I couldn’t find an old Defender, so I went out bush in something better

Call me un-Australian, but I’ve never felt an allure to the off-roading and camping combination that seems increasingly popular among everyone who isn’t me.

The idea of being stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no reception, getting bogged, lost, or just broken down always freaked me out. Not to mention the thought of sleeping in a tent, being cold, and the words of my mum “The only stars the Dobies sleep under are five stars” echoing in my head.

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Maybe I’m soft or a princess, but being uncomfortable isn’t for me. But, feeding into my ambivalence, I’ve always loved the idea of an older Land Rover Defender, possibly the most hostile daily drivers built in recent years.

Armed with about $15,000 and a dream, I went out searching for one in hopes of some exposure therapy to the great outdoors. Yet again, in the back of my mind, the anxiety of breaking down in a Land Rover with a quarter million kilometres scared me out of it.

Forcing myself to ‘do it for the bit’, I genuinely did want to explore lesser-travelled paths of the Australian wilderness – just in comfort. I concluded that the only way I would do this is in a modern car and sleeping in a nice hotel room.

However, with most other standard cars on the market either incapable of the route mapped out or just a snooze fest, I opted to borrow an Ineos Quartermaster and headed out to Mount Buller, Victoria.

My anxieties melted away when I was in a brand-new car without a clutch pedal, the weight of a world-record leg press, and a few nights in a five-star chalet. Further excitement was accentuated by the fact that I was in a car that was genuinely cool – a hard ask for a modern option.

The Ineos Quartermaster is the second model in the Australian line-up, sharing much of the same platform as the Grenadier but with a longer wheelbase and a ute body instead of a wagon.

It’s still got those fabulous BMW six-cylinder turbo petrol/diesel options, eight-speed ZF gearbox, front/rear/centre differential locker, ladder frame chassis, trick suspension and about a million buttons to click.

To translate into the average Joe, it’s a vehicle for people who love saying “They don’t make them like they used to”. The Quartermaster is basically everything good from the era before manufacturers built cars to be super cost-effective, mixed with modern luxuries and enough power to move a mountain.

Enough power to move a mountain is exactly what I needed for the task ahead – countless hours of off-roading through trails only open to a select few.

Eager to press all the buttons mounted on the roof and make helicopter noises with my mouth, I probably selected the low-range centre lock a little too early. But the excitement as the manual lever clicked the centre lock on, like arming a missile, seemed to itch a part of my brain that had cobwebs on its neurons.

Before taking off, the final task was to reach for the roof to put the landing gear up select off-road mode on, which turns off things like door ajar and seatbelt warning, as well as reducing traction control and switching off electronic stability control.

Finally ready for action, it was time to find out what this off-road business is all about. It turns out that when you have such a well-equipped car as the Quartermaster, rollercoaster-like ruts are pretty tame.

The eight-speed ZF transmission meant that I could do up to 70km/h in low-range, but crawling through the trails below 30km/h with the windows open to smell the forest, clad with gum trees as far as the eye can see, was more my style.

Climbing up to where there was a fresh dusting of snow gave me another opportunity to push more buttons on the roof. I activate the rear differential lock and tackle some more articulated tracks, and sure enough, there are no complaints from the Ineos. It just sat in second gear and clawed its way up over some big stones.

Whereas other 4WDs I’ve driven would need a spotter and a few attempts of “I’ll reverse and give it another go with more momentum”, the Ineos Quartermaster just ate it up. Even with my lack of rut-picking skills, the ute still rescinded the need to back up and give it more on the loud pedal.

What was initially thought to be a race against the setting sun through the bush was actually a light drive for this incredible car. It meant less time in the snow I was grossly underdressed for, and more time in my hotel room dreaming about how miserable I’d be sleeping in a swag.

Rest assured, the mapped route for the next day gave me more of an opportunity to try and tire out the big ute that, if it went through an anthropomorphic transcendence, would be screaming out for more.

Again, the second I hit an unsealed road, I was foaming at the mouth to slot the car into the low-range centre lock needed for wading through some water crossings that turned out to be a bit deeper than I initially thought.

It’s a good thing Ineos made the interior waterproof enough to hit it with a powerwasher to bust out any mud/water that makes its way into the cabin or any regurgitated lunch from your motion-sick passenger. There are also some removable plugs to drain it all out.

Unsatisfied with my pursuit of adventure since the Ineos seemed to eat whatever I threw at it, I purposefully hit the less desirable lines on the inclines.

Another reach for the roof to lock both the front and rear diff proved that with enough momentum, I don’t doubt this thing could climb a wall that a boulderer would bust their special shoes and chalk out for.

I made it out alive from the wilderness with my exposure therapy, proving my anxieties about the bush were unfounded. This Quartermaster is everything keyboard warriors who spend their afternoon complaining about new vehicles would want.

You can’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia come over you when you crank the old-school steering box to full lock or feel the clunk of the centre lock engaging.

This isn’t a review, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that it’s closer to a toy rather than a daily driver. Pricing is pretty out there, $102,000 plus on-road costs for a base model with cloth interior and BYO tub, while a Fieldmaster tops out at $118,000 plus on-road costs without any accessories fitting.

Not to mention that during a three-hour transit through freeways, I couldn’t find a single comfortable seating position for my lengthy legs, and the steering is purposely long for fine adjustments when off-road.

The long wheelbase would certainly make life hard for inner-suburbs residents with too much money who think that just because it has a BMW engine, it drives like one.

But that’s not what it’s made for. It’s for those rendezvous out bush or using that 3.5-tonne towing capacity to effortlessly explore the outback with a giant caravan hooked up. It makes no sense to condemn this car to a life of city driving.

Sure, you can eat soup with a fork, but you’ll only get the chunks of vegetables that no one really wants. But you can use a fork for its intended purpose and have lovely pasta for dinner – the Ineos Quartermaster is the fork, and the fettuccine Alfredo is the great Australian bush. This giant ute suddenly makes more sense then.

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