Belgium – On the Tow Path

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For as long as I’ve been fishing, I’ve been drawn to the idea of targeting the Belgian canal systems. Not just for the mega carp rumoured to patrol those dark, forgotten waterways, but for the setting. The towpaths give a sense of freedom and adventure. It feels like a different world. Belgium Canal Carp Fishing is something else !

For years, it was one of those “I’ll do it one day” trips — always on the list, never quite within reach. Until this year, when I messaged two mates and said, “Shall we just go?”

They didn’t need asking twice, and the research began.

The research was patchy. A few phone calls, too much time staring at Google Earth, and many late nights in front of the computer. Carp fishing in Belgium is split into two zones: north and south. The north is wide, industrial, dramatic — but a bit much for a short trip and our first time across the border. The south, though — Wallonia is quieter. More mystery, less mayhem. The waterways are smaller, more personal. Ideal for stalking canal carp, easy to bait up and revisit throughout the session. We settled on southern Belgium.

The permit situation? A minefield. Someone said you could get them at post offices. Someone else said that hadn’t been the case in years. Eventually, we managed to sort out Walloon region permits online for around £120. Not cheap — but absolutely worth it.

This wasn’t a holiday — it was a hunt.

Everything got stripped back: just enough to fish, sleep, and move again. No 48-hour sessions. This was boots on, rods down, and hunting for carp. Mobility was everything.

I’ve always favoured Atomic Tackle. Their end tackle is quality and more than capable of handling the snags we were fishing to.

Being co-owner of Alliance Baits, bait was never going to be an issue. I went in with Squid & Octopus and Black Pepper boilies (both 18mm), fermented particles, and tiger nuts to keep nuisance fish at bay. Slip D rigs are my go-to. Never let me down.

The plan was simple: spend the days walking canal banks, finding the fish. Then fish for them at night. We baited multiple areas and revisited them throughout the trip. If we saw fish feeding, a show, or bubbling, we’d quietly drop a rig in and wait.

We started on a semi-known stretch. It had form. My mate opened the account with two tidy 20lb+ commons — proper clean canal carp. That buzz hit instantly.

I was still waiting for my first bite and couldn’t hold back on this stretch. I went out hunting and dropped an Alliance Baits Squid & Octopus and Black Pepper hookbait into an area where carp were showing. Rod on the ground, no alarm. Then… the clutch ticked. First fish for me: a lovely Mirror came over the net cord. Job done.

Later that day, a local angler turned up and started fishing right where I’d dropped one in the margin. I let him know I was fishing there — but he wasn’t having any of it.

“I’m fishing here,” he said. “I’m not moving.”

To say I was deflated is an understatement. And yes — I did tell him where to go !

That night, the sky was jet black. We heard movement. A lot of it. We saw flashlights near the van and then eight figures appeared out of nowhere.

It was like something out of a film — the Guarde de Pêche.

Eight men. Torches. Jackets. Guns on their hips. They were waving arms, pointing at our rods, shouting “Permis?!” and then hit us with a demand: “€100 each.”

We showed them our permits, but apparently that wasn’t enough. They wanted money. We were shattered, still annoyed about the angler earlier, and now being hit with this?

No chance. We stood firm, politely but stubbornly. Eventually, they made us reel in to check we weren’t using meat baits ! It was all a bit surreal. We’re convinced the local angler from earlier took a disliking to us and sent the Guarde to wrap us up. Time to move on.

We switched zones. More walking. More water. Eventually, we found dark silhouettes moving through the weed. We baited it hard — then moved on. Give them space. Let them settle and feed with confidence.

Later that day, we came across a quiet stretch. No other anglers. That night? It came alive.

I had three bites in 12 hours. All decent fish, but the standout was a beaut of a common. One of those ones you never forget.

We had one night left. We moved again, this time to a narrow, wild, weedy stretch. Not obvious, but full of promise.

I found a hole in the weed and dropped in a single 18mm Squid & Octopus, and Black Pepper boilie on a Slip D rig. Minimal bait, just a trap set with intent.

Before bed, I told my mate, “I’m having a thirty tonight.”

At 4:30am, the buzzer melted off. The fight was mental and it weeded me up twice. At one point, I thought I’d lost it. But eventually it slid over the cord.

We took photos in the early light. Then just sat there — knackered, buzzing, sipping tea, and soaking it all in.

Fishing in Belgium isn’t about turning up and casting out. It’s about movement. It’s about watching more than fishing. It’s about finding the fish, baiting smart, and earning every bite.

We fished four nights and I had five fish, all special in their own way. But more than that, we lived it. Walked it. Earned it.

And we’ll be back — 100%. Next time, we’ll just make sure we know the Dutch and French Walloon for “We’re definitely not paying that fine.”