In the high desert of southeastern Utah, nestled among layers of ancient red rock, lies one of the most iconic off-road trails in North America—Hell’s Revenge. The name alone is enough to make newcomers hesitate, but to the diehards, it’s sacred ground. This isn’t just dirt and dust—it’s where you measure what you—and your truck—are really made of.
It’s also where Toyota brought its trio of off-road icons—the 4Runner TRD Off-Road, the rugged new Tacoma Trailhunter, and the returning legend, the Land Cruiser—for a full-throttle reality check on one of Earth’s most challenging playgrounds.
Hell’s Revenge doesn’t ease you in gently. Right from the trailhead at Sand Flats Recreation Area, the world drops away. The road—if you can call it that—becomes a knife-edge of Navajo sandstone, climbing so steeply that your windshield fills with nothing but sky. You can't see the ground. Your tires are still on solid rock, but your brain doesn’t believe it.
The whole scene feels like something from Mars. And that's not hyperbole—there are actual dinosaur tracks fossilized in this very stone, three-toed reminders that this place has been wild far longer than we have. But now, in machines costing upwards of $60,000, we trace their path—one low-range crawl at a time.
Moab’s sandstone—famously called “slickrock”—is misleadingly named. It’s not slick at all, at least not for modern off-road tires. In fact, much of it feels like driving on sandpaper. The grip is incredible… until the tiniest bit of dust or sand gets between your tread and the stone, and suddenly you’re skating on marbles.
All three Toyotas in this test came prepared, factory-fresh and without a single aftermarket modification. Crawl Control, locking differentials, low-range transfer cases—it’s all here. But even with the tech, driving Hell’s Revenge is about line selection and tire placement. That’s where the Land Cruiser’s high-resolution front camera stands out. The screens in the 4Runner and Tacoma are physically larger, but the resolution is dated—think early 2000s Blackberry. In the real world, especially with spotters guiding us, those cameras quickly fade to background noise.
The trail winds through rocky canyons, past formations with ominous names like “Lake Michigan”—a pit that floods during rain and turns into a tire-eating stone soup. On our dry day, it’s still brutal: sharp rocks everywhere, ready to chew through a sidewall or bash an oil pan. But we aired down the tires, dropped into 4 Low, and let the trucks work. We didn’t even need to lock the rear diffs or disconnect sway bars. That’s how capable these machines are, right off the dealer lot.
Up steep stair-like ledges, across narrow fins, and through pockets of loose sand, the trio clawed their way up. The steepest climbs often hit 30 degrees or more, which is where Toyota’s digital inclinometer tops out. The vehicles, however, didn’t break a sweat. First gear in low range multiplies torque 40-fold. At that point, the power differences between the 4Runner’s turbo four-cylinder and the hybrid-assisted Tacoma and Land Cruiser (with their whopping 465 lb-ft of torque) all kind of blur. Throttle response becomes velvet smooth, even on brutal inclines.
Surprisingly, going downhill is where things got trickier—especially in the Land Cruiser. Its brake pedal was a bit twitchy on the descent. Toyota’s Crawl Control system helped smooth things out, taking over both throttle and braking at a steady crawl. It’s impressive—calmer than my size 11 boots could ever be. But as journalist Eric Tingwall said, “It also steals all the fun.” So, he quickly turned it off.
About three miles in, you reach the money shot—an overlook where the Colorado River sparkles far below, the La Sal Mountains rise snow-capped in the distance, and the highway seems like a tiny thread stitched into the canyon. At that moment, you understand why this trail is the crown jewel of Utah’s off-road scene.
The return route retraces your steps, but nothing feels the same. Ascents become sketchy descents, blind ledges feel steeper now that gravity’s working against you. The final drop into the parking lot is almost comical—a nose-down descent that fills the windshield with nothing but red stone. You’re barely moving, but it feels like a freefall.
Back in the lot, all it takes is a flick of the transfer case, and these trail beasts are suddenly civil again. It’s a small but sobering moment. Most 4Runners, Tacomas, and Land Cruisers never come close to seeing a trail like this. They’re built for this stuff but end up living quiet lives in driveways and Trader Joe’s parking lots.
And that’s the tragedy—and opportunity—of modern off-roaders. They don’t need expensive lifts or steel bumpers to reach wild, remote places. They just need someone willing to leave the pavement.
Like Olivia Peterson, a Colorado-based photographer who took her first off-road trip in a stock 4Runner after a snowstorm forced her to detour through Moab. “I bought it to feel safe in the winter,” she said. “But after that trail, I realized—it’s not just a car. It’s a passport.”
Sometimes, adventure doesn’t require a plane ticket or a passport stamp. Sometimes, it just takes a good truck, low gear, and the guts to climb.
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