IT IS 2 P.M. on another brutally sunny August day, but the golf shop at Furnace Creek Golf Course is closed. Has been for weeks.

Not a soul stirs. And rightfully so. For you would question the sanity of anyone who voluntarily spends four hours outside in the lowest, hottest, driest place in the Northern Hemisphere.

The thermometer on this particular day reads 121 degrees -- about average for this time of year. The slightest afternoon breeze rising from the desert blows a hot, almost suffocating air. The heat sears your lungs. The very ground beneath your feet smolders. Native Americans called the place "Tomesha," meaning "ground on fire." They had it right.

"Hot" is too feeble a description for this summer afternoon in Death Valley, Calif. It is a day for rational human beings to stay inside at every opportunity, to sip a lemonade. But for the few, the brave -- the crazy? -- it is simply another day to play golf.

Officially, the golf shop at Furnace Creek closes during July and August due to the drop-off in players. The course is maintained, however; players, mostly locals during the two hottest months of the year, simply show up and go.

Carl Gustofsen, a year-round resident of Death Valley, plays at Furnace Creek almost every day, regardless of the temperature. "It's no big deal," he says. "The secret is to be prepared."

"Prepared" translates into carrying the proper rations, in this case a jug of iced tea, a gallon of water and a six-pack of soda. "That'll get me through the first nine," he says to an uncertain look from a visitor.

The sight of golfers willingly braving the oven-like heat brings cracks from nearby motorists. "Are you guys nuts or what?" a passerby yells as Gustofsen's group organizes itself on the first tee. The players in the group smile and wave, take a sip of something cold, belt their opening drives and go on their way.

"Carl's not kidding about all that liquid he carries," reassures John Liapakis, Furnace Creek's director of golf. "Anyone going out to play golf here in the summer needs plenty of water. The thing is, the heat is so dry, you hardly realize you're sweating. You can get dehydrated in no time."

But while the residents of Death Valley have a healthy respect for the fabled heat, they are not intimidated by it. "Hell, I play just about every day, too," Liapakis says. "People make too much of a big deal about playing here. It's only about 10 degrees warmer than Las Vegas in the summer, so it's not that bad."

Gary Wilbrig, who operates a gas station in the area and is also a summer regular at Furnace Creek, agrees. "It does help if you can keep your shots in the shade of those tamarisk trees," he says. "During the summer, any shot that lands in the shade is a good shot."

There is a problem that results from spending too much time in the shade during a round: coyotes. While they are no danger to players, they regularly move or take golf balls. One fabled story at Furnace Creek involved two brothers who were playing a tightly contested match. One hit a ball into a bunker, at which point a coyote dashed from his hiding place in the shade and picked up the ball. The coyote started across the green but dropped the ball near the flagstick. The other brother yelled foul, but the first responded with something about, "Show me in the Rule book where it says anything about a coyote picking up your ball." [See Rule 18-1, Ball Moved By Outside Agency.] The last Liapakis recalls, the brothers were still having one heck of an argument as they approached the 18th green.

An attorney from Portland, Ore., got so frustrated at coyotes moving his ball he threw his driver at one. The coyote dropped the ball, picked up the driver and took off into the wilderness. "Never did get it back," said head professional Rick Heitzig.

Coyotes and blistering heat aside, the very existence of a grass golf course in the midst of 5,000-plus square miles of desert is a small miracle. Most visitors to Death Valley National Park, the nation's newest, are unaware a golf course even exists. But golf purists shouldn't be on the lookout for lush fairways and velvety smooth greens.

"The grass is just common Bermuda," says Liapakis. "Actually, it works pretty good for our climate because it thrives in temperatures above 75. The course is at its greenest and best during the summer."

The course is not pin-up calendar material. "It's more like a '50s golf course," Liapakis explains. "An enjoyable play for seniors and families on vacation, but it won't challenge the scratch golfer."

Redesigned by William Bell 40-some years ago, the course offers 6,093 yards with five par 4s at or around 300 yards. It is flat, laid out in elementary fashion with almost every green in desperate need of attention. The course rating from the championship tees is 67.7.

On the other hand, Furnace Creek is not without its charm. Surprisingly, 10 of the 18 holes have water hazards. The beautiful Panamint Mountains, snow-capped for much of the year, are visible from almost anywhere on the course. Graceful date palm trees are everywhere, and Australian tamarisk trees line most fairways and provide welcome shade down cart paths. And for most of the year, the weather is terrific.

Temperatures from October through May are about as good for golf as anywhere in the world. The Death Valley Chamber of Commerce -- is that an oxymoron or what? -- boasts that temperatures in the valley range from the 60s to the 80s during those gosh awful winter months. While Bostonians or Montanans are up to their armpits in snow, they're lathering on the sunscreen and playing golf in Florida, Arizona and Death Valley. Ironically, the hottest temperature ever recorded in the Western Hemisphere, 134 degrees Fahrenheit, was taken at Death Valley in 1913. Earlier that same year, Death Valley had its coldest temperature ever, a bone-chilling 15.

An increasing number of golfers are discovering golf in the Death Valley area. Last year Furnace Creek took in more than 22,000 rounds. "It's a nice, relaxing place to play," says Heitzig. "There's no pressure. Because it's flat, a lot of golfers carry their own bag. Even though we're attracting more play now, normally you don't even have to call ahead for tee times." Golf in Las Vegas has become such a draw, some are avoiding the crowds by taking the two-hour drive to Death Valley.

Of course, maintaining a grass golf course in Death Valley is no easy matter. The average rainfall is 1.5 inches, the lowest in the United States. There was no rainfall at all in 1929 or 1953, and the record, all of 4.6 inches, was set in 1941. In 1959, the temperature hit triple figures every day from May to September except one, when it only got up to 99.

Liapakis and his eight-person maintenance crew are challenged just keeping the course green. They pour about 450,000 gallons of water on Furnace Creek's 18 holes every day during the summer, which translates to about three times the national average.

Furnace Creek obtains its water from two springs, the same ones that fill the Olympic-size swimming pool at the nearby Furnace Creek Inn, a luxurious green oasis on a bluff above the course.

"What would happen if the course didn't get watered every day?" Liapakis questions. "Disaster. Within a week or two, this course would revert to desert. That's why we have to water and maintain the course all summer, even though it's mostly us locals who play here in July and August."

The towering tamarisk trees, which some call salt cedars, that line most fairways at Furnace Creek are restful on the eyes. They also provide welcome shade for players, but they are decidedly a mixed blessing for the maintenance crew. For one thing, they'll take water at a prodigious rate. "Give them 20 gallons a day, they'll drink that," Liapakis says. "Give them 200 gallons daily, they'll take that, too."

The trees drop a salty substance on the ground that does not encourage the healthy growth of grass. "I don't know of any other golf course in this country that has this type of tree," says Liapakis, a regretful claim supported by the Golf Course Superintendents Association of America.

After years of doing battle with the brown spots around the salt cedars, Liapakis has decided to live with them. He has turned over the soil and raked it out nicely, in turn creating a sort of dirt hazard. "It doesn't look that great," he admits, "but nothing else was working."

While golfers enjoy the added carry of playing at high altitudes, Furnace Creek's location of 214 feet below sea level effects the opposite results. Or so some claim. Many of the locals insist the loss of distance to be fact; others believe it to be just another myth about playing golf in Death Valley.

What is not a myth are the sand storms that from time to time come out of the desert and provide one of Furnace Creek's unique hazards. "When one of those sand storms comes up, you just head for the nearest clump of trees and wait it out," explains Sylvia Ruybalid, a part-time assistant in the Furnace Creek clubhouse and a regular player during the summer. "There's no way you can play golf. Hey, on other courses you can get rained out occasionally. Here we have sand storm delays. It's no big deal."

Golf ball-stealing coyotes. Temperatures into the 120s. Blinding sand storms. Why would any rational person brave such conditions? "What else can I say?" asks Gustofsen near the end of his round. "I'm a golf nut."

It's as good a reason as any.

-- Hank Mattimore