night before as needed. Mix whipping cream, whole milk, eggs, sour cream, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla; store in a container labeled for the day and meal.
Put the cubed bread in a large bowl, pour the liquid egg and milk mixture over the bread pieces, stir to cover thoroughly. Don’t over-stir, or the bread pieces will dissolve or turn to mush. Let the bread soak up most of the remaining mixture. Take a square of foil and coat it with nonstick spray. Make eight foil pieces for individual servings. By doing this, each person will have a packet to eat directly from, cutting down on the cooking time and cleanup.
Spoon the soaked bread mixture into the center of the foil, drop in 1/4 cup of blueberries in each serving, and carefully fold each one with the seam on top. Seal the seams tightly to prevent all of your deliciousness from leaking out. Leave a little bit of room for the foil to expand. Place the packets on the stove or campfire in your Dutch oven. Monitor your heat, as too much will cause the bottoms of the packets to burn. Let each serving cook for 25-35 minutes. You don’t have to flip them as long as you maintain a good seal in the foil. The heat within the foil cooks the egg mixture all the way through. You will know when they are almost done cooking because the foil packets will begin to expand. Remove from the Dutch oven with tongs and serve—voilà.
science forget momentarily, but I soon felt terrible. After all, we abandoned him.
We continued our journey at a speed slower than 20 kph, and after a few more kilometers, we stopped because the back shock absorber was broken again. While Roy checked the problem, the dog surprised me. He jumped inside for the second time, taking advantage of the carelessness of the driver, who once again had left the door open. When Roy got back, the dog quickly understood that the place already had an owner and jumped to my lap. He knew how to behave in a car. It looked as if he had traveled a lot. Was he from a local trucker? We opened the passenger door to see if he would jump out of the truck, but the dog desperately laid down, like dogs do when they don’t want to leave a place—he threw all the weight of his body against the floor and looked at us as if to say “Please, take me with you.” It looked like he was taking a ride with us after all, until where we didn’t know.
The dog seemed to be trained. He sat beautifully on my lap and respected our commands, such as not going to the back of the vehicle or not touching the trash. He relaxed and just laid down, venturing into a nap but always paying attention to the road. The rascal seemed to know the way and each hole on it. From time to time, he raised his head and took a deep breath, as if he was thinking, “Oh, we are still here?”
While we were traveling, we almost didn’t talk. It wasn’t because we didn’t have a topic. It was just that our heads were full with the dog’s presence, and we were thinking about what to do if we couldn’t find his owner. A few scenarios we imagined were offering him to our friend Vladimir, whom we had just met and lived a little bit more to the south from where we were. If Vladimir refused him, we would offer him in Topolinoye, Khandyga, and then Yakutsk. If no one adopted him, we would have to take the dog with us. We talked about what we would do at the borders, regarding food and the car. Truth be told, we wanted our last option to be our first—something we hesitated to say out loud.
That crazy dog affected us. We spent the next week remembering and talking about him. Who knows, maybe we will see him again in Russia’s Far East. I hope he remembers us because we will never forget him.
Not even in our dreams would we have kept the dog because everyone was interested in him. Vladimir opened his unique smile when we showed him a picture and imagined the possibility of having a buddy in his camp. The other people we talked about it with also told us they would like to take the dog to their homes, and we were sure the person we ultimately chose would fall in love with him at first sight. We didn’t stand a chance.
Yet, what was the destiny of the dear dog to be?
After traveling for about 12 kilometers with him, we arrived at a small village. It looked more like a stop for truck drivers located on the entry of the frozen Delinne River. We stopped the car, opened the door, and the dog immediately jumped out as soon as he understood where we were. We stayed inside to see his reaction. He sniffed a little bit around
the area, played with a truck driver that was there, until he raised an ear as if he had recognized something, and started running through the trucks with the same excitement with which he had run to us. He then disappeared forever without even looking back. As quickly as he entered our lives, he was gone, his hasty departure leaving both of us in tears. We had even chosen a name for him: Arctic, because we didn’t find the Arctic fox, but we did meet the Arctic dog.
He was not a common animal. He had a strong personality and fit our definition of an ideal partner to travel the world with. Only after that moment did we realize that maybe he wouldn’t enjoy traveling in hot temperatures if we had taken him with us. That he would miss the Pole of Cold, where he had his home, and felt happy.
We had already given rides to backpackers, friends, and local people, but never had we offered a ride to a dog before that day. And that crazy dog affected us. We spent the next week remembering and talking about him. Who knows, maybe we will see him again in Russia’s Far East. I hope he remembers us because we will never forget him. In the book The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the fox tells the little boy: “You become responsible, forever, for whatever you have tamed.” In this situation, that dog tamed us.
He relaxed and just laid down, venturing into a nap. The dog’s departure left us both in tears. Opening page: A cozy lap companion.
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LAMP MICHELLE FRANCINE WEISS PHOTOGRAPHY BY MICHELLE FRANCINE WEISS AND ROY RUDNICK
Our dog for a day.
Finding an Arctic fox in the northern end of Russia was a wish we had for a long time. We dreamt of seeing one of those scenes seen in documentaries, showing a fox jumping headfirst into the snow to catch a small rodent. While returning from our attempt to reach the 70˚N latitude in that country, suddenly, in the middle of the road was an animal we could not identify, although we could agree it was a canine. Could it be an Arctic fox? Or maybe a wolf? I found my camera and enabled the zoom of my lens to get a photo. The lens allowed us to confirm it was a white canine, but it was too big to be a fox. We were still wondering if it was a wolf or a dog. We moved toward the animal, and it bolted; it seemed frightened. It ran for about two kilometers on the road, stopping here and there to look back and see if we were still following it. This didn’t seem to me like a reaction a wolf would have, so we determined it must be a dog.
What was a dog doing there in the middle of this inhospitable region without any home or human close by? Could the dog’s owner be hunting in the woods? Or maybe the poor animal was abandoned in -40˚C temperatures by a merciless person? Who dared to do that? With so many questions about what that animal was doing there, we kept following him and trying to get closer. The road was terrible, and our progress was slow. It took a while before we reached it. It was
running slowly, parallel to us. When we got side by side, the animal sat on the snow as if it was going to watch us pass by. We stopped the truck, and I opened the door to take another picture when we confirmed it was a white dog with a dark spot over his left eye. Roy got out and whistled, and to our surprise, the canine started running toward us—it was as if he was running toward his best friends, considering his enthusiasm. The dog got closer, wagging his tail the whole while.
We had saved an extra sausage in our fridge to give to any dogs we might find along our way. Roy got inside the truck to get a piece of it, and, as usual, he left the door open. The nice dog—zuft—jumped over Roy’s legs and perched on the passenger seat, ready to go. What a hilarious turn of events. We kept calling him so that he would leave the truck and we could offer him his treat. He left the vehicle, but he didn’t look hungry, thin, or mistreated, which left us even more intrigued; he had to be lost. What should we do? Take the dog with us or leave him there? Oh, what a cruel doubt. We entered the truck and started driving to see how he would react, and he started running side by side with us. It was as if he was saying: “Hey, don’t leave me out here in the cold.” That scene broke our hearts, and soon I had watery eyes. Little by little, the dog started to get behind until we couldn’t see him any longer in the side mirror. Not seeing him made my con-