writes Joseph Conrad. “They are seas full of everyday, eloquent facts, such as islands, sand banks, reefs, swift and changeable currents—tangled facts that nevertheless speak to a seaman in clear and definite language.”1 The Pratas Islands, an atoll formed by three islands, only one of which is above water, are such eloquent facts. Called Dongsha, the “East Sand” Islands, by the Chinese, the lone habitable island is a pincer-shaped spit of land well under two miles long and a half mile wide—and that’s including the lagoon. Actually, it is little more than a five-thousand-foot runway, just slightly above water, guarding the northern entrance to the South China Sea, nearly equidistant between Taiwan and mainland China: and yet it is still the South China Sea’s largest island. The runway and two piers are serviced by the Taiwanese coast guard and assorted technicians, totaling about two hundred personnel. There are also a few ecologists. The hibiscus, screw pines, low coconut palms, silk trees, and seagrass—measured against the limitless ocean—express the moral clarity that is the register of extreme natural beauty.
