The awe-struck creatures swim towards the illumination as if attracted by their sudden appearance and blinding beauty amid the darkness of the open sea. Unfortunately for the beasts, the light is not one of revelation, but is instead the last thing they will see before wily fishermen scoop them up in huge nets and dump them -- flipping, squirming and spitting seawater -- onto the decks of the boats.

These big bright lights consume a lot of electricity. As a result, there is a constant danger to the fishermen because so much electrical power is so close to the water's splashing waves. The crew must continually inspect and repair each of the separate light sockets and also the thick braids of black electrical wire to ensure nobody gets electrocuted while out at sea. Most of the maintenance is done while the squid boats are berthed in harbors. Crewmen, with wirecutters in their gloved hands, scurry along the long, horizontal lines of wiring. They peer at each of the glass globe's connections, and also make sure the ships' portable generators are kept high and dry.

The island's restaurants overflow with squid dishes, but there is other delicious seafood as well. For some foreign tourists, the meals are sometimes a bit too fresh.

"They gave us a fish dinner with the fish still breathing," said one British teacher who was visiting Ullungdo for the first time and laughing at the memory of a recent meal. "You could see the fish's gills opening and closing. And the fish was still looking at us with its one good eye."

"We ate it anyway," he said in an interview. "But I heard you can get out of eating it by saying, 'It is bad luck in England to eat moving food.' "

Except for the small cafes, nightlife on Ullungdo can be quite sedate because most of the hardworking residents need to rise early.  But tourists mill around Todong's pocket-sized port looking for something to do, and some of them find it in the karaoke lounges which have recently opened to accommodate the growing swell of visitors. The karaoke scene includes some unusual surprises. Unlike some lounges back on the Korean mainland which are decked out in the latest, expensive decor, the haunts on Ullungdo are a bit simpler. In one downstairs bar in Todong, for example, the mood became extremely folksy when elderly wives and grandmothers began doing most of the singing and dancing. Their aged male partners appeared stunned at the revelry which the island holiday inspired.

Ullungdo's history, however, was no song and dance. Pirates often came to the storm-lashed island, which lay far from the control of regional authorities. The thieves hid their ill-gotten booty, repaired their pirate ships, and used the rocky outcroppings as staging points to attack others who sailed between Korea and Japan. During the Shilla Dynasty, Korea's King Yeji seized the island from the pirates in an effort to increase security for his kingdom along the mainland's east coast.  He and his predecessors used Ullungdo mostly as a strategic military outpost.
  
Pirates' Cave

But in 1884, the government realized it would be wise to have more settlers on the island, to ensure that it remained in Korean hands, and to build up an infrastructure. Even today, however, the island is relatively unpopulated, and the farms that people have managed to coax from the volcanic earth remain small. Which brings us to the role played by the ubiquitous squid. After largescale squid fishing enabled Ullungdo's residents to export the food to the mainland in huge quantities, prosperity spread.  Recent modernization has included more roads, fleets of taxis, telecommunications, hotels and other symbols of wealth and status.

Visitors however seem more interested in the island's romantic settings. Newlyweds, and elderly couples rekindling their happiness, often join passengers who climb onboard tour boats for a trip around the entire island, starting and ending in Todong harbor.
 
The circular journey takes about two-and-a-half hours to complete a 55 km circumference. As the tour boat hugs the battered coastline, an occasional tiny village will suddenly appear and then disappear, hidden amid the green jungle and dark gray volcanic cliffs -- in much the way pirate lairs once nestled unseen unless approached directly.

Back on land, people who like exercise often try to tackle Songinbong, a 986-meter high, hopefully dormant volcano. Songinbong is cut by several paths leading up to its summit. There are occasional signs, but no one worries about getting lost because the island isn't that big and its height allows hypnotic views which also reveal where you need to climb.

All those squids will meanwhile tempt even shy palates to try and munch the flattened, dried, chewy treat. Koreans buy the stuff by the crate because it can be much cheaper here than on the mainland.  Merely watching the fishermen and shopkeepers work among the squids will give you an idea how laborious life for the residents on the island can be. Before breakfast, you'll see women lifting boxes of dried squids, rummaging through piles of cellophane-wrapped dried squids, stacking shelves with fresh piles of dried squids, and shoving the stuff here and there in an endless quest to sell it before a new pile arrives.
  
Songinbong Summit

By mid-morning, freshly gutted squids will be hanging all over town, including special horizontal racks which are set up in virtually any available yard. Strangely, the constant appearance of squids actually lures most visitors to start eating them every day while they are visiting the island. If you do become addicted while you are there, bargain hard because -- for the market savvy people of Ullungdo -- the financial bottom line is written in the squids' black ink.