The SUV That Can Outrun a Sports Car and Climb Like a Goat

Published September 12, 2025 04:15AM

The was airborne for what felt like an eternity, all four wheels spinning free above the rutted Baja-style course in Gateway, Colorado. When it landed—with the kind of composed thud that suggests serious engineering—I realized this wasn’t the sanitized suburban warrior that prowls drop-off lines from the Hamptons to Malibu. This was something else entirely: a machine that looks like it drinks creatine, camps, and can quote T.S. Eliot.

The Octa represents Land Rover’s attempt to build a Defender that can haul ass as well as haul gear in style. With 626 horsepower, twin-turbo V8 fury, and a 0-60 time of 3.8 seconds, it’s genuinely impressive, especially for a 5,950 off-roader. A special “Octa Mode” optimizes suspension and braking for driving fast and hard on dirt—essentially a doctorate in controlled violence. But it isn’t all specs and swagger. Land Rover invited us to drive it the way it was intended—hard, fast, and on gnarly trails where cell service is as scarce as the uranium once mined from these hills.

These weren’t roads in any conventional sense—they were battle scars left by miners decades ago, serpentine ribbons of dirt and rock that would leave most vehicles with broken axles and wounded pride. The Octa attacked with predatory confidence. Where lesser machines would buck and complain, the Defender floated over washboard surfaces with supernatural smoothness. The suspension absorbed impacts that should have rattled my teeth loose, transforming punishment into poetry.

As we climbed higher, the landscape unfolded like a geological love letter written in sandstone and shadow. Century-old junipers, twisted by wind into natural bonsai, stood sentinel along ridgelines. These weren’t manicured suburban specimens; these were survivors, shaped by hardship into beauty. The views stretched to horizons that seemed to exist in another millennium, unspoiled and vast in a way that makes you remember why we venture into wilderness. I felt guilt for not using human power to earn this view. But would I have absorbed the poetic resonance of this panorama after hiking through 100-degree heat? Yeah, no. I sat back into the AC and felt less guilty. Sometimes enlightenment comes with climate control.

The water was deeper than it looked—it always is. As we descended into the current, I felt the Octa’s weight shift, felt the river’s insistent push. The guides had briefed us: windows down, seatbelts undone, ready to bail. For a moment, as water crept up the sides, I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake.

But the Defender proved it could wade up to 3.3 feet deep, even without a snorkel—twice the original’s wading depth. We emerged on the far bank with water streaming from wheel wells. If there was any justification for bringing a car into the wilderness, there it was on the grins plastered across our faces.

While most Octa owners will be content letting it one-up G-wagen owners at the Erewhon parking lot, it was built for moments when you’re wondering if you’ve finally bitten off more than you can chew—and discovering you haven’t.