Lynne Cox: A Dip in the Cold

I paused in mid-stroke when I noticed a scarlet jellyfish the size of an apple moving toward me.  The tentatcles, fire red and thick as spaghetti strands, trailed behind; they were six or seven feet long, and I knew that they would hurt if I touched them.  As I swerved right, my left hand grazed the dome and I recoiled.  Staring down into the sea, I saw hundreds of these red jellyfish.  They were beautiful–like flowers blossoming in an underwater garden–and terrifying.  I pulled my hands in tight under my body, trying to get higher in the water so that I wouldn’t get stung.

A tentatcle grazed the soft underside of my arm, and if felt like a very bad bee sting.  Reacting, I swung wide and hit something else.  It appeared to be a small clear jellyfish, but it had four creased sides that were edged with purple and glowed.  It looked magical.  I stopped to examine it more closely, treading water as I tried to understand how it was propelling itself.  I coldn’t see any kind of cilia or jet, but I saw another clear jellyfish, this one edged with glowing pink, and another that was edged with neon green. 

(The New Yorker, April 21, 2008, p64)