It’s an hour later here, so 6 AM arrives earlier than my body expects. One snooze session and I roll out of bed to dress for my beach walk. I have been looking forward to these mornings, walking, swiming, experiencing the land and water of planet Pensacola. Beach bag, towel, water, flip flops, phone (for photos), and I’m out the door before the sun.
Sugar sand, they call it, this white, soft, cushy ground. This early you can see the high tide line, before it sun-dries. It’s barely sprinkling, Raindrops freckle tiny dunes. I leave my flip flops near the beach walk entrance and wander towards the pier to choose a spot where I can walk into warm waves.
Seagulls, sandpipers, and one crane are barely afraid of me in their territory. I’m a tourist among tourists. I have no food or gifts and they’re busy with morning foragings. I put my bag down on the sand, strip off my leggings and long-sleeved shirt (I’ll describe my fear of the glowing sky orb another time) and walk in. The water is so warm I don’t pause or ease into it. I dive forward and swim out beyond where my feet can touch the bottom.
I was born in Galveston, where the ocean and sand are mostly gray, or that’s how I remember them. How is this area of the same gulf so different? Water here is clear enough to reveal fish and shells dancing back and forth. What you don’t see are the jellyfish. I did see a large, deceased jelly, maybe 12 inches in diameter, being dragged up onto the shore with new, morning waves. I assume it was dead as it didn’t seem to make any effort to get back into the water. Is that even a thing? Can they “try” to survive?
My idealized ocean swim was delightful until I felt a stinging, prickling sensation on one arm. I ignored it for a few seconds and then wondered if the saltwater was irritating the slow-healing mosquito wounds. I am candy to insects. My legs look like I have some sort of pox due to our night on the galveston sand with its invisible stinging creatures.
So there are arm prickles, which I realize are not temporary, and I begin to swim towards shore. Is there one jellyfish? multiple? floating tentacles? I can’t see anything, and I feel the same sensation on one leg and the other foot. At this point, I am breathing fast and splashing to get away, fearing everything I cannot see. I’m afraid to put my feet down to see if the bottom is reachable, and I wonder if the jellyfish stay on the surface or float at all levels. There’s no way to evade them, if more than one are near. I say out loud, “I have to get out!” and am breathing loudly, almost hyperventilating. There is nothing wrong with me, I’m just panicking. No one is around to hear my ridiculous reaction, fortunately. Of course I’ve heard about the neurotoxin-type jellyfish in Australia, and can’t help imagining fainting dramatically as I walk back to the condo.
I think I was stung by a jellyfish – not intentionally – I was just in its realm. I have this fantasy about ocean swimming – the soothing waves, floating on this powerful water, feeling the movement of the planet as I watch clouds and breathe with the waves. Now there are jellyfish ruining my vision. Ugh. Blech. Would a wetsuit help? There’s jellyfish repellant but how would that work? I think I just floated into it. It wasn’t chasing me. If I wore some lotion that jellyfish dislike would they swim away or just be annoyed?
Maybe I’ll walk the beach and swim in the pool each morning instead.
Instagram video about nearby jellyfish:
Recent Jellyfish Article:
Local Photographers Capture Thousands of Jellyfish Swarming Navarre
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