At Vote Time, Wily Texas Anglers Hain’t Easy to Hook

An hour before dawn and the stars are thrown wildly across the sky from one far-off horizon to the other. A chilly autumn breeze combs across the Texas Panhandle, and it picks up grumblings of discontent, the vague but unmistakable uneasiness of the 1990s.

This is wrinkled, brushy countryside where Texans refine oil, raise cows and assemble America’s nuclear bombs.

And when that work is done, they go fishing for bass.

Men--mostly men, although there is one woman--line up near the unseen edge of the lake, under the glare of bare bulbs powered by a small generator. They are of all ages and they place their $30 entry fees on the card table, gulp steaming coffee, chew tobacco and chew the fat. At least one of them smells of whiskey. These are blue-collar Texas ol’ boys, who speak the twang, and after a week of ordinary labor they are ready for challenge.

Boy, hain’t they?

The contest is this: Who among the 35 entrants in Mel Phillips’ Outdoor World Bass Tournament can catch the heaviest three fish in the next 7 1/2 hours on the 16,000 acres of Meredith Reservoir? The winner will pay for his gas and pocket a few hundred dollars.

Come along and watch Americans hard at play. But a warning: Ask them about their future and the future of their country and you will hear a catch in their voices the size of any smallmouth bass they will pull from the dark, opaque waters of this lake.

In over-generalized terms, you can say there are three types of fishermen and women in the United States. Some fish for dinner. Others, like the trout fly-fishermen, keep their nose high in the air, use refined equipment and regard the activity as a restive escape from the competitive hurly-burly of their lives.

Then there are these, the tournament bass fishermen. During the work week, no one bothers to draw forth their creative juices. So fishing becomes a release rather than a refuge, competition rather than contemplation.

In tournament bass fishing there are trophies awarded according to pounds and ounces brought to the weigh-in--with the live fish hoisted in front of a crowd at day’s end before being released. And if winning requires a floating rocket-skiff propelled by a screaming 200-horsepower motor with electronic fish finder, 360-degree upholstered fishing stool and wind-up wriggle baits, the men of West Texas are ready with sharpened hooks long before the sun lightens the distant edge of their world.

And when it’s over, they will talk you dry about the 1992 election. Their opinions, it seems, are as pent-up and underutilized as their competitive urges.

Dennis Sheley drives a truck for a grocery chain. He hasn’t had a raise in two years and does not expect one soon. His wife sells insurance, he has an insurance license if he needs it, and he also rebuilds automatic transmissions in his garage.

Among his accumulations, Sheley has a bass boat, a Suburban to pull it, a mortgage on his house and “some savings.”

Sure, many Americans struggle with much less. But satisfaction is not always measured in a straight line from the bottom rung.

“I’m not losing ground, so in that regard I’m lucky. But I’m not gaining ground either. And I’ve got four grown kids who are having fits. They tell me, ‘I can remember when you and Mom used to do such-and-such.’ But not them.”

Sheley reaches for words to describe his frustration, but the words entangle him. Taxes are too high, he says, and there is always talk of putting them higher yet. But then, it makes him mad when Americans seem unwilling to pay the price to get the country out of debt.

Well, yes, these are opposing thoughts, Sheley admits. “But hell, I’m not a politician. . . . I look at it like this lake. We need more fish in the lake, but the state won’t help us. . . . So we’re going to have to stock it ourselves. Same thing with the country. Complaining that government won’t help won’t help. But we got to do something. . . . “

He is not alone among the bass fishermen in feeling his country and the lives of his countrymen are adrift.

Phillip Whitehead powers his skiff to the muddy bank and steps forth to take a place among the winners of the tournament. His three fish weigh a total of two pounds--a puny take for most tournaments, but not bad for this late in the season on this lake.

Like Sheley, Whitehead despairs that politics has become stagnant, inert, disengaged from people like himself.

“We need somebody who is going to do something,” he says, spitting generous squirts of brown juice between thoughts. “If you’re getting by today, you’re doing good. There hain’t no getting ahead.”

Whitehead is an oil field welder. He’s moved three times already in his life to chase work. He dreads a fourth. But the energy business in Texas is slow. Some days he has nothing to do on the job.

“What’s ahead for my kids? I don’t even want to think about that. We’re taking it day by day.”

Fishermen like these say they will put off their candidate shopping. Maybe something will get their interest at the last minute.

But Meredith Reservoir also draws its feisty partisans.

“Politics? I’ll tell you . . .” begins Chuck Thompson, an Amarillo carpet and flooring man, who returns with no bass this day. “Perot scares hell outta me. My wife and mother are staunch Democrats, and they’re going Perot. But I think the guy would raise hell with Medicare, education, you name it. The problem is, he’s out of touch with Americans.

“Me, I’m for Bush. He’s out of touch too, but he’s got more marbles in his sack than anyone else.

“Let’s hope this three-way race helps bring him home. You know, I ran for county judge once. It was a three-way race like this one now. I was supposed to win, like Bush, because the other guys were going to split the vote. Lost by 1,100 votes. Trouble is, I’m a motor mouth . . .. “

No arguing that point.

Avery Copeland, a retired Teamster, also comes back with his boat’s fish tank empty. Like millions of Americans, he used to vote “for the man” each election.

“Well, that didn’t get me anywhere. So I’m voting straight ticket now. Ol’ Bush? He’s giving our jobs away. Perot? He didn’t have a chance when he first opened his mouth. I’m going Democrat. Clinton hain’t lying to us.”