{"product_id":"grayson-spanish-edition-isbn-9780307279477","title":"Grayson (Spanish Edition)","description":"\u003cb\u003eDe una de las nadadoras profesionales m\u003c\/b\u003eá\u003cb\u003es destacadas del mundo nos llega este maravilloso relato, sobre el poder de la fe que supera todos los obst\u003c\/b\u003eá\u003cb\u003eculos\u003c\/b\u003eEn \u003ci\u003eGrayson\u003c\/i\u003e, Lynne Cox narra la historia de un milagroso e inolvidable encuentro que vivió en el mar a los diecisiete años. En una madrugada serena pero cargada de energía, Lynne nadaba en aguas frías, a doscientos metros de la costa, cuando se percató de que algo nadaba por debajo de ella. Aquello parecía lo bastante grande como para ser un tiburón blanco, pero no lo fue. Resultó ser un bebé ballena que había perdido a su mamá en el mar, y que había seguido a Lynne por más de una milla. Si Lynne no lograba encontrar a la mamá, el bebé ballena se deshidrataría y moriría de hambre. Algo tan enorme como la mamá ballena, que medía quince metros, de pronto parecía muy pequeña en el vasto océano Pacífico. ¿Cómo podría encontrarla Lynne?“Realmente para lectores de todas las edades. Una fábula y una experiencia, gracias no sólo al espíritu hermoso y generoso de la autora, sino también a su increíble don para describir a la naturaleza”. —\u003ci\u003eAnne Rice\u003c\/i\u003eLynne Cox is the author of \u003ci\u003eSwimming to Antarctica\u003c\/i\u003e. She was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and grew up in Los Alamitos, California. She received her B.A. from the University of California at Santa Barbara. Cox was named \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e Woman of the Year in 1975, inducted into the Swimming Hall of Fame in 2000, and honored with a lifetime achievement award from U.C. Santa Barbara. Her articles have appeared in \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eEuropean Car Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in Los Alamitos, California.One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's something frightening, and magical, about being on the ocean,   moving between the heavens and the earth, knowing that you can   encounter anything on your journey.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe stars had set. The sea and sky were inky black, so black I could   not see my hands pulling water in front of my face, so black there   was no separation between the sea and the sky. They melted together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was early March and I was seventeen years old, swimming two   hundred yards offshore, outside the line of breaking waves off Seal   Beach, California. The water was chilly, fifty-five degrees and as   smooth as black ice. And I was swimming on pace, moving at about   sixty strokes per minute, etching a small silvery groove across the   wide black ocean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUsually my morning workouts started at 6 a.m., but on this day, I   wanted to finish early, get home, complete my homework, and spend the   day with friends, so I had begun at 5 a.m.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere were vast and silent forces swirling around me: strong water   currents created by distant winds and large waves, the gravitational   pull of moon and sun, and the rapid spinning of the earth. These   currents were wrapping around me like long braids of soft black   licorice, and I was pulling strongly with my arms, trying to slice   through them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I swam, all I heard were the waves, rising and tumbling onto   shore, the smooth rhythm of my hands splashing into the water, the   breaths that I drew into my mouth and lungs, and the long gurgling of   silvery bubbles rolling slowly into the sea. I slid into my pace, and   I felt the water below me shudder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt wasn't a rogue wave or a current. It felt like something else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was moving closer. The water was shaking harder and buckling below me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll at once I felt very small and very alone in the deep dark sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen I heard a sound. I thought it was coming from the ocean's depths.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt first it seemed to be a whisper, then it grew louder, steadily,   like someone trying to shout for help but unable to get the words   out. I kept swimming and trying to figure out what was happening.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sound changed. It became stranger, like the end of a scream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn my mind, I quickly went through a list of the ocean sounds I knew   and compared them with what I was hearing. There were no matches.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe hairs on my arms were standing straight out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhatever it was, was moving closer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe ocean was charged with energy. It felt uncertain and expectant,   like the air just before an enormous thunderstorm. The water was   electric.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe that was it; maybe the water was warning of an approaching   squall. Maybe energy from distant winds and torrential rains was   being transmitted through the water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI checked the sky above and the distant horizon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBoth were dull and as black as ink and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI lifted my head to see the wave height. The shore break wasn't   increasing and there weren't any wind waves. Not even dimples on the   ocean's surface. There was no sign of a storm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt didn't make sense. The energy in the water was intensifying. I   felt like I was sitting on a tree branch beside a nest of angry,   buzzing bumblebees.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll at once, the sea's surface erupted nearby. There was a rushing   and plunking sound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike raindrops hitting the water. But nothing was falling from the   sky. This was wrong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVery wrong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOut of the darkness, things were flapping into my face, flicking off   my arms and head. It was like swimming through a sea of locusts, and   with each impact my muscles tightened. I was tingling with fear, and   all I wanted to do was to turn and sprint for shore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut I told myself, Stay calm. You need to focus. You need to figure   out what this is.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTaking a deep breath, I looked down into the deep black sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThousands of baby anchovy were darting through the water like lit sparklers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlinded by panic, they were frantically tearing away from their   schools and leaping out of the ocean like popcorn cooking on high   heat. They were trying to evade something larger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLight was exploding around me like hundreds of tiny blue flashbulbs   constantly firing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen I turned my head to breathe, something leaped into my mouth,   wiggled across my tongue, and flapped between my teeth. It was larger   than the water bug I once inhaled on a lake in Maine, larger than an   anchovy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWithout thinking I spat it back into the sea. It had bright silver   sides and was about six inches long. It was a grunion, a fish nearly   twice as large as the baby anchovy. The grunion were chasing the   anchovy, snatching them from the water and swallowing them whole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMore grunion were swimming in, bumping into my thighs, raking their   pointy fins across my shoulders, but I smiled. The grunion had   returned. Every year the grunion return to California in the spring   and summer. They wait just offshore for the full moons or new moons   when the tide is high, so they can swim ashore and lay their eggs. It   always seems to be a miracle that they return every year and know   exactly where and when to swim ashore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA lone male grunion, a scout, swims ahead, and if the coast is clear,   hundreds of female grunion follow him in, each with as many as eight   male grunion swimming alongside. They choose a special wave, one that   is on the receding tide so that it will carry them higher onto the   beach, and the female's eggs will not be washed out to sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnce a female reaches the beach, she digs a hole in the sand with her   tail, then wiggles back and forth, drilling herself down into the   soft wet sand until she is buried all the way up to her lips. There   she lays up to three thousand eggs, and one of the male grunion   arches around her and releases his milt to fertilize the eggs. Then   the adult grunion swim back to sea while the eggs incubate in the   warm sand for ten days. Then the baby grunion hatch and ride the tide   back out to sea to begin their lives in the ocean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI loved to watch them come ashore and I loved to go grunion hunting.   It was a big event in Southern California. In summer, I would meet   friends on the beach on moonlit nights and wait for the grunion. We'd   spread our large bright-striped beach blankets on a berm, at the   crest in the beach, beyond the reach of the incoming waves. We'd sit   wrapped up in more warm woolly blankets, sometimes alone, or   sometimes snuggled up with friends to stave off the cool, damp   swirling ocean breezes. We'd talk, in muffled tones so no one would   scare the fish away, about boyfriends and girlfriends, about summer   plans and BBQs, about our lives and our families, our dreams and how   we felt. We'd explore our lives, and sometimes touch hands under the   blanket. We, too, were restless, awaiting our own high tide.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomeone in our group would whisper excitedly, \"There he is!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe'd jump to our feet, scanning the beach for a single fish. When we   spotted one flopping on the sand, we'd watch and wait for what seemed   like forever. Then a few minutes later, a wave would lift hundreds of   grunion up. This wave would be so heavily laden with fish, it would   rise more slowly than any other. As it curled, its dark glassy face   would be altered by hundreds of grunion heads and tails protruding at   all angles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe wave would crash onshore and the grunion would spin and tumble   across the sand, flipping, flopping, and pulling themselves beyond   the water's edge. Their gills would beat in and out as they gasped   for air. It seemed amazing to me that they could hold their breath   for two or three minutes, and that they had to leave the sea and   return to shore to continue the cycle of life. In utter fascination   we'd watch this dance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs soon as the grunion finished laying their eggs, they'd flip and   flop back toward the water, and at that moment we'd charge across the   sand, kicking mud on the backs of our legs and trying to scoop the   grunion up with our bare hands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were always slippery, squirmy, and quick and harder to hold on   to than a warm cube of butter. My friends and I might catch a few   grunion, but none of us had the heart to take them home and cook them   with a dusting of cornmeal and eat them as some people did. Somehow   that would have spoiled the magic of all that we had witnessed. We   were happy to catch them in our hands, feel the pulse of life racing   through their bodies, and release them back into the warm salty waves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I swam I felt a strong connection with the agile schools of   grunion and I thought I was lucky to be swimming with them—until I   realized that they were attracting a small school of albacore tuna.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUsually the tuna lived and migrated twenty miles or more off the   coast, but the abundance of food had lured them in. Albacore tuna are   large fish. They weigh between twenty and forty pounds. They are   shaped like giant oval beech leaves and have dark blue backs and   gray-blue sides and bellies. They are very fast swimmers: they swim   as if they are turbocharged.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt first I enjoyed feeling the way the water wavered and yawed as the   tuna zipped to the right and left of me. But when they started   leaping out of the water to catch the grunion, I grew concerned. I   didn't want to be hit by a forty-pound tuna. I pulled to the right   and then off to the left, but they were everywhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen it happened. A big tuna weighing maybe twenty-five pounds   rocketed out of the water. He smacked into my back and I jumped very   high. Then another bounced off my shoulders. I started giggling. I   had to roll on my side and catch my breath. It was raining tuna. What   a weird, wild, and wonderful thing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt occurred to me that these tuna would probably attract larger fish   and the only larger fish I could think of were sharks. So I decided   to move closer to shore, away from the feeding throngs. As I got   nearer to land I started watching what was happening in the homes on   the north side of the pier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePeople were starting to get up. Second-floor windows that had been   dark gray and vacant were becoming large glowing squares of gold, and   as the people moved into their bathrooms and then downstairs more   windows became gold squares. I imagined how warm it must be inside   those homes. I let my mind enfold me in that golden warmth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was cold. The Pacific water temperature in March is in the   mid-fifties; the surrounding water was constantly pulling heat from   my body. It was like being wrapped up in a warm blanket on a snowy   day and then having someone pull the blanket off. To overcome the   heat loss, I had to swim at a rate fast enough to create heat, but   still my skin always felt cold; it was as cold as the water. I could   feel the cold working its way deep into my muscles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn offshore breeze carried the warm sweet smells of smoky bacon and   fried eggs, buttery pancakes, and the rich acidic aroma of brewing   coffee across the water. I had been swimming for more than an hour   and my stomach was grumbling loudly. All I had to do was reach the   north jetty, turn around, and swim the last half mile back to the   pier and then I'd be finished with my workout.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was starting to relax, stretching out my arms, feeling my hands and   arms pulling the thick water, feeling the rotation of my shoulders   and core, and the light kick of my feet. My body was slipping through   the water like silk sliding across ultrasmooth skin. My breaths were   long and easy, and I felt good: I was back into my pace, moving with   the flow of all creation. Everything was in sync, the currents   flowing around me, the song of the ocean, the breeze—except   everything below was strangely still.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll the fish had disappeared.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLifting my head, I looked to my right and then to my left. I couldn't   see anything. I put my face back down, and stared into the water   through clear goggles. It was like looking into a well at midnight. I   couldn't see anything, but I knew something was there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe water began shaking harder than before and I was being churned up   and down as if I was swimming through a giant washing machine. The   water shifted, and I was riding on the top of a massive bubble. It   was moving directly up from below, putting out a high-energy   vibration. I felt like there was a spaceship moving right below me. I   had never felt anything this big in the water before.La verdadera historia de un bebé ballena perdido en el mar y la niña que intenta reunirlo con su mamá","brand":"Vintage Espanol","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299993112805,"sku":"NP9780307279477","price":13.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780307279477.jpg?v=1767728454","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/grayson-spanish-edition-isbn-9780307279477","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}