River Lesse, Belgium

I had last fished with my brother, Bryce, almost nine years ago. That was on a hot Boxing day in the mountains overlooking the Lowveld of South Africa, where summer storms would hang thick in the air and wild-speckled rainbow trout thrived in a cool mountain stream. 

Bryce now lives in Belgium. Last year, when participating in the Wild Trout Trust's auction, I bid on a day for two fishing for trout in a river in Belgium and won. The drought conditions in Europe in 2022 put paid to taking up the day when scheduled and we rolled over into 2023 when conditions were more suitable. I looked forward to spending another day fishing with my brother after an all too long absence. 

And so we spent the last week of August in Belgium, driving there and taking the ferry crossing. With my 2½ year-old and 3 month-old boys in tow, we felt the car would be the most convenient and comfortable mode of travel. All went smoothly except that we perhaps underestimated the cavalier - almost disdainful - speed of the French border agents when leaving England. Keeping little boys happy in a long, static line of cars used up a week's worth of imagination.

Our trip presented a microcosm of the curious duality of Belgium, a country which straddles the boundary between Romance and Germanic cultures. We spent three days in Leuven, the city where my brother lives, in the flat and featureless landscape of the Dutch-speaking half of the country. Here there was a sense of efficency and modern comfort. We then drove south-east for around three hours to our accommodation on the banks of the River Lesse in Wallonia, the French-speaking half. Here an old world charm prevailed. The terrain gradually changed en route, become hillier and rugged, and agriculture made way for the dense forests of the Ardennes. The name evoked memories of long-ago school history lessons and I could see why it was once believed the region was impenetrable to a German mechanised advance. How wrong that proved to be!

B&B Moulin de Resteigne

Our journey to Wallonia felt like a step back in time, a feeling reinforced when we arrived at the end of a narrow lane to our accommodation for the next three nights, the Moulin de Resteigne. The grand, high-ceilinged hall and hunting trophies gave the venue the opulent atmosphere of a medieval chateau. 

The River Lesse churned a water wheel adjoining the house, built in the 17th century and now used to generate electricity. A wooden footbridge beside the house crossed the clear waters of multiple braids of the river to a picnic table where my family and uncle Bryce enjoyed an evening meal. We watched as fish rose in the approaching dusk light, thankful for the absence of mosquitos. It was the perfect venue and a happy family moment.

Our fishing hosts were the father and son duo of Luc and Philippe Pierssens, who we found to be passionate and knowledgeable anglers, and exemplary hosts. Without taking anything away from any of my previous auction hosts, who have all been excellent and obliging, Luc really went the extra mile, even down to having his wife deliver an unexpected picnic lunch of Belgian sausages, cheeses, breads and local beer and wine. I can't thank the Pierssens family enough for the delectable taste provided in a few hours of Belgian cuisine, fly fishing and life in general (including Luc's tales of landowners with shotguns and local family feuds!).

Bryce (l), Philippe (c) and Luc (r).

After a meet and greet at 09.30am Luc whisked us off for a short distance in his car, turning off at a gravel track where we parked in a forest. We walked down the  hillside, looking out for hidden strands of barbed wire and the holes left by wild boar, and stepped out from the dense trees into a secluded valley where the river emerged from steep sided hills and entered lush pasture. Luc took Bryce under his wing and they headed off downstream, Luc eager to teach him the art of fishing a wet fly (something new to Bryce). I was left a gorgeous looking run of rippled water which stretched for about 50m upstream, advised to use nymphs if I didn't mind fishing with them, and Philippe set off upriver.

The Lesse was wide by the standards I usually encounter, rocky bottomed, and whilst clear the water carried a brown tinge. It reminded me very much of the River Usk in Wales, a river I hold in very high regard. 

I waded into the water and began to methodically work a shaggy, weighted Hare's ear pattern in a fan pattern. After around half an hour of experimenting with the depth of the fly, and adding an extra nymph to my leader, I was around two-thirds of the way up the run when my indicator checked and I came to have a fish on the end of my line. After a spirited fight the fish came to my hand (I hadn't packed a landing net for the trip) and I was thrilled that it was a brown trout, richly coloured in hues of yellow, olive and red, with black spots like the raisins in a Christmas panettone cake. I love catching a first trout from a new country and from that moment my day had already been made.

My first Belgian trout.

The weather forecast was poor and it was spitting with rain. Grey clouds hugged the hills, concealing the source of a high-powered jet engine which roared continuously in the skies above. Luc later said it was an F-16 of the Belgian Air Component.  I fished the rest of the run without joy and was distracted for some time by the antics of a dipper. When I moved around a bend in the river I could see Philippe in the far distance. I watched as he caught several fish from a deep pool. He would later tell me they were a mix of trout and grayling.

We reconvened downstream at 12.30pm. Bryce had felt a few tugs and pulls but none of the takers had fully committed to the enterprise of being hooked. We left the river and climbed the hill to Luc's car in high spirits, the natural beauty and solitude of the Lesse a tonic.

We recommenced fishing at 2.00pm, a little way downstream from our B&B, where a three arch stone bridge spanned the river. The local chateau stood on one bank, a café and restaurant on the other. The sumptuous pool downstream of the bridge was decreed by Luc to be a "no fail" pool and we all gathered on the bank to watch as Bryce sent his wet fly downstream to what we envisaged were hungry and eagerly waiting trout. His fly received a few nips but once again, nothing firm. After a little ribbing and Luc agreeing that the pool now deserved a new name, we separated and on this occasion I went downstream with Luc and Bryce stayed in the vicinity of the bridge with Philippe. 

Bryce taking direction from Luc at the No Fail Pool.

It started to rain heavily, the drops thudding loudly on the peak of my cap and hood of my rain coat, and on the water all around me. I spared a thought for Bryce who'd forgotten to bring a hat along with him on the trip. Within the next hour or so I managed to tempt a brace of trout and an equal number of silver-scaled coarse fish, perhaps roach or dace, with a Hare's ear. 

My family had walked down the river path from the B&B and I spent some time with my eldest son who was eager to take a hold of my fly rod and "fish" with it beside the river. He seemed genuinely thrilled and that made me happy.

For the final session the pressure was on for Bryce to catch a fish. We walked some way downriver from the bridge and on this occasion I would pair with my brother while Luc and Philippe went off even further downstream. But first, Luc suggested that as evening was approaching a dry fly might bring up a fish. He was keen for Bryce to target a cascading stretch of tumbling water where the trout would have very little time to think. Luc pointed to the small areas of glassy slack water where trout were likely to be holding. It was an ambitious tactic, calling for an accurate tuck cast which would impart extra slack and let the dry fly drift naturally for precious extra seconds. Bryce had found the day to be akin to taking a PhD course. Being more accustomed to stillwater fishing he was amazed by the complexity and thought-provoking nature of river fishing. To his credit, when he landed this new cast perfectly, allowing the large, bushy caddis pattern to sit invitingly still in the lee of a large boulder, a fish came rocketing up in a flash to take his fly. Unfortunately, his strike came too late and all four of us let out a groan, devastated in equal measure.

Bryce's moment eventually came in brilliant evening sunshine when a little coarse fish took his dry fly and this time he successfully managed to bring it to hand. His success, experienced just by the two of us, was a lovely and fitting way to bring our day together on the Lesse to a close. I hope we can fish again in the future a lot sooner than the previous interval. 

The next day we spent several lovely hours walking through the safari park at the nearby Domaine des Grottes de Han. The boys were too little to take in the caves but enjoyed seeing the wolves, bears and other animals. We had an enjoyable picnic lunch at the top of the cliffs overlooking the valley where the Lesse used to flow, before it cut into the limestone strata and disappeared underground. This was the second disappearing river which I had fished. The Big Lost River in Idaho was the other. Clear skies allowed us to see the F-16 fighter jets which buzzed high and low. That evening, whilst both boys lay fast asleep in their pram, we enjoyed a hearty and reasonably priced dinner on the terrace of La Taverne du Centre, washed down with the excellent local beers of the Brasserie de la Lesse. The restaurant seemed to be the only venue open in the cobbled town centre of Han-sur-Lesse, where the river re-emerges from the ground. 

We left Wallonia and Belgium the following day with a heavy heart and very fond memories. On top of seeing my brother again, and it also being our first holiday as a family of four, what made the trip special was that I'd never really considered Belgium as a venue to fish for trout. Yet I had found them in a beautiful place of hills, forests, quaint grey stone villages and Francophone charm.