ASIA PACIFIC SPECIAL : Destination: Malaysia : In Deep : For divers at tiny Sipadan, an island off the coast of Borneo, the mantra is turtles and fish, turtles and fish . . .

It isn’t often I have to remind myself to breathe, especially while scuba diving in 90 feet of water. But when you’re surrounded by hundreds of barracuda, or staring into the mouth of a giant manta ray, your body’s autopilot tends to go on the blink.

Breathless moments are what Pulua Sipadan ( pulua means island) is all about. This tiny speck, roughly 20 miles off Borneo’s northeast coast has been called one of the world’s premier dive sites, not without reason. The island is less than a mile in circumference, but its watery underside features an almost infinite Eden. Sharks, manta rays, huge green sea turtles. When the gods wanted an aquarium, they created Sipadan.

The island is beautiful above the surface too: powdery white sand, an aquamarine lagoon, a lush rain forest at its center. But apart from strolling around the island (30 minutes max), taking in the sunsets or watching for flying foxes (a type of bat) and monitor lizards, there isn’t a great deal to keep the non-diver entertained. It’s something to consider before flying halfway around the world to get here.

Sipadan was the finale of our yearlong trip around the world. After living out of backpacks, surviving on $30 a day, my husband, Paul, and I were ready to splurge. We had heard about Sipadan’s wonders. The island is a protected sanctuary for sea turtles and a home to rare birds. Its brochures prominently quote Jacques Cousteau. “I have seen other places like Sipadan . . . 45 years ago,” Cousteau says. “Now we have found again an untouched piece of art.”

The fact that we were already in the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur made our decision easier. We didn’t figure to be in this part of the world again any time soon. Besides, the prospect of traveling to Borneo, the world’s third-largest island, sparked our adventure-loving souls.

Borneo is divided into the Indonesian province of Kalimantan, the tiny oil-rich sultanate of Brunei and the Malaysian states of Sarawak and Sabah. Sipadan is claimed by the latter, though Indonesia claims it too. So far, it’s been a peaceful dispute.

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Getting to Sipadan requires patience. From Los Angeles, the journey requires at least three flights, a bus and a speedboat ride. It takes a little more than 24 hours, not including layovers or delays. Those who travel straight through tend to look like the living dead when they arrive. A couple days of rest in Kuala Lumpur, or in the Sabah capital of Kota Kinabalu, is highly recommended.

We booked with Borneo Divers & Sea Sports, whose Sipadan Island Dive Lodge was the first resort on the island. After an early flight to Tawau, an industrial town on the Indonesia border, we boarded a minibus for Semporna, two hours away. The road winds along the coast through a riot of palms and vines, giant ferns and banana trees. The sense of adventure was diminished only by the sounds of Morris Albert’s “Feelings” on the speakers overhead.

In Semporna, we boarded a speedboat and set out under turquoise skies and cotton-ball clouds. We passed fishing villages built on stilts, populated by the Bajau, one of Malaysia’s many ethnic minorities. Some Bajau live in brightly colored houseboats, others in temporary homes of rough timber and palm fronds. We passed Bum Bum Island--once a hide-out for pirates, we were told--and into the choppy waters of the Celebes Sea.

Our first impression of Sipadan, 45 minutes later, was underwhelming. The sea and sky were a flat, depressing gray. The narrow beach seemed crowded with weathered huts. Towels and wet suits hung from makeshift clotheslines. It looked like the Swiss Family Robinson had set up a frat house.

But the sun came out, the sand blazed, and the lagoon came alive with every shade of blue. We were invited into the open-air dining hall, where beautiful platters of steamed fish, stir-fried vegetables and fresh pineapple awaited us. This was paradise, indeed.

After a short orientation and a check of our dive certifications, we were shown to our quarters. Our tiny, thatched-roof hut had two shuttered windows (no screens) and wood plank floors. Inside were two single beds (each with mosquito netting, sheets and a reading lamp), one night stand and towels. Communal toilets and solar-heated showers (stocked with biodegradable soap) were kept sparkling clean. It was comfortable, in a Gilligan’s Island sort of way.

Not that comfort matters much to divers. They’d sleep under seaweed if it meant good diving. At Sipadan, good diving--or better--is almost guaranteed. Other islands in the area lie on the relatively shallow continental shelf, sloping gently into the sea. Sipadan rises abruptly from the deep ocean floor nearly 2,000 feet below. Swim out 15 yards, where azure water turns abruptly indigo, and take a long look down. You’re now face-to-face with the abyss.

It’s a little spooky staring into the deep blue sea, partly because you’re never sure what’s staring back. Paul and I only have been diving a few months. He is a natural, soaring underwater like a bird through the sky. I still hear the theme from “Jaws” every time I hit the water. As I suited up for my first dive at Sipadan, my heart was doing flip-flops; my stomach was queasy. We were ankle-deep in the lagoon--wet suits zipped, weight belts on, regulators in place--when I decided to bail.

Me: “I’m not going in.”

Paul: “What? You’re joking.”

Me: “I don’t want to dive.”

Paul: “Sure you do. You love diving.”

Me: “No, I don’t. I hate diving. Diving’s stupid. I’m not diving.”

Five minutes later, after listening to reason (read: We didn’t come this far and pay all this money just to sit on a beach), I was making my descent. We drifted through the liquid blue, along a showcase of hard and soft corals. Schools of tiny fish, neon orange, red and yellow, fluttered like confetti. There were sea stars and moray eels, angelfish and lion fish, crabs and giant clams. Blue fish with yellow stripes, yellow fish with blue . . .

I was about to loosen my grip on Paul’s hand when he jerked me to his side, his eyes the size of Ping-Pong balls. Something big was heading our way. The headline “Real-Life Jaws Chomps Divers in Two” flashed in my mind. But then I saw it. A magnificent green sea turtle, big as a coffee table, glided a few feet above our heads.

God, I love diving.

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Those words became our mantra for the next four days. We awoke at dawn and slipped into the sea. We were met by clown fish, leaf fish and grumpy-looking groupers. We saw spotted garden eels, sponges and polka-dotted trigger fish. Bumphead parrot fish, big as hogs, amazed us. A moray eel gave us pause. And turtles? A dozen on every dive.

We drifted along rock and coral canyons, floating like wet-suited spirits through the sea. We hovered over gaping chasms, swam through walls of tuna, twirled like sea otters and swam belly up to the sun. Only the rhythmic rush of our bubbles We hovered over gaping chasms, swam through walls of tuna, twirled like sea otters.

broke the silence. Each dive enveloped us in peace.

We teamed with honeymooners Kirk and Seema Lalwani, Indian-born doctors from London, to dive an offshore site called Turtle Patch. There were turtles aplenty, both green and hawksbill. But it was a dark, undersea tornado that caught our eyes.

It rose from the depths like a writhing, silver cyclone. A shoal of barracuda so vast, so towering, that within moments it blocked the sun. We hovered in its shadow, mesmerized. Each fish was four to five feet long. Steely eyes, wicked teeth, stiletto physiques. Hundreds moving as one.

I checked my air and realized I’d barely been breathing. I looked up; Paul was hovering, quite happily, in the center of the barracuda vortex. No dive, I thought, could top that.

I slept in the next morning, cursing myself as the dive boat pulled in. Paul, Kirk and Seema, three of the more reserved people on the planet, came ashore as giddy as sugar-buzzed kids. They’d seen a manta ray. A huge manta ray, they said. Twenty-five feet across. Weighing close to two tons. Paul nearly swam into its mouth. The sight of this fish inspired such bliss, the three of them performed a manta ray dance on the beach.

Experienced divers tend to come to Sipadan with a wish list, often topped by an elusive school of hammerhead sharks. If they don’t find what they’re looking for, they feel cheated.

We heard such grumbling one night in the dining hall. Diving at Sipadan was fine, one Swiss man sniffed, but he’d experienced much better. A woman from Taiwan said she probably wouldn’t return. Three resorts on this island are too many, she said. The big fish are starting to stay away.

I suppose our rookie status caused us to shrug. The Borneo Divers staff was courteous and professional. The meals were fresh and healthful. (We could have done with a gloppy dessert or two.) Rules to protect the environment were taken seriously.

On our last night, I dangled my feet over the rickety pier while Paul and Kirk put in a final dive. The moon was nearly full, casting a sheen on the shallows of the lagoon. A small reef shark cruised just below my feet. Bits of bioluminescence twinkled like stars on the sea.

Turtles surfaced just offshore. I could hear their gasps as they struggled up the beach, leaving tire-like tracks with their flippers as they clamored to lay eggs. In the morning, we’d start the long trip home. Until then, I planned to breathe easy.

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GUIDEBOOK: To Dive in Sipadan

Getting there: Sipadan Island has no airport. From LAX, the shortest route is via Taipei, Taiwan, to Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia, where Borneo Divers will meet you. Or fly from LAX to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, via Tokyo, and connect to Kota Kinabalu. Malaysia Air and Singapore Air offer daily flights; Delta twice weekly. Round-trip, restricted fares start at about $1,200. The Tawau flight, bus and speedboat transfers are included in the Borneo Diver package. Helicopter service from Tawau to Sipadan is also available for about $360 round trip.

Tropical Adventures, (800) 247-3483; Creative Adventure Club, (800) 544-5088 or (714) 545-5888, and Sea Safaris (800) 262-6670 or (310) 546-2464 are among a number of companies that offer scuba-diving packages to Sipadan.

Where to stay: Sipadan Island Dive Lodge is one of four accommodations on the island, all basic. Rates start about $965 per person, double occupancy, for a five-day package that includes meals, three boat dives per day, unlimited beach diving and round-trip transport from Kota Kinabalu. (If you buy your own transfers to Tawau, they deduct $80.) Each additional day is $120. Book the package with your travel agent or contact Borneo Divers & Sea Sports (Sabah) SDN BHD, Room 401-412, 4th Floor, Wisma Sabah, 88000, Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia; telephone 011-60-88-222-226, fax 011-60-88-221-550.

Sipadan-Mabul Resort is located on nearby Mabul Island and offers similarly priced packages. It’s the only accommodation with air-conditioned rooms and attached bath, but divers must take a 20-minute boat ride to reach Sipadan’s dive spots each day. Contact Sipadan Mabul Resort SDN BHD, 2nd Floor, Tong Hing, Supermarket Building, 55 Jalan Gaya, P.O. Box 14125, 88847, Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia; tel. 011-60-88-230-006, fax 011-60-88-242-003. Note: There are no restaurants on Sipadan. Meals are included with accommodation.

Scuba instruction: Borneo Divers offers advanced-level diving on Sipadan, but no beginning open-water certification. The company offers four-day, beginning open-water courses in Kota Kinabalu for about $350, including use of equipment. Proof of open-water certification is required.

For more information: Malaysian Tourism Promotion Board, 818 W. 7th St., Los Angeles, CA 90017; tel. (213) 689-9702 or (800) 336-6842, fax (213) 689-1530.

--B.L.