In the town hall at Hungerford, Berkshire, United Kingdom, where I live, There is a case of  Taxidermy. It is of  three brown trout caught on the Hungerford water of the River Kennet and not one of the fish was under Five and three quarter pounds or approximately (two and a half kilos) when it was caught

They are Kennet ‘Greenbacks' a regional variant of the brown trout, that is endemic to  the  Kennet system. Nowhere else in the  British Isles do they occur and they are a prized quarry for anglers since they grow to ‘gargantuan' proportions. It is a fitting and cunning quarry.

Further down river in the Dining room at Craven House, they have a cased Kennet ‘greenback' caught on estate waters, that exceeds Fifteen pounds ( 7 kilos there about).

The Kennet 'greenback'  is legendry and highly protected with a strict catch and release policy being observed on most estates. Nevertheless the fish is becoming rare as introduced other strains interbreed with the natural strain to change the distinctive colour variation.

‘Greenbacks' are mainly cannibalistic and feed on crayfish and  other fish. They do  feed however, at certain times of the year, mainly high summer, when  Mayfly and Pale watery duns emerge feed at the surface. Then they are most likely to fall prey to the astute angler.

The fish that is the subject of my text had his own territory close to a weir type hatch gate, where the river turned from the main and rushed into  the  pool below before disappearing into the lower meadows below the town.

The weir is known as Bracket hatch  and the current runs fast into  the  hatch gate which is usually left partly raised. Consequently the current has cut a deep channel where the fish was apt to take cover.

For three seasons he tormented me as week upon week I tried every thing to tempt him out of his ‘castle'. His final undoing was his abject arrogance for he occasionally decided  a foray into calmer water especially on dull rainy afternoons.

On one such foray he finally decided to take my fly. I subsequently made a  botch of the whole affair and he made off with my fly, leader and rod tip not to mention a deal of my pride.

It was the last I ever saw of him. In the late Autumn  of that year however, the keeper found a carcase of a huge trout that weighed 8 pounds (3.5 kilos approximately). It had  been partly eaten by an otter. There is more to fishing than catching fish.

The Trout

By M.A.Meddings

He was Five and three quarter pounds
If yet an ounce and he had the fooling of me
This leviathan of the Kennet stream
Despite every clean and delicate presentation
He held station on the Bracket hatch
Deceptively easy to catch so I believed
As he and I played Cat and Mouse
Each Sunday before tea this giant and me
Playing look come see at the patterns I offer
Ten from the coffers of Williams
And a special from my vice you see

A tups indispensible seemed very sensible
In view of  approaching gloom
For those rainy day fornoons prevailed by late June
And Spurwing flotillas danced Tarantellas on the breeze and  
Pale watery interludes only just served to intrude
On the heightened state of my mind    
Now was the time I would have him
At least I might raise him 
And be home in the hour to take tea
But his  July indifference had taken him down
This trout was a  king in all his domain

Unassailable to all in the five o clock pall  
Yet enticingly active in rain
Protected by a  force on Bracket  hatch stream
He held his  station there 
With countless cumens passing his head
He was virtually a trout without care
Sans Souci his disdain of me
That could prove in the end his undoing
For in the  season before  I secretly saw
A plan for his capture ensuing
For most of the time he stayed right on line
In the run by the  bracketed hatch

Yet once in a while decided to trial 
A foray when the sun was high
He would move midtstream a classical dream
And away from his normal lie  
Then  he would porpoise roll with a subtle stroll
And a pride inbuilt on his eye 
Such a confident critter and none more fitter
Just as proud  as any trout could be
There was no finer fish on that Kennet stream
Wherein  I  had dreamed  to watch him
And  entice him  I would as  maiden I could
Then lay him  as a feather down on the mead

Twas an enticers deed of simple awesome worship
And such  could be fun for safe in his run
He sought the viscious disdain
The dance by chance of angler ascance  
So arrogant in all but the name 
He was loathe to move nor even prove
As the fly just whipped on past him
Yet out in the main 'twas a different game
For the current out there was more placid

In the drizzle and gloom of a wet afternoon
One Sunday he made his error
He took my fly with a  roll and a dive
Such a cast I never made better
Then in a moment had gone far far beyond
Any place that i might land him
Down through the hatch held up by the latch
To a place I could not follow
As my rod tip broke Twas nought but a stroke
Ill luck were  my feelings quite hollow 

But sweet console is nought if not
The true anglers dreaming
There are many swish of a tail that i wish
Were mine at the end of my scheming
For remember this if you will and  so  wish
There is far more to angling than catching Fish