Ok, I am back after a long hiatus and I am pleased to report that my '78 Scout terra>>traveler has experienced it's first trail run.
You will shortly note that I am not an experienced off-roader.
First of all - the truck. After replacing the stock 19-gallon fuel tank with a new 33 gallon tank plus fuel sender, I have a working fuel gauge. The truck has a new water pump, fuel pump, rebuilt carb, new battery, new alternator, all new hoses and all new belts. I had most of the body-work patched up and primered and the locking hubs replaced. The pinion seal on the rear axle was leaking so that got replaced too. Of course the entire brake system (anything that ever touched brake fluid) got entirely replaced - including lines which were swapped for stainless. New side mirrors with a decent field of view. Got some kind of intermittent battery drain that I can't exactly trace down so a battery disconnect switch is taking care of that for now. The truck runs like a scalded dog and invariably starts up on the first turn of the key unless it's been sitting a few weeks.
Well, after all that work and plenty of time to prove itself... I decided the time had come to actually get out and play in the dirt. A location was chosen about 2 hours from home, a trail/road up in sierra county (CA) that leads to a little "used to be" place called poker flat. It's up in old "gold rush" country, wild and beautiful. With a buddy of mine riding shotgun and my faithful dog riding the cargo hold, we shoved off from home bright and early one morning with a load of camping gear.
I had no idea, at the time, what we were in for.
The trail was listed as easy/moderate and that sounded in line with what I wanted to experience. Likewise, the weatherman indicated a 90% chance of pleasant weather.
Both of those were dead wrong.
We were less than a mile off the paved road when I noticed the rear wheels slipping a bit as we went up some of the steeper portions of the "road" we were on. All right, no sense tearing up the road so we shifted into 4h and continued our ascent. After about an hour of liesurely driving we started getting into some very winding and increasingly steep downward trail. I knew that we must be into the last two miles of rough trail leading down to the Ford at canyon creek. At this point we were in 4l and d1 relying on engine braking so as not to fry the brakes. I was enjoying the fact that I was finally putting my vehicle to a bit of a test on this "moderate" stretch of steep and windy road. How little did I know, my understanding of the word "moderate" left a lot to be desired. I was about to get an education.
Finally we inched down to the creek. There must be some mistake, I said. The water was deep and fast, and it looked like the road simply ended in mid air, about 12-18 inches above the creek bed. What are we supposed to do, sprout wings and fly? Well, not really, but that drop-off looked dangerously abrupt for an "easy" crossing with a stock Scout! Certain we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, we consulted the "trail guide" book to see where we had gone wrong... Checking the gps... Scratching our heads... We eventually arrived at the grim conclusion that we were indeed at the designated crossing spot. We must have stood there looking at the creek for twenty minutes, trying to understand how we were going to get across this deluge without getting stuck, getting flooded, or getting swept downstream. Or worse, disabling the vehicle. There were several rocks that looked like they had serious damage potential.
Finally, when it boiled down to the fact that we had figured the angles as best we could and ascertained that a crossing was at least theoretically possible by testing the water depth with a stick... And at that point, were just trying to get up the nerve... We decided to go for it.
My buddy got across the creek by rock-hopping and I fired up the Scout, put it in gear, and blazed forward off the edge of the abyss and into the icy mountain snowmelt runoff.
The engine stalled, stranding the vehicle in mid-stream.
I sat in dismal contemplation in the middle of the stream in my stalled, beloved Scout, wondering what on earth I had gotten myself into and how the hell I was ever going to get home, as steam billowed out from under the hood. This trip was not going well. Not going well at all.
You will shortly note that I am not an experienced off-roader.
First of all - the truck. After replacing the stock 19-gallon fuel tank with a new 33 gallon tank plus fuel sender, I have a working fuel gauge. The truck has a new water pump, fuel pump, rebuilt carb, new battery, new alternator, all new hoses and all new belts. I had most of the body-work patched up and primered and the locking hubs replaced. The pinion seal on the rear axle was leaking so that got replaced too. Of course the entire brake system (anything that ever touched brake fluid) got entirely replaced - including lines which were swapped for stainless. New side mirrors with a decent field of view. Got some kind of intermittent battery drain that I can't exactly trace down so a battery disconnect switch is taking care of that for now. The truck runs like a scalded dog and invariably starts up on the first turn of the key unless it's been sitting a few weeks.
Well, after all that work and plenty of time to prove itself... I decided the time had come to actually get out and play in the dirt. A location was chosen about 2 hours from home, a trail/road up in sierra county (CA) that leads to a little "used to be" place called poker flat. It's up in old "gold rush" country, wild and beautiful. With a buddy of mine riding shotgun and my faithful dog riding the cargo hold, we shoved off from home bright and early one morning with a load of camping gear.
I had no idea, at the time, what we were in for.
The trail was listed as easy/moderate and that sounded in line with what I wanted to experience. Likewise, the weatherman indicated a 90% chance of pleasant weather.
Both of those were dead wrong.
We were less than a mile off the paved road when I noticed the rear wheels slipping a bit as we went up some of the steeper portions of the "road" we were on. All right, no sense tearing up the road so we shifted into 4h and continued our ascent. After about an hour of liesurely driving we started getting into some very winding and increasingly steep downward trail. I knew that we must be into the last two miles of rough trail leading down to the Ford at canyon creek. At this point we were in 4l and d1 relying on engine braking so as not to fry the brakes. I was enjoying the fact that I was finally putting my vehicle to a bit of a test on this "moderate" stretch of steep and windy road. How little did I know, my understanding of the word "moderate" left a lot to be desired. I was about to get an education.
Finally we inched down to the creek. There must be some mistake, I said. The water was deep and fast, and it looked like the road simply ended in mid air, about 12-18 inches above the creek bed. What are we supposed to do, sprout wings and fly? Well, not really, but that drop-off looked dangerously abrupt for an "easy" crossing with a stock Scout! Certain we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, we consulted the "trail guide" book to see where we had gone wrong... Checking the gps... Scratching our heads... We eventually arrived at the grim conclusion that we were indeed at the designated crossing spot. We must have stood there looking at the creek for twenty minutes, trying to understand how we were going to get across this deluge without getting stuck, getting flooded, or getting swept downstream. Or worse, disabling the vehicle. There were several rocks that looked like they had serious damage potential.
Finally, when it boiled down to the fact that we had figured the angles as best we could and ascertained that a crossing was at least theoretically possible by testing the water depth with a stick... And at that point, were just trying to get up the nerve... We decided to go for it.
My buddy got across the creek by rock-hopping and I fired up the Scout, put it in gear, and blazed forward off the edge of the abyss and into the icy mountain snowmelt runoff.
The engine stalled, stranding the vehicle in mid-stream.
I sat in dismal contemplation in the middle of the stream in my stalled, beloved Scout, wondering what on earth I had gotten myself into and how the hell I was ever going to get home, as steam billowed out from under the hood. This trip was not going well. Not going well at all.
Last edited:
