Dcs World Flaming Cliffs 3 Torrent
Osoulo Lejeune
Just help me to understand about DCS World. Ok let start form scratch. I got this LockOn Platinum. Of course in order to play, i installed first the LOCK ON: Modern Air Combat, and then installed the Flaming Cliffs 2 and activated it. According to the manual i can then uninstalled the LOCK ON: Modern Air Combat and continue play the Flaming Cliffs 2 as usual.
Now come this DCS World with all the available modules and one of it is Flaming Cliffs 3. Went through the website and it says that in order to run the Flaming Cliffs 3, i need to have previously the Flaming Cliffs 3 or the LOCK ON: Modern Air Combat. Another version says that in addition to this you would also need to download the DCS World first free and then only you can download and install Flaming Cliffs 3 provided you already have the previous version of Flaming Cliff.
so what should i do is to install the DCS world ...and i still can play the flaming cliffs 2 as usual. Then i get the flaming cliffs 3 and and enjoy the game as before. Am i right? what about the activation?
To divide you game up around multiple hard drives isn't something I'd recommend but you can do it with dirlinker. Google it and watch a youtube tutorial. Don't hold me responsible if you mess up your game though.
The Flaming Cliffs, also known as Bayanzag, is a site that features unique red sand cliffs that are located in the mngovi Province, in the southern part of the State of Mongolia. Named after the red and orange colors of the cliffs which are much more emphasized at sunset, it was the American paleontologist Roy Chapman Andrews who came visited the site in 1920s and gave the name.
As they are definitely glowing at sunset, accentuating the impressively gorgeous and dramatic features of the entire valley, the importance of the Flaming Cliffs comes from the first discoveries of dinosaur eggs, in addition to the specimens of Velociraptor and eutherian mammals.
Still, there were plenty of dinosaur fossils which were uncovered here, and as the site is in the Gobi Desert, it is certainly one of the most important ones in the world for fossil hunters. According to some scientists, the cliffs are estimated to be some 71 to 75 million years old.
Nevertheless, among the discoveries here, there were discovered skeletons of Maniraptorans: Saurornithoides and Ceratopsians: Protoceratops with Ankylosaurids: Pinacosaurus. All in all, even though located in a more remote part of Mongolia, the Flaming Cliffs are definitely one of the greatest treasures with which this nation in Central Asia can be really proud.
Bayanzag is one of the most famous palaeontological sites in the world. Roy Chapman Andrews' team discovered the world's first nest of dinosaur eggs here in 1922 and unearthed remains of more than 100 dinosaurs.
Chapman Andrews nicknamed the area "The Flaming Cliffs" after the red sandstone buttes and cliffs that glow at sunset, accentuating the surreally beautiful and dramatic features of the valley of the dinosaurs.
I hate wind. I always have, ever since I was small, growing up on a bluff in New Zealand. They say it can drive humans mad. In certain gusty regions of Switzerland, courts accept wind as a mitigating circumstance for crime. And in other parts of the world, the suicide rate skyrockets along with the wind factor. The theory is that relentless wind drives all joy from the human soul.
And so there I was in the Gobi Desert, one of the world's windiest places, suddenly realizing that a plan would be needed in order for me to return home with my sanity. And also realizing why people use the Gobi as a metaphor for the last resort, verge-of-the-world sort of place. You'll notice that they usually refer either to Timbuktu, which implies sort of out-there-exotica, or to the Gobi. The Gobi means out-there-living-hell.
There's one rule in places like this: Never, ever face upwind. I learned this when I stepped off the plane in Dalzanagad, center of Nowhere, and guilelessly smiled at the man greeting us. My mouth ballooned with airborne grit, my eyeballs felt as if fire ants had nested on them and my hair has never been quite the same since.
Several months before, I'd had a call from Land Rover inviting me to participate in the first (recorded) Mongolian south-to-north expedition from the southeastern Gobi, through the heartland steppes and up to Lake Hovsgol on the Siberian border. The trip was to be made in Land Rover's sports utility vehicle, the Discovery. This is an annual event for Rover. They air-lift vehicles to the edges of the earth just for the hell of it, and then tell people like me (whose off-roading history peaks at a U-turn across a freeway divider) to hop behind the wheel and drive from point A to point Z.
This Mongolian expedition would cover 1,700 miles in four days. There would be no paved roads, in fact few roads at all. We would go from wind-flogged desert and gravel plains to hummocked grasslands and then, finally, to ice-and-snow-slicked mountains. The hours would be long and grueling, with nights spent in tents or, if we were lucky, in gers, the domed felt tents of the nomads.
As soon as I'd signed on, boxes began arriving on my doorstep. At first there was the reading material: tips on desert survival, dissertations on paleontology, ecological perspectives, history-at-a-glance, topo maps, mechanical specs, Mongolian phrase books, pointers on cultural seemliness, pens and propagandistic corporate stickers and pins to distribute to nomads. Then came the apparel. The finest quality, all in safari khaki, all with the Land Rover logo discreetly affixed. Extreme-wear jackets, gale-proof woolen sweaters, hefty hiking boots, safari shirts -- and a note suggesting that we supplement this wardrobe with thick socks, ear-muff hats, fleece pants and a pair of snorkeling goggles.
You would think this last item on the list would have aroused the suspicion of any seasoned adventurer. Instead I ignored it, reasoning, quite cleverly I thought, that Mongolia was one of the most land-locked countries on earth and any lakes would be frozen for a good six months of the year. Land Rover may have a bunch of hardy sorts coming on this trip, but I, for one, was not about to be exploring subaquatic Mongolia.
And so, sans goggles, I arrived in Ulan Bator, slept off the brutal journey, had a meet-the-team dinner and then flew to the Gobi, where the vehicles awaited. There were two Discoverys, two Uazs (Russian jeeps) and a mammoth Gaz, a Russian troop transport vehicle that was our supply truck. Our party included 14 people: seven Mongolian men, three Rover die-hards and four journalists -- all female.
We were met by Chimed, a rotund Mongolian biologist who was to be our dinosaur specialist, navigator, cook and touring bon vivant. His English was sketchy but unfailingly exuberant. "Velcome to da Gooobi," he said, his scarlet cheeks smothering his eyes in a huge, fleshy grin. It was freezing out, but Chimed wore a pair of Bermuda shorts with geckos crawling up them and a T-shirt that stopped slightly shy of a hirsute navel.
"Ah, it a buootiful day in Gooobi," he yelled over the wind, flinging bare arms skyward. "Zo purrfuct. Ve drive and ve dig dinosaur bones, yiss?" Naturally, I paused to reflect on a bad day in the Gobi.
We threw ourselves into the vehicles to escape the piercing cold and
slicing sand. The plan was that we journalists would rotate driving the
two Discoverys, supervised by an off-roading authority, in case, I
assumed, we tried something vehicularly misguided.
"Oh dear," sighed Edna Fernandes, a British journalist from Reuters in London,
"there's a weenie problem. You see, well, I can't drive really. Never have,
you know. Tried it once, got 50 meters and ended up in a ditch. It may not
be a good idea to put me behind the wheel. In fact," she added brightly,
"this whole experience is quite new for me. I've never actually camped
before either."
That first afternoon, Chimed led the convoy to the Flaming Cliffs, the spot
made famous by Roy Chapman in 1922 when he unearthed a nest of dinosaur
eggs, tossing the world of paleontology on its ear regarding the
procreative habits of dinosaurs. We hiked into an arid valley ringed by
crimson cliffs, spiking skyward like a dripping Gaudi cathedral. It was
totally calm, the malevolent wind being incapable of negotiating such sharp
corners. "Just tink," said Chimed, gently prodding at the jawbone of an amazingly
intact ceratopsia, "thixty-five milliun yers ago dis creatcha lived here
wetting himself."
As we hiked out of the cliffs, an ugly thunderhead raced toward us. Rain,
I thought, damn. But no, it wasn't rain. It was a funnel of whirling,
whistling, gale-driven sand that, when it struck with the force of Thor's
hammer, made seeing painful and breathing virtually impossible.
Magnanimously, I turned to look for Edna to ensure she was coping. Through
a veil of desert I could see her rummaging in her jacket, producing
something that looked like -- no, could those be? -- snorkeling goggles! Grinning
(downwind), she snapped them on and sauntered back to the car, leaving me
to grope my way nakedly, blindly, doubled over. I looked up to see an
entire team of goggle-wearing desert survivors, all of whom had obviously
read the information in those damned boxes.