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There's No Desert With This Sahara
By Alex Julius
AJ's Toyota LC100 V8 Landcruiser Sahara is now a bit more than a year old. In the last NAFA, all he had to write about was how he submerged it in Arnhem Land's Liverpool River and managed to drive away with his sanity still marginally intact. In this owner's report, he recalls that hair-brained adventure, but mainly reflects on an amazing 4WD which takes the desert out of the Sahara. It had been a great day's fishing, I thought as I trimmed up the big outboard, slowly lining up the boat trailer and pushing forward with just enough thrust to maintain direction all the way to the third-last roller, which was the nearest one I could see as the last two were fully submerged. The trailer was a fair way from the end of the concrete barge landing which is also the boat ramp at the remote Aboriginal community of Maningrida. It had to be a fair way out because all four wheels of the Cruiser - to which the trailer was hitched - were seaward of the hard concrete too. So both vehicle and trailer were out on the gluggy mud, with the rear tyres of the 'cruiser unavoidably wet to the bottom of the rims.
It was dead low tide and mine was the last of four boats to be towed out; it was also the biggest and heaviest. I was accurate enough, forcing the big bow up onto the trailer and then powering it forward - clouds of mud billowing in the turbulence out the back of the prop - until it hit pay dirt, clunking against the winch-post roller. "Whooaa!" Dan, one of the Arnhemland Barramundi Nature Lodge guides, called out. He secured the D-shackle, wound the slack out of the winch, and gave me the OK to pull out of gear, switch the engine off and tilt up. Dan gazed over the big Quinnie, muttered "This'll be interesting", and squelched his way to the driver's door. I was pleased to see that he got in bum first, took off his muddy sandals and hurled them up the ramp before pulling his feet in and shutting the door. The engine was already running and the four of us in the boat sat down or took a firm grip on the railings while Dan engaged first gear on the automatic transmission. There was a slight jerk forward and we began moving steadily over the mud, onto the concrete and up the ramp.
It was all rather effortless, and I must admit I was a bit surprised…but not nearly as surprised as Dan. He jumped out of the Sahara, walked down to the boat, all the time shaking his head, looked up at me and said: "That's bullshit!" "We had to use two cars for the other boats," he continued. "We've got another vehicle with a sling on the back all ready to go. That's just bloody amazing…what a car…I didn't even put it in Low range!" After 15 months driving this 4WD limo' all over the Territory and beyond - much of the time with boat in tow - and writing about it in last year's NAFA and elsewhere, I knew what was going on and the lingo to describe it.
The LC100 V8 Landcruiser Sahara has what Toyota calls Active Traction Control (TRC). Like all Cruisers, the Sahara is constantly in high-range 4WD. However, TRC will automatically kick in whenever it senses the vehicle needs more traction. It does this by utilising the vehicle's 5-speed automatic Super Electronic Control Transmission (ECT) with lock-up torque converter, and by locking in the Centre Differential and ensuring appropriate power is distributed to all wheels. The first time - and probably the most impressive of all - that I experienced this engineering marvel was when I drove the Sahara from Darwin to Maningrida for the first time.
There'd been some unseasonal rain which had raised the level of four river crossings I needed to traverse. All went well until the last Liverpool River crossing which at its deepest point was about 1.2 m. I won't go into details but, for various reasons, we simply had to get to Maningrida, and that meant taking the plunge, if you can excuse the obvious pun. Nerve-racking doesn't do justice to how I felt as the bow wave I pushed ahead slowly crept up the front of the Cruiser before flowing right over the top of it. With the previous crossings, once the bonnet went under, I figured the best thing to do was to flatten the accelerator and get the engine out as quickly as possible. I figured the longer it was submerged, the more chance of electrical connections failing and of water getting into the air intake which would have been fatal. That's what I did again but the bonnet seemed to stay under forever. I remember cursing loudly…something bad had to happen and I couldn't believe what I was doing to what is really a luxury vehicle. The engine must have already been under for 4 or 5 metres when it began to lose power. That was it…I knew it was over, and I yelled a profanity. But suddenly - perhaps miraculously - it found some torque and surged forward. Before I knew it, the bonnet reappeared and I was driving out of the deep section.
Once out of trouble, I pulled up and looked at the instrument panel. There were half a dozen warning lights on and oil pressure was down to zilch. I quickly turned the engine off and got out of the car feeling quite shaken. I lifted the bonnet and you can imagine how much water I saw dripping off the engine and around the guards. At this stage, I should explain that, had I had a tarp or similar with me, I would have been well advised to secure it across the front of the Cruiser before each river crossing. Prior to the trip, I had it in my mind that the engine-cooling fan had a clutch which stopped it from turning should it propel onto the radiator during a deep water crossing. I later found out I was wrong on that one. There was no evidence of damage to the radiator, so it seems I was just plain lucky the fan did not bend forward enough to hit the radiator. If I had to do it again, I would definitely put a tarp between the grill and the bow wave as it would definitely reduce the amount of water flowing onto the engine.
I let the engine dry for half an hour or so, hoping the warning lights on the instrument panel were more a reflection of water on electrical connections rather than more serious issues. When I started it again, the oil pressure went back to normal and only one light remained. That was the orange light that looks like an engine. All the manual had to say about that particular light was to take the vehicle as soon as possible to your Toyota dealer. Yeah right, I thought. I took it nice and easy for the remaining 80 km to the Lodge. Once again, I put the bonnet up, and the engine warning light was no longer evident an hour later when I started the car again. Ironically, since then I've driven the Arnhem Land track several times, the last setting a personal record for the time it took to cover the near 500 km from the Lodge to my front gate - 4 hours and 30 minutes would you believe. I don't make a habit of that, but I promised my wife Christine that I'd be home for dinner. For the record, the Northern Territory has an open speed limit once out of built-up areas, so I was not breaking the law in any way. I suppose the point is that the Cruiser absolutely slayed the dirt road through Arnhem Land. Hard corrugations, stony gravel, mattress-thick bulldust, and those various river crossings were akin to a Sunday afternoon walk through the park for the Sahara. In addition to its Active Traction Control, it also has Independent Front Suspension (IFS) which, combined with its rack and pinion steering, offers a superior ride with greatly-improved high-speed stability and handling. It also has Vehicle Stability Control.
Funnily enough, as I write this I'm also thinking about the next drive through Arnhem Land, only a fortnight away. I won't be towing the boat because that's already there, and mates will be flying in to spend some time on the water with me by day, and at the Lodge's Escarpment Bar by night. There'll be plenty of barra as always, and the bluewater should still be going off. Yep, that's something to look forward to, wouldn't you say?
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