South East Ireland
with
Billy Walsh
A Visit to Belgium (part 3)
This is a story about love. About success and failure. About paranoia. About mobile phones. The magnificent seven and the fab four. About purity. About whiskey and vinyl. About Spaniards. It is moreover,
a story about Marcel Wouters from Westmalle.
Marcel with Den Ad. 1st Nationakl Ace pigeon KNDB and 1st Olympiade. winner
And why, you may rightly wonder, are they connected? Is it mere coincidence? Pick up a crayon and come on a journey. Let us go and join the dots.
****
Yesterday's Man had the look of a man in need of more than a scotch when he laid his slender frame upon stool beside me at the club house bar. He had just left the company of the one and only Tricky Ways. There's a Tricky Ways in every club. Every sentence is a declaration of war, in a juvenile, bully boy, sort of way. One wonders do they have a life outside pigeons. Maybe not. Pigeons have an intoxicating effect. The phone surgically attached to the ear. Wait till I tell you this.....What have you heard.... What you make of this then..........! Conspiracy is everywhere. Tricky and Yesterday's Man are both in the Saturday for Old birds Sunday for Young birds club.Tricky wins the odd race, in spite of himself, according to PJ behind the bar. A turkey, he says, knows more about Christmas than Tricky knows about pigeons.
Now Is this coincidence? Both in the same club? Coincidence does not exist in Tricky's world. Idle conversation a mere ruse for "what they're really saying".Tricky's final, gasping sentence, as he shuffles from this mortal coil, this unimportant ball of wax in an ever expanding universe, posted on Tricky's Facebook page as his battery runs out for the last time. "Lads, I know where this is heading."
As Tricky went outside, with his phone to his ear I heard him address the person at the other end, "Bugsy, does anyone know who this Prometheus guy is yet"?
I always thought Bugsy a curious name for a fancier.
Yesterday's Man called for a drink Now, was it coincidence, Tricky might have wondered, that PJ was, at that moment, playing an old Beatles' album. McCartney's vocals lulling the bar to a sensible sort of silence. Neither melancholy or abrupt, but as though we had surrendered, sensibly, for three minutes, life itself. Which was, in part, the reason Tricky took his conversation outside. And the silence was wonderful. The other reason being the mournful gob on Yesterday’s Man. McCartney was getting to him the way a love song finds a weak muscle in a broken heart. You feel they wrote that song just for you. Yesterday's man was feeling an emotion he had not felt since his courting days. He moved on the seat as though still feeling the hay in his pants.
Ah, now, you might be surprised I said Vinyl?
PJ, as many will know, owns the finest collection of vinyl this side of the Pecos. You cannot beat the smell of old vinyl. Believe it or not, Waterford's very own Judge Roy Bean has an eye for a bird and an ear for a tune. And pulls a decent pint. He laid my pint on the bar and raised the short glass to the optic for Yesterday's Man. The man would have a whisky. Pure whiskey he said. Don't add a thing. Not even ice, PJ. I want to tell you about pure whiskey. Pure Gold.
Yesterday, when all our troubles seemed so very far away, muttered Yesterday's Man as the song came to an end and the bar, having briefly indulged 1966, came back to the present. Yesterday, he said looking at me with misty eyes that neither sought refuge or aid, but rather a shoulder upon which to weep. Yesterday, when fanciers came for miles to see my pigeons, my lofts, my ventilation. They took notes on when I fed, how I fed. How I exercised. How far I trained. What times. About medications. What brands how often. Did I use tap water or buy from Lidl or Aldi or boil. They asked me questions on vitamins, my breeding methods; they came with measuring tapes to accurately measure the dimensions of my loft. My nest boxes. They took pictures with their cell phones. They took pictures of me holding my best pigeons. Of themselves holding my best pigeons. For their page they said. Did my best pigeons perch high or low? One even measured the distance from the top of my head to the ridge of the loft, then took pictures of the ridges themselves. Imagine, my ridges., covered in shit were worth photographing. I was confident then. I grew vein. Grew fat on the electricity of success . I had the feeling of a man who had conquered the world. Me, from an unknown corner of this unimportant globe, here was a Paddy who knew the satisfaction of Cortes standing on the highest peak of the Andes. I was the man with the secrets, the tricks. The Irish oracle. And that, that my dear friends, was my mistake. I clutched defeat from the bowls of victory.
I wonder how far to the ridge?
Neither PJ nor myself spoke, either to each other or Yesterday's Man. We did not ask how or why. Instead, a look passed between us. A look of understanding. Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen as they said Adios to the love struck young cowboy. Bogart and Claude Reins at the end of Casablanca. Let the scene play itself out. Catharsis is good for the soul. Even the soul of the silent observer.
And so we observed. I left my pint sit on the bar. It somehow felt wrong to touch it in this moment.
No one comes to see me now, he said, in a melancholy sort of way. He held his glass in his hand, swirling it, never raising it to his lips for it might be seen as an invitation for me to do likewise. Pure whiskey lads. Look at it and he raised the glass to the light. It sparkled, briefly. My children live in another town now, he went on. Married to strangers. My wife lives with he who was once my competitor. Once my friend. And she took our bed, she had grown accustomed to its curves just as I had grown accustomed to hers. But he is more successful than I. Now they measure the distance from my competitor's head to the ridge of his loft. They photograph his nest boxes. The insides of his feed bins. They would bathe his feet and wrap them in swaddling clothes This new Messiah. While I, in my mind's eye, measure the distance from my competitors toes to the end of my bed. His hands upon my trophy.
And yet, and yet still, I have the same loft as before. New bed of course. The distance from the top of my head to the ridge of my loft is as it was. I still have my tricks, my secrets, the blood, but I now longer breed the good pigeons. The rest no longer matters. Even to myself. I had been fortunate to discover in my loft, as a miner in a shaft, a rich vein. I could not fail. I would never need to add again, never search for a good bird again. I brought nothing in because I knew there was, nothing, nothing at all, no other pigeon good enough to cross into my own. My gold was pure gold. That was my mistake. I have learned too late this illusion of purity, and he added water to his whiskey.
How often, I wonder, even in our clubs, do we see a fancier, who, for a short few years seems unbeatable? Everything he touches turns to gold. And then, just as he seems set to go even higher, he falls from the peak. He no longer rises with the dawn as he did in days of success. He is more often to be found elsewhere than in the loft. The rest is as familiar to you, dear reader, as is the broken heart of young man when he discovers the object of his desire, this virginal beauty of his dreams, is not quite so pure as he had thought.
So what has this to do with Marcel Wouters. A former postman.The Cat Man. The Lion King from Westmalle. Nothing, and yet it has everything. If only for contrast.Two pigeons, in particular, sent Marcel to the highest peak of the Andes. But Marcel is no Spaniard. Marcel is a Belgian and in this swirling cauldron of pigeon heat there is no room for ego. There is a champion on every rock. One for every peak and pebble and more climbing behind looking to take their place. There is no height that your competitor will not climb to show that you do indeed have feet of clay.
And here is the biggest contrast. The acknowledgement of the champion, without envy. Without conspiracy. The winner is acknowledged because he has won, not because it is claimed the pigeons go over his house. The winner is acknowledged and next week we do battle again. In Belgium, only the pigeons have wings. Perhaps this is why they use the expression "to play" when it comes to racing. The fancier plays with his pigeons. As a musician plays One seldom sees conspiracy in musicians. Tricky would have little to occupy his cumbersome mind had he a note in his head.
In his company, one quickly realises that Marcel's love for his birds, and dedication to family. His wonderful wife, Gerda, does the translating. His eyes flutter relentlessly from the conversation to the lofts He is both eager to converse and eager to go to the garden to the birds. Sad to think we came so close to losing him from the sport following the death of Luc Geerinckx. One senses from Marcel, even still, the loss. He points to himself and uses the only words he utters in English. "He was my friend".
Not many in this sport are not aware of De Leeuw (The Lion) And Den Extreem. But we will come to these Giants momentarily. For Marcel there are no secrets. No yesterdays to pine for. Only the next race matters.There are only good and bad pigeons. And only a fool believes that is a secret.
The loft is the same now as it was before the legends came An aviary for the youngsters has been added recently, otherwise it is an ordinary garden loft. Only the results are extraordinary. Truly extraordinary. Not just for Marcel Wouters, but the line from De Leeuw and Den Extreem have been winning across Europe now for more than a decade now. Geerinckx, Rik Kermans, Jos Vercammen (the world famous Elektro is a son of Den Extreem) The No 1 breeding hen of Ad Schaerlaeckens is a daughter of Den Extreem when Extreem was mated to Mother Leeuw. A joint mating between Marcel and Schaerlaeckens saw De Leeuw mated to a grand daughter of Ace Four and immediately produced the heir to De Leeuw, a bird destined that surpass them all . The Superbird, Den Ad. National Ace pigeon and Olympiad winner in 2013. It would make Marcel internationally famous. It would also make Marcel's life easier to sell him. But he goes on breeding at the loft in Westmalle.
It was Geerinckx who persuaded Marcel to race his hens and success was instant. 2nd National Bourges with a daughter of Den Bourges. Bourges is a direct son of De Leeuw and again he was the result of a joint mating. This time De Leeuw was mated to a hen from Dirk Van Dyck. Can you see a pattern yet? Are you joining the dots? De Leeuw and Den Extreem have been mated to the best hens Belgium has to offer and the blood integrated into Marcel's family. It is a simple and highly successful strategy.
It was Jack Curtis who many years ago wrote a terrific book on the two point breeding methods of George Busschaert. The Klaren and Sooten. I doubt Marcel ever read it or heard of Jack Curtis. He never heard of George Busschaert. But the similarities are striking. Always the breeding goes back to De Leeuw and Extreem. And now Den Ad.
And so what of the results and methods. Let's us look at some recent results only. Bear in mind this is a back garden set up competing primarily in the light middle and heavy middle distance races. These are the targets. Just some results coming through Marcel's pigeons in the hands of others recently: A mere flavour.
1 Nat. Bourges 37.090d 2009 ( Hok Vercammen )
1 Nat. Bourges 24.676d 2010 ( Rik Hermans )
1 S.Nat Blois 1.165d ( Hok Vercammen )
1 I.prov Blois 1.519d ( Hok Vercammen )
1 Prov. Argenton 971d ( L-B-J Geerinckx )
2 Nat. Bourges 20.544d 2011 for Marcel.
3 Nat. Argenton 6.033d ( L-B-J Geerinckx )
2 Prov. Montlucon 2.152d ( L-B-J Geerinckx )
3 Prov. Chateauroux 1.605d ( L-B-J Geerinckx )
5 Nat. Gueret 5.080d 2009 ( As Maegh )
7 Nat. Bourges 20.544d 2011 for Marcel.
3. New Generation Witje Ad 7th National ace pigeon Petite Fond.
In 2015 Marcel wins 1st Asduif ZAV halve fond with Tiger. 7th National Ace pigeon petirte fond with Witje Ad a direct son of Den Ad, with two more in the top 12 in the KBDB ace pigeon list tiger and Charlotte. 3 in the first dozen is a remarkable achievement. In recent weeks alone Marcel wins 1st Prize Chateauroux in the highly competitive St Job against 613 yearlings. 1st Prize Souppes against 2,028 Old birds in Union Antwerp zone west.. Shortly after he has 3 top wins on the same day. BE15-6090908 was 1° Melun 505 birds. BE15-6090848 wins 1° Montçlucon 160d. 4° Provinciaal Antwerpen 1.654 d and an impressive 11° Nationaal against 10.753 d.BE16-6076461 was 1° Noyon 431
The new generation, the cross pollination of the best is reaping rewards. Big rewards for Marcel & Gerda, these most likable of people. We neither need nor want reams of results here. Why lose your attention now? Just as we getting to the juice. The low down. The score. The methods, This is what you really want to know. After all, you do believe in secrets.
Marcel: De Leeuw was a real crack. I nominated him for National Ace pigeon Middle distance, his co efficient was 1;551. that is extremely fast, and so it was a disappointment when he was 8th. But perhaps fortunate for had he won then the pressure to sell him might have proved too much. So he went to the breeding loft after only a season and a half racing. That is the mistake too many small fanciers make when they have an exceptional bird. They race it too long. Until it drops or gets lost. That year I was extremely lucky in that in the loft there was another exceptional bird in Den Extreem. He was an odd bird in that on good days he flew not very well. But when the weather was extreme he flew exceptional. It is for birds such as this we take up the sport. In 2002 I wanted a hen and went to the loft of Cop-Gigsbreghts. Koen pointed to a hen and said she is the one for you. She became the mother of De Leeuw.
It was in 2008 having won 6 x 1st prizes in the very strong St Job that Jos Vercammen came to call and bought young from De Leeuw and Extreem. The next year Vercammen wins 1st National Bourges with a gchild of De Leeuw against 37,357 young pigeons. That was the start of Marcel's fame.
It was Luc Geerinckx who persuaded Marcel to try hens, From the Bourges race in 2011 Marcel's first 4 arrivals were hens including 2nd National 7th National etc. Overall Marcel;s methods are simple. In winter he uses an 11 liter water fountain and makes life simpler still. Around December 10 the birds are examined and any treatment required is given. The motto is if there is nothing amiss don;t do anything, Protect the good birds in this way. Marcel takes one round from the races before separating them. On April 1st they are reunited for 3 days before being placed on Total Widowhood. The 20 cocks stay on the loft the 20 hens are moved to a small garden loft. This is where they trap to mid week. That is when training begins with no hard and fast rules. Sometimes the hens are liberated first sometimes together. They are left together for a time upon return and Marcel likes the atmosphere they create in the oft at this time. The day of basketting for the race is crucial. Every time they are fed the food is better. In this was they eat more. In the morning they are fed sparingly. Around noon some crib maize. Later oil containing seeds from Van Tilburg Oil dripping from the sack. Marcel is a big believer in and user of the Van Tilburg feeds. For Marcel the rest is observation and determination.
And that, such as it is, is that! You can put the crayons back in the box. Time for a nap.
And before I go! A word of thanks to the proprietor of Hotel California, The Klak Man himself. Also to Pat Maher, Richie Nagle, Peter Power and Bim Connors for all their help in moving the lofts to the new ranch. Just get them erected now and take it from there. With luck I will get at least some racing done.
The biggest breeder buyer in Ireland is the 13th August from Barleycove. The very best of luck to everyone from here on in.
Prometheus
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