Diary of a nervous beekeeperBeekeeping advice and information from a beginner’s perspective

Almost exactly twelve months ago I signed up to attend a novice beekeeping class run by my local division of the Essex Beekeepers’ Association (EBKA). The course cost just £40 and included three classroom sessions and three or four practical sessions in an apiary. I had no experience of beekeeping and didn’t own a hive or colony. Here were my thoughts at the time.

Thaxted Guildhall in Thaxted, Essex (photograph by Bev Aston)

Attend ‘Beekeeping for Beginners’ class run by Essex Beekeepers’ Association at the 600 year-old Guildhall in Thaxted. Beautiful building, if surprisingly small inside. All low ceilings and uneven floors.

My fellow beginners cover all ages (including teens, surprisingly) and both sexes, but with an encouraging preponderance of yummy mummies. Excellent. Something to tell the wife. For six months now she’s been gently indulging my talk of taking up beekeeping, including arranging for me to be given a copy of Ted Hooper’s Guide to Bees and Honey at Christmas. At the start of the New Year however, she quietly pulls me to one side and asks me whether I’m serious. Only I’ve been telling rather a lot of people, it seems. I might want to tone it down if I’m not.

I react with indignation. Of course I’m serious. I signed up for a course.

And now here I am, three months later, with still only a copy of Guide to Bees and Honey as proof of my intent; £12.99 worth of commitment, and I didn’t even pay for it.

I look around. Lots of other copies of Guide to Bees and Honey in evidence. I’m clearly in good company. I can’t recall whether it comes out as a result of a show of hands or just in the course of conversation, but it turns out I’m not in the minority. Plenty of people talking about buying beehives, and quite a few brandishing pages printed from the Internet featuring hives for sale, but not many fellow pupils actually own a beehive, it seems.

You see my problem is the start-up costs. This was meant to be a cheap hobby. I’d been hooked in by the promise of being able to do my bit to save the bee population, of hives and equipment costing a couple of hundred pounds – literally – and of my being able to recoup even that (should I be so inclined) by selling a few jars of honey. And I’m sure there was a time, not so very long ago, when that was the case. It just isn’t any more. The same magazine articles, radio and TV programmes that drew my attention to the plight of the honey bee also caught the attention of thousands of others. Equipment prices shot up. Rustic old beekeepers couldn’t believe their luck when stuff they’d had laying around in a field or shed for years was suddenly worth more second-hand than they’d paid for it new. Ebay is now awash with chancers selling ‘beginner hives’ they’ve knocked up in their spare time.

If I’d wanted an expensive hobby I’d have bought a motorcycle. If I’d wanted to splash out more cash on house and garden the catalogue of things on our ‘to do’ list remains endless. This was meant to be a low-cost diversion, a bit of fun – relaxing.

‘Beekeeping for Beginners’ course – week 1

The problem is immediately acknowledged by Richard and Jane, who are delivering the course. I sense tacit resignation among all present that this is going to cost. Now it’s just a matter of establishing how much.

Richard and Jane put on a good show, neatly avoiding the perils of death by PowerPoint and deftly handling an uninhibited barrage of questions. Turns out Jane used to teach at secondary school. So we cover the bee colony, the bee’s anatomy, the inside of the beehive, and beekeeping equipment and tools – all at a rattling pace, for an hour and a half – before ending the evening with tea and biscuits.

It’s fascinating. What amazing little creatures they are. How industrious and devoted to the common good. About the only criticism you can level at them is that they produce more food than they need. What a preposterous notion…

As I leave I’m at once elated, exhausted and in more of a quandary than ever. This looks like fun. This looks like a worthwhile challenge. There has to be another way.

Essex Beekeepers’ Association’s ‘Beekeeping for Beginners’ classes start Tuesday 8 March 2011 18:45-20:00hrs at Thaxted Guildhall, CM6 2LA. More details from Jane Ridler at EBKA. Open to members of the EBKA, membership of which costs £30.

Photograph of Thaxted Guildhall reproduced by kind permission of Bev Aston. See more of Bev’s images, including some delightful shots of bees, on her Photostream page on Flikr.

I never had a problem with wasps before I took up beekeeping. That is to say, they never bothered me. At the risk of incurring the wrath of the RSPCA (do they care about insects?) I actually rather enjoyed flicking rulers and elastic bands at them, in which respect I’m no different from 99% of all males, I’m sure.

That changed when I got my first colony however. The little so-and-so’s steal honey and generally give bees a hard time, which meant that elastic bands and rulers were no longer going to cut it as far as I was concerned. Once I’d got a beehive of my own I bulk-bought wasp spray from the local Homebase and, when that wasn’t enough, brought in council reinforcements. The garden became a bit of a wasp no-fly zone.

But wasps are big girls blouses compared to hornets. Last summer I was in the shed when a hornet flew in. It was a bit like being joined by a Lancaster bomber. Hornets are big and make an unmissably loud droning noise when they fly. I’m also told that they’re bad-tempered and that their sting hurts more than anything, both facts I’m ready to believe without any supporting evidence.

Vespa velutina (photo courtesy of Wikipedia). I'm indebted to David Lewis for putting me right.

Last week I received an email from the National Bee Unit about the Asian Hornet. It’s making its way from …er, Asia, across Europe and to the UK. And it’s big. Really big. I tip my hat to Douglas Adams when I say that you just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think that you’re common or garden British hornet is big, but that’s just peanuts compared to its Asian cousin. Up to 45mm in length, it’s half insect, half golf ball – with hypodermic needle attachment. Its sting is apparently 6mm long.

Vespa velutina (so named because it’s the size of a small scooter, and just as irritating) raiding parties can apparently decimate a colony in hours. They sting or cut their way through guards and workers before setting to work on the larvae, which they then take back to feed their own young. Until I received the email I’d been under the impression that there had only been a few sightings in France. It turns out there had only been a few sightings in northern France. They’ve been at home in southern and central France for quite some time now, according to a really good article in the Bulletin Technique Apicole (reproduced in the September 2007 edition of Bee Craft). Makes you wonder why they can’t just stay there and enjoy the food and sunshine.

Not Vespa velutina as previously captioned, but in fact Vespa mandarinia (photo courtesy of ArboristSite.com)

Anyway, a species of Chinese honey bee Apis carana has developed a really efficient way of defending itself against attack. A crowd of bees pounces on the hornet and completely envelopes it before flapping its wings to raise the temperature of the ball to around 45 degrees Celsius. The honey bees can just about cope with the heat, but the hornet can’t and is roasted alive.

Naturalised European honey bees Apis mellifera, have begun to adopt the same defence strategy – in the Far East, at least – but slightly less effectively. Fewer workers attach themselves to the ball. Which brings me to my question: how do you teach honey bees to do this stuff before they get decimated by the yellow peril? Answers on a postcard please.