I suffer from vertigo so severe that I sometimes think it’s too far down to my feet. So I’m not best pleased with that Harry Wales. Even though they are of the same regiment, our gung-ho junior prince should absolutely not have dragged off, presumably at polo mallet-point, an otherwise sensible young fellow named Charles (“call me Charlie”) Innes-Ker on an expedition across Africa in Land Rover Discoveries.
But he did. And as a result I am still recovering from being perched, precariously and nerve-twangingly, in a four-wheeled steel box at buzzard-cruising altitude above that anglers’ nirvana, the River Tweed.
Charles Innes-Ker, or to accord him due title, the Marquess of Bowmont and Cessford, is the eldest son of Guy, 10th Duke of Roxburghe. He wound up enjoying the Africa expedition so much that, when Land Rover was gearing up recently to bring in new Discovery and Range Rover Sport models, he urged his father to allow the press launch to take the form of drives around the family gardens. Since these extend to 45,000 acres, the ensuing approval gave Land Rover almost unlimited geographic scope to do its worst.
For when it comes to “mad”, the sadists charged with devising Land Rover test routes easily eclipse the proverbial box of frogs. Midway around the day and a half of test routes, some of the press corps were not so much saying they were impressed as pleading for mercy.
By then we’d plunged a couple of hundred feet down the side of a vast new Scottish borders reservoir project; forged through huge pools of mud soup; crossed creaking, drunkenly crooked wood bridges; launched ourselves over drops of ridiculous perpendicularity; and, of course, been made to drive that gauntlet high above the Tweed.
The poor hacks had to ascend a narrow, unused, decrepit old railway viaduct more than 100 feet above the river, then, halfway across, confront Land Rover’s nine feet high, fold-out metal “hill” with ascent and descent close to the vertical and a few feet of “parking bay” on top. Once up there, even the bottom of the wheels were well above the uncomfortably nearby parapet. I could swear the Land Rover joined me in a whimper.
Oh, and if my colleague Bob Sherwood has been wondering why the trout were so few and far between for his recent fishing column on the Tweed, I know why. They were all cowering under the rocks with post-traumatic stress disorder, having been chased down the middle of the river by – you guessed it – a couple of dozen Land Rovers.
Now, I am prepared to concede to the Borders branch of the Arboreal Embracement Alliance that churning up the landscape with SUVs is not necessarily the greenest of activities, even in a Land Rover. But I will defend it on several grounds.
One: it is thrillingly good fun. Two: it will transform your relationship with your children. Strap them into the back, tip your SUV over a precipice for a free fall into a gulley of gloop and the wide-eyed little beggars will no longer see you as a source of eye-rolling embarrassment but as a real-life Mr Invincible superhero. Three: you can at last justify your selection of a macho SUV, despite living in Chelsea. Four: there is a genuine benefit to road safety. You will emerge from a day’s off-roading feeling tired but wholly superior to the SUV drivers around you on the motorway home, whose wheels have never felt a blade of grass.
A warning, though: stick to specially created off-road courses, now dotted around these islands in their dozens.
You do not necessarily need a Land Rover Discovery for such activities – the ability of various other makes of SUV to claw their way over seemingly impossible territory will also amaze novitiates – but, based on the Roxburghe estate Land Rover experience, you could do a lot worse.
On test was the fourth iteration of what everyone calls the “Disco”, now a far cry from the original, simply equipped “poor man’s Range Rover” launched 20 years ago. Discovery 4 weighs well over two and a half tons. The redesigned interior – awash with wood and leather – gets harder to distinguish from the company’s flagship Range Rover, although the price gap remains cavernous. Even “my” Disco, the most luxuriously equipped version, fitted with the vigorous and refined new three-litre V6 diesel shared with sister company’s Jaguar’s XF saloon, costs £47,000, approaching £20,000 less than a similarly equipped Range Rover. (More basic Discos start from not much over £30,000.)
Exterior changes from the outgoing model are largely cosmetic; mainly a smarter grille and light-emitting diode lamps. The Disco’s capabilities, however, grow ever more impressive. It will tow a couple of horses or a 26ft yacht as if they were not there. The seven seats are all full-size and the second and third rows fold flat if there’s an unexpected need to take an elephant walkies. You can now specify not only a reversing camera to line the Disco up with the horsebox tow hitch, but also front and side cameras to monitor boulders and other threats across tough terrain.
Not least, its low-range off-road drive systems are a damn sight smarter than you. When the going gets rough, the Terrain Response function will maximise stability and traction. When you start to go over that precipice, take your feet off brake and accelerator, and leave them off, even though your eyes scream at you to brake. The Disco’s Hill Descent Control will pick its own way down, shifting torque and grip from wheel to wheel at need. And yes, you really will reach the bottom unharmed.
The Disco has also reached a new plane of on-road capability. Revisions to both steering and suspension have given it greater poise and ride comfort; the new diesel has an effortless, loping performance. It has become, in short, a car for all reasons.
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The details
Land Rover Discovery 4 3.0TDV6 HSE
How much
£47,695
How fast
0-60mph 9 secs, top speed 112mph
How thirsty
30.4mpg on EU urban/rural test cycle
How green
244g CO2/km
Also consider
BMW X5 £40,815-£54,285; Porsche Cayenne £37,250-£75,550; Toyota Land Cruiser £28,640-£37,155
