Just ‘bee’ your best!
By Eloise Sarah Butcher (@eloisesarahbutcher)
Ouch. That is one word to sum up the first time I went beekeeping. It was the first year of my MSc in Entomology and I needed to catch a few drones -the male honeybee - before I could start my project.
Cut to a very early morning car ride with my supervisor to a nearby experimental farm. We unpacked all the equipment that I had triple-checked the day before and started preparing to open a hive. With equal parts nerves and excitement, I got a quick lecture in beekeeping 101 — how to pack and light your smoker, what to look out for in the hives and most importantly how to wear your suit. Even though that early morning was chilly, by the time we reached the hives it was hot and humid in those suits… next lesson: if you feel something run down your back, it’s only sweat, but if you feel something run up your back it’s probably a bee!
My supervisor opens the first hive and it is instantly overwhelming, trying to stay calm and move slowly, but despite the smoke, hundreds of bees pour out demanding to know who is disturbing their hive. It’s a magical little world inside the hive, with beautifully engineered honeycombs and bustling workers.
We start inspecting the frames for drone larvae all while feeling little “pings” bouncing off our gloves and suits. The female workers are trying to intimidatingly body slam us, desperate to protect their honey and their queen. We finish as quickly as we can, closing the hive with an apology to the little ladies — no drones here. We move to the next site and my supervisor decides I’m ready to open my first hive. With trepidation I wedge open the lid of the hive. Gently we ease out a frame and yes, we’re in luck! Finally, a frame with drones, more than enough to start my project. I quickly transfer the frame into a carrying cage and turn back to close the hive, but then I start to smell something familiar… bananas?!
You see, these ladies are very angry and have started to release an alarm pheromone sending out a message to the rest of the hive that they are in attack mode. This pheromone just so happens to smell like bananas to humans and it’s a sign we need to finish up — quickly! We close up the hive, but a few brave bees manage to sting the side of my face through the veil. Quickly walking through the bush and out into an open field we are pursued by an angry, buzzing cloud. We have to walk up and down while I try to remove the stings through my suit until they decide we are no longer worth the effort of attacking. Just as quickly as it started, its over but I’ve gotten what I came here for. Field work can be terrifying, but its equally rewarding when everything works out eventually!
