Whitetip sharks, venomous sea krates, and World War II wrecks abound in this absurdly biodiverse corner of Micronesia. There's only one danger. Missing out on it all.

By Susan Enfield

Chris Sanders

Divers and kayakers enter here: the Rock Islands' fish-crowded waters

Two millimeters of Neoprene was all that separated me from the blue depths as I floated along a 900-foot limestone wall, irresistibly hauled forward by the current as if on some underwater moving sidewalk. I scoped out the passing scene: delicate fans of purple coral, platter-shaped emperor angelfish, schools of polished-aluminum trevally jacks. Fascinating, to be sure, but not the macho marine life I'd been promised before flopping backwards off the dive boat into the 84-degree Pacific bathwater that surrounds the Micronesian archipelago of Palau. Then suddenly, a few yards away, 25 four- to six-foot sharks appeared—whitetips, blacktips, and grays, swooping through the clueless herd of jacks. When they finally zoomed off, breaking my pop-eyed paralysis, I turned to our dive master, Mark Wilson. I could see the smirk on his regulator-plugged mouth, and there was a message scrawled on his whiteboard slate: "PALAUAN WELCOMING COMMITTEE."

Palau does not disappoint. A chain of 343 islands in the western Pacific about 500 miles due east of the Philippines, it's been pretty much overlooked since the end of the war. That is, unless you're a scuba obsessive, in which case you've probably heard all the stories: about the Rock Islands, jungle-tufted outcroppings popping up like mushrooms over world-class dive sites; about the encyclopedic collection of marine life (more than 1,500 fish species and over 700 kinds of coral); and of course about the unpredictable currents that occasionally sweep divers out over the protective barrier reef and off toward the Philippines.

In 1994, when the tiny, 196-square-mile island nation gained independence from the United States—administered Trust Territory for the Pacific Islands, it became evident that Palau had to boost its tourism income to replace the hundreds of millions of dollars in aid that America had pumped in since the end of World War II. Until last year's Asian economic crisis temporarily slowed the boom, tourism was averaging an environmentally unsustainable 20 percent annual growth, peaking in 1997 at 73,000 visitors—more than quadruple Palau's 17,000 year-round inhabitants, most of whom are natives believed to be of ancient eastern Indonesian descent. Given the islands' limited infrastructure, tourism is a new national reality that even Palau Conservation Society director Noah Idechong half-welcomes, but only so long as growth slows to a manageable rate. In fact, he's happy about a conservation area in the northern islands being opened to sport-fishing in early 2000. "It will be catch-and-release, using villagers as guides," he explains. PCS has also been setting up kayak trails through mangroves on the "Big Island" of Babeldaob, a novel eco-activity that Idechong hopes will help raise conservation-consciousness while an environmentally controversial, U.S.-funded ring road—the island's first paved byway—is being constructed.

Thanks to Palau's official use of the English language, American currency, and even the U.S. Postal Service, it's surprisingly easy to custom-arrange an adventure in this remote outpost, provided you've got a lot of time and a fairly sizable vacation kitty. During a visit last spring, three friends and I began our Palauan odyssey by flying into the island capital of Koror, just south of Babeldaob. After spending a few days getting oriented—via dive trips and sea kayak—excursion planning sessions—we set out for southwestern Palau and a two-week, self-guided paddling tour of the Rock Islands. Except for when we met our outfitter for supplies and dive pickups, we had all of the 200-plus islands practically to ourselves (we saw only two other campers). If you're not a kayaker or diver, there's still sport-fishing, sailing, birding, homestays in traditional villages, and even tours of World War II hot spots (the 1944 Battle of Peleliu was one of the bloodiest in the Pacific Theater) to keep you occupied. And undoubtedly, the welcoming committees won't have as many sharp teeth.