DR JUL.-28
It resembled a fragment of driftwood adrift upon the ochre-hued tumult of floodwaters, unassuming and inert, until two eyes emerged with quiet deliberation above the water’s surface. As the canoe neared, the crocodile lunged without warning, attempting to unseat its occupant. Bereft of recourse, the woman propelled her canoe toward an overhanging copse of trees. In her desperate leap to grasp a branch, the reptile rose, too, dragging her beneath the surface in a harrowing death roll. “That was the worst part of the whole experience,” she recounted from her hospital bed, voice wavering in retrospective dread. “The part that I still don’t like to remember.” In the torrid February of 1985, Val Plumwood, an Australian eco-philosopher of formidable intellect, survived this primeval encounter on a secluded river in Kakadu, a remote region of immense biodiversity. Submerged thrice beneath the water's opaque surface, she clawed herself, grievously wounded, up the embankment, fabricating ...