The divers themselves are also realizing the need to adapt. "Before, when tourists would come and take pictures of the haenyeo, they'd hate it," Chwa says. "But their minds have been changed a lot. They've begun to feel proud." As another step toward preservation, Chwa is hoping to persuade Unesco to enshrine the haenyeo on its cultural heritage list, which could increase the divers' global profile even as their traditional role is waning.

Meanwhile, the haenyeo are still a strong presence on Jeju. Drive along the winding coastal roads near Gwakji beach or wander the sloping canola fields near Seongsan, and you’ll eventually encounter a troupe of them, dressed in their thick, black wet suits, trundling by with nets, fins, and taewak, the hollowed-out gourds they use to stash their salty harvest. The taewak remain bobbing on the surface when the women go under the waves. Back on shore, at seaside stalls around Jeju, tubs of abalone, octopus, mottled sea cucumber, and spiny, rust-colored sea squirt sit waiting to be sliced and served on plastic plates, with a side of sticky red hot sauce called ch’ojang. Guidebooks come with warnings for travelers inclined to sample the squirming bits of baby octopus that are cut up live at the stalls: The suction cups still work, presenting a choking hazard, especially if eaten while tipsy. If you catch a haenyeo returning from a dive, it’s possible to sample sea urchin directly from her net, smashed open on the pier with a hammer so you can scoop out its spongy roe with a finger. Although it’s risky to make absolute claims in an age of saturation marketing, the haenyeo’s harvest earns one: They serve the freshest seafood in the world, taking mere seconds on the trip from ocean to tongue.

The haenyeo have already been honored with stone monuments overlooking the sea along Jeju’s western coast road, but if they end up fading into myth it’s not the stones that will keep their memory—it’s the seafood, and the flavors of wind, salt, sea foam, and survival it contains. While the song of the haenyeo is the sound of lament, the delicacies they collect taste of their resilience, and of the improbable joy they’ve managed to wring from lives battered by the sea. “After diving, we’d be happy,” Ryu says, recalling the bultuck, the post-dive gathering where the women would peel off their suits and reclaim the warmth of life above the surface. “The days when our catch was big—those were the best days.”

To learn how to make a splash on Jeju-do, South Korea's largest island, click here. "Lady Good Divers" originally appeared in the July/August 2008 issue of Culture+Travel. For a complete list of articles from this issue available on ARTINFO, see Culture+Travel's July/August 2008 Table of Contents.