Sunday at Augusta National and Joe Durant is finally inside.

He walks these forbidden fairways in peaceful anonymity, accompanied only by his caddie, his shadow and the occasional groundskeeper this sun-drenched Sunday.

As Durant holes out on 9, a row of staggered mowers marches down the fairway behind him. He turns to watch the precision performance, shakes his head and tells his caddie ``Wow.''

It's Sunday at Augusta.

There are green ropes but no galleries. Television stands, but no tripods. Bleachers, with reflections of sunlight bouncing from the brass, but no buzz to soak in.

The course, the one all golfers envision themselves playing, is not yet tainted by a week's worth of footprints. And here's Durant, who at one time quit golf to sell insurance, alone and in awe.

``Why didn't I bring a camera?'' the Masters neophyte asks himself. ``Once I got over the hill on 11, and saw all of Amen Corner, that's when I'm like, `Yeah, this is what it's all about.'''

It's Sunday at Augusta. Don't think these pros, both young and old, don't get juiced walking up and down these fabled hills. Augusta National becomes a golfer's fountain of youth, turning the most distinguished of professionals into kids in line at Space Mountain.

``If you can't get your battery charged here, then brother, you've got problems,'' said Fuzzy Zoeller, who prepared for the week with some turkey hunting in the North Carolina mountains.

Back to Durant, the Western Open champion a year ago. He broke a rib while picking up his wife at the airport before the Pebble Beach stop and feared the injury might knock him out of his first invitation.

``The best I can figure is she had a really heavy duffle bag, and I tried to throw it over my shoulder,'' Durant said. ``Then I felt something pop.''

He hasn't broken 70 since. In Atlanta, playing with David Duval the first two rounds, Durant ``played like a goat'' and missed the cut. Rather than sulk, he finally made the drive he's been waiting his golfing life for.

When Durant turned pro in 1988, his sponsor asked him if he'd be interested in a casual round at Augusta. Durant reluctantly turned him down, saying he wanted to earn his spot here, but not knowing if he ever would.

After four years of nothing golf, Durant gave it up, pursuing an insurance license. When he sold no policies in six months for Met Life, he stacked boxes and filled orders for Edwin Watts golf distributors.

There were no Sunday-at-Augusta fantasies while trudging from pro shop to pro shop. His wife, Tracey, talked him out of his life funk, encouraging him to retry the game he flamed out in.

Durant, who turns 35 on Thursday, returned happier and healthier mentally. He made it here, despite Augusta thoughts while trying to win the Western.

``I'm playing the most important round of my life, and for three or four holes, all I could think about was teeing off at Augusta,'' he said.

To satisfy his family this week, Durant rented two homes, one for his wife and two kids, one for the in-laws.

Also in the Durant entourage is his college golf coach, Steve Condon. While at little Huntingdon (Ala.) College in 1987, Durant's team played at the Palmetto Club in Aiken. Condon had the idea of driving the 20 miles to Augusta and seeing if he could talk his way onto the National's grounds.

``He's a pretty smooth talker, and he's talking to a guard for a while using all these hand gestures,'' Durant said. ``The guard's just kind of nodding his head, and all of a sudden, the guard's waving us through.

``So, I'm like `I can't believe this. Coach actually pulled this off, and we're going to get to go in there.' Nope. All he did was tell us to turn around and get our butts out of there.

``I got about two axles onto Magnolia Lane.''

Now he's got both feet in.