Chemical dependence may be a problem of the 1990s, but not where these western courses are concerned.

Brad Gorsuch hates dandelions. He'll do anything to eradicate them from his course. Burn them with a blowtorch. Pull them up by their roots. Hack at them with shovels. Scalp them with mowers.

Anything, that is, except spray them with chemicals.

Gorsuch and his fellow workers could follow the practice of other courses across the country and use a spritz of herbicide to rid their tended acres of yellow sprouts. But the Resort at Squaw Valley, where Gorsuch is the assistant superintendent, is completely chemical-free. The only things sprayed at Squaw Valley are errant drives.

"You have to learn to tolerate weeds and send crews out to hand-pick them," Gorsuch says of his never-ending battle. "We could make a spot treatment, but at this point it's become a matter of pride. If we spray once, we lose our status of being chemical-free."

As a result of agronomic advances in recent years, superintendents have dramatically reduced the amount of chemicals they place on their turf. Each strives for a chemical-free environment, just as an ill patient hopes to skip a shot in the arm; but superintendents walk a tightrope between the demands of players (lush grass, fast and flawless greens) and the demands of nurturing turf.

Many courses come surprisingly close to using zero chemicals, but at least three have reached that point. Squaw Valley, built on land once used as a parking lot for the 1960 Winter Olympics, came into being only after its builders convinced local residents that the local water supply would be unharmed by a golf course's presence. Wawona Golf Course, another California facility, must abide by the no-chemical rule since it sits inside Yosemite National Park. And Applewood Golf Course, a municipal facility in the suburbs of Denver, rests atop the aquifer for Coors Brewing Company, which once owned the layout.

Research has shown that many chemicals can be applied on golf courses without any threat to water supplies. Yet before every golfer, or non-golfer, sees chemical-free maintenance as the ideal solution for his own course, he should understand that the location of these three minimizes a superintendent's two major considerations -- disease and insects -- and allows for chemical-free maintenance.

Each is more than a mile above sea level, where low humidity and the lack of pests removes huge headaches encountered by superintendents at lower elevations. And each sits under a blanket of snow each winter, helping to mend divots and minimize overplaying that damages turf.

"Does your course have high humidity?" asks Nate Farmer, the superintendent at Applewood, when questioned about potential candidates. "You might want to do this, but you have to spray every 10 to 14 days because of the humidity, so it wouldn't be possible."

There is one other major consideration, he says: "Just about any course would be a candidate, but you have to look at what the expectations are (of players) and what people will accept."

Mike Carlson no longer blanches when he sees a bunch of dandelions or a patch of clover. Now in his second year as superintendent at Squaw Valley, the 34-year-old hears few negative comments from the resort's vacationing guests. It might be that they are distracted by the towering peaks surrounding the course; then again, they might leave their grand expectations at the door.

"We don't have the dimension of an Augusta National or a Butler National," says Carlson, who worked at the latter as an assistant. "It's a different product. The rough is not lush green by any means. It's probably more brown than green during our high season."

Yet the modifications in maintenance do not harm the quality of the courses. Squaw Valley hosts an annual tournament for California's club champions and was named by Golf Magazine as being among the "Top 10 Courses You Can Play." Applewood, operated by American Golf Corporation, accommodates upward of 400 players on a weekend day, drawn to its shortish length (6,229 from the tips) as a convenient learning center. And Wawona, in an area where golf otherwise would not exist, is an overlooked gem, not just because of location but by offering only nine holes.

The impact, instead, comes in public perceptions. Although university studies have shown that a golf course acts as a natural filter -- that what enters the water table is purer than what comes out of the sprinkler head -- the mistaken belief is that courses are major polluters. That's what drove a contentious battle between Squaw Valley's developers and local residents, who feared the course would harm a natural resource.

"There was a lot of shouting during those meetings," recalls Gorsuch, who was working at the nearby ski center but was interested in working at the course when it was built. "There were people in town who became very upset if you identified yourself as being in favor of the golf course."

It was not until January 1989 that the sides reached a compromise, writing the policies contained in a thick binder known as the Chemical Application Management Plan. Continually updated during periodic meetings, it lists what may and may not be applied, application frequencies, and the procedure for testing and approving materials.

"The great thing about being free of chemicals," Carlson says with a chuckle, "is that we don't have to worry about every snake-oil salesman with a solution. Most of them know by now that we can't use what they are selling, so they don't even bother coming by the shop."

Although he does not have to worry about a budget line for chemicals, Carlson's allocation for labor is much larger than most courses of similar size and stature. Carlson and Gorsuch oversee about two dozen workers during the playing season, and few of them touch mechanized equipment other than to ride out to a part of the course for their daily assignments.

"It's all hand maintenance," Gorsuch says, "and it can be boring. We'll go out and hand-pick Poa annua out of the greens, or dig out dandelions. Those are jobs other courses would never imagine doing. It's tough to keep everyone motivated, but they appreciate the hard work when they see the boss next to them on his hands and knees, digging at the ground."

Chemical-free maintenance is a platform for innovation. Take the dandelion, which can stretch a tap root as much as three feet into the soil. Gorsuch went to the course's workshop, scrounged around for odd pieces and devised a hybrid of the slim core sampler and wider greens hole cutter. He hand-crafted four dandelion diggers that are about two feet tall and 11Ú2 inches in diameter.

A few states away, the crew at Applewood spends time after winter snowstorms spraying charcoal water on the greens. Blackened snow absorbs heat from the sunshine and melts more rapidly, thereby reducing the threat of any snow molds that heal slowly without the aid of chemicals.

"Doing that attracts geese," Farmer says, "because they think the black areas are ponds. So we have to find other ways to scare the geese away. Or live with them on the course."

Everything becomes a balancing act for the work crews. Gorsuch spent years as a snow groomer for the ski area. Now he goes out during the winter and clears snow from greens using a small groomer, which is basically an oversized snow plow with metal treads instead of wheels.

"I get down to about a foot deep and then we shovel the greens off," he says. One green takes a beating no matter how much snow falls: the practice surface near the first tee sits under the approach to a major chair lift. The week of the Masters this spring, it still was under five feet of snow.

Dead patches are sodded every spring, and in that task the Squaw Valley crew remains ahead of the curve. Instead of placing small rectangles or narrow strips, the order is for 2 1Ú2-foot swaths of turf more than 100 feet long. Within two hours, a six-man crew can replace an area that would take some courses days to complete.

"It's all about thinking up new ways to approach a problem, and being able to trust your judgment," Carlson says. "I've always thought of pesticides and herbicides as being the last resort. To be chemical-free, we have to get to the problems before they develop."

Especially when it comes to dandelions. That's what makes Carlson and his crew the worst hackers on their course.