Ten years ago when I rented my first stand-up paddle board at Seattle’s Alki Beach, with a friend who was also a SUP first-timer, we bravely took to the water after a comprehensive [but brief] orientation. It seemed simple enough: feet about a foot apart, middle of the board, paddle into the wake not parallel to it, ok got it. We lucked out on the weather, it was a sunny, clear warm day and although Puget Sound is hella cold, it was warm enough that we would dry fast.
Falling into the water wasn’t an issue for several reasons: all of them jellyfish. There were so many beautiful jellies swimming inches under the surface that, while we were happy to see them in all their beauty, they were the biggest reasons we stayed on our boards. It didn’t matter how prepared we felt in the car driving over, or how informative the orientation about how to SUP was, every one of those jellyfish coached us into using our core, staying up and paddling in a rhythmic fashion.
When we got back to the beach bone dry, the instructor complimented our stamina and how in control we looked. We assured her it was because of all the jellyfish.
I think about them every time I stand up on my own SUP that I purchased later that same year a decade ago. Words and instructions are one thing, but there’s no better incentive to stay dry than a group of jellyfish with their 6-foot tentacle trains.
May 2023 was inspired by those jellyfish and I dedicated my U-District Street Fair chalk mural, Fremont fence mural and micron pen drawings to them as I drove around Seattle with my SUP strapped to my car’s racks looking forward to getting back on the water and paddling.
