Yes, I feel like a Seasoned Beekeeper now.
It’s yesterday and I’m at work, just got back from lunch and the red light on my phone is lit indicating there’s a voicemail message waiting for me.
“Honey, call me back. The bees are doing something funny.”
Immediately, swarming is at the back of my mind. Several weeks before, I had set up two bait hives around the property in anticipation of a swarm or two, it being April and all. I even posted questions on this forum about the mystery surrounding the lure properties.
I called her back right away.
“What’s doin?”
“I was walking the dogs back up the driveway and I heard the bees buzzing from a long ways away and I thought they were a lot louder than usual. As I got closer I could see there was a lot of them just flying around the small oak tree across the driveway from the hives. I was afraid they would sting the dogs so I walked Max and Niki around the back side of the tree.” Swarming now moves from the back to the middle of my mind.
“Did you see a clump of bees in the tree?”
“No, but I didn’t look too close. Do you want me to take the phone and walk down there?”
“Heck ya!”
“Ok, I’m getting close…………..WOW!” Swarming is now at the frontfront of my brain and I immediately begin to think of a good excuse to go home early.
“Do you see a clump?”
“I’m gonna go get the movie camera!”
“So, you see a clump then?”
“It’s huge!”
“I’ll be there in 30 minutes!” Click.
I drove up the driveway and stopped next to the tree. By this time the clump was twice as big as when she first noticed it. I quickly surveyed the situation: It was pretty high in the tree and my extension ladder could reach it but the ground was very uneven, which figures. The branch was embedded among other branches so I would have to trim around the swarm quite a bit before I cut the supporting branch.
I rushed into the house to gather my still camera, put on some proper clothing and take a quick peek at some basic instructions I had saved for just such an event. The instructions said that if this is your first time retrieving a swarm you’d better stick to the easy ones where you can reach them from the ground and where there are few obstacles. Leave the more difficult ones to the professionals. I wadded up the instructions, threw them in the corner and headed out to the shed where I picked up a spare nuc I had prepared, a variety of branch-cutting instruments and several ladders.
I walked down the hill to where my wife was standing, taking movies of the swarm. I reminded her that after about 10 seconds of the same shot, those watching the video will begin to lose interest so why waste footage? Take some pictures of her handsome husband doing some serious beekeeping instead. The camera remained focused on the bee swarm.
“Will they sting me?”
“They’re not in the mood to sting anybody, there are other things on their mind right now. Do you want some protection?”
“No one’s bothered me yet.” She was about 10 feet away from the frenzy. Brave, I thought.
I put on my bee jacket, veil and gloves and tried to find a stable position for the ladder. It just wasn’t possible. Finally, with the written advice I had read earlier about leaving this to the professionals swirling in my brain, I piled some rocks under two legs of the ladder and hoped I had more than 20 minutes left to live.
I cut away all the branches that might get in the way and knock bees from the swarm cluster after I cut and lower the main branch. I felt a little sorry for the tree. Realizing I couldn’t cut and hold the branch while clinging to an extension ladder at the same time, I employed my wife, Sally, to do the cutting while I held the branch from the other side of the cluster. So now she’s up the ladder 3 or 4 feet from the swarm. Brave, I thought.
“Ok, the idea is to cut the branch and not have the branch with the bees on it snap back or else they might all fall off and then we will have a fog of bees to deal with, much more so than they already are.”
“I can do that!” It’s a big ratchet cutter. You can cut some pretty big branches with little effort. Click, click, click.
“Almost got it. One more click!”
Click. SNAP! A sharp jolt to the main branch! Maybe 40% of the bees drop off and smack the ground! Where are those professionals I didn’t call? Seconds later the air is filled with bees but it now has a greater concentration of bees than it has oxygen molecules. My wife is on the ladder but she is inside the tree foliage and the bees are sticking to the open air, where I am.
“smmmmbzzzdddpppgrrrrnndd” she said.
“What?”
“som bzzzzz ddrrppppp o a grnnd”
“I can’t hear you, the bees are too loud!”
“SOME BEES DROPPED OFF AND HIT THE GROUND!”
“oh.”
Before the branch was cut loose I made a practice run climbing down the tall step ladder I was on, using no hands. It wasn’t easy to do. Now, holding a branch full of thousands of clinging stinging insects only inches from my face, I thought there was a good chance my life expectancy might be down to mere seconds. Fortunately, I made it all the way down with the remaining bees intact and headed over to the 5-frame nuc. I lowered part of the branch into the nuc but I could see right away this swarm was much too big to fit into it. I set the branch in the open box and ran up the hill to get a spare 10-frame deep. I set the branch into that box and slowly clipped off all the branchlets and then shook the bees into the box. Finally I took the main branch and shook the largest portion of the bees into the box. I was hoping the Queen was buried somewhere in that undulating mass. Even as I was doing the shaking, there were very many bees fanning into the wind from every surface and at every angle of the box surfaces providing a signal for the multitudes of bees still in the air. In seconds the outer box was almost completely covered with a film of bees, all seemingly and suddenly anxious to make this box their home.
My wife, suitably impressed, was now snapping away with the still shot camera from only 10 feet away. Brave, I thought.
After about 15 minutes, most of the bees on the outside of the box made their way to the inside. I grabbed 10 frames of unused foundation, pulled the makeshift lid off and gently placed all ten frames inside. It’s interesting to see a box full of bees with no frames and interesting as well to try and slide the frames in without smooshing half of them. I put a better lid on the box, raised it up onto a couple of cinder blocks and called it done. The bees on the porch were fanning, those bees that were flying were starting to land, I was still alive with no stings whatsoever and life was very good.
My wife was still taking pictures of the bees. Closeups on the new hive. Brave, I thought.
“Hey, get some pictures of me!” I said.
“Sure, Honey!” Click. "Sorry, the camera's out of memory".
It’s yesterday and I’m at work, just got back from lunch and the red light on my phone is lit indicating there’s a voicemail message waiting for me.
“Honey, call me back. The bees are doing something funny.”
Immediately, swarming is at the back of my mind. Several weeks before, I had set up two bait hives around the property in anticipation of a swarm or two, it being April and all. I even posted questions on this forum about the mystery surrounding the lure properties.
I called her back right away.
“What’s doin?”
“I was walking the dogs back up the driveway and I heard the bees buzzing from a long ways away and I thought they were a lot louder than usual. As I got closer I could see there was a lot of them just flying around the small oak tree across the driveway from the hives. I was afraid they would sting the dogs so I walked Max and Niki around the back side of the tree.” Swarming now moves from the back to the middle of my mind.
“Did you see a clump of bees in the tree?”
“No, but I didn’t look too close. Do you want me to take the phone and walk down there?”
“Heck ya!”
“Ok, I’m getting close…………..WOW!” Swarming is now at the frontfront of my brain and I immediately begin to think of a good excuse to go home early.
“Do you see a clump?”
“I’m gonna go get the movie camera!”
“So, you see a clump then?”
“It’s huge!”
“I’ll be there in 30 minutes!” Click.
I drove up the driveway and stopped next to the tree. By this time the clump was twice as big as when she first noticed it. I quickly surveyed the situation: It was pretty high in the tree and my extension ladder could reach it but the ground was very uneven, which figures. The branch was embedded among other branches so I would have to trim around the swarm quite a bit before I cut the supporting branch.
I rushed into the house to gather my still camera, put on some proper clothing and take a quick peek at some basic instructions I had saved for just such an event. The instructions said that if this is your first time retrieving a swarm you’d better stick to the easy ones where you can reach them from the ground and where there are few obstacles. Leave the more difficult ones to the professionals. I wadded up the instructions, threw them in the corner and headed out to the shed where I picked up a spare nuc I had prepared, a variety of branch-cutting instruments and several ladders.
I walked down the hill to where my wife was standing, taking movies of the swarm. I reminded her that after about 10 seconds of the same shot, those watching the video will begin to lose interest so why waste footage? Take some pictures of her handsome husband doing some serious beekeeping instead. The camera remained focused on the bee swarm.
“Will they sting me?”
“They’re not in the mood to sting anybody, there are other things on their mind right now. Do you want some protection?”
“No one’s bothered me yet.” She was about 10 feet away from the frenzy. Brave, I thought.
I put on my bee jacket, veil and gloves and tried to find a stable position for the ladder. It just wasn’t possible. Finally, with the written advice I had read earlier about leaving this to the professionals swirling in my brain, I piled some rocks under two legs of the ladder and hoped I had more than 20 minutes left to live.
I cut away all the branches that might get in the way and knock bees from the swarm cluster after I cut and lower the main branch. I felt a little sorry for the tree. Realizing I couldn’t cut and hold the branch while clinging to an extension ladder at the same time, I employed my wife, Sally, to do the cutting while I held the branch from the other side of the cluster. So now she’s up the ladder 3 or 4 feet from the swarm. Brave, I thought.
“Ok, the idea is to cut the branch and not have the branch with the bees on it snap back or else they might all fall off and then we will have a fog of bees to deal with, much more so than they already are.”
“I can do that!” It’s a big ratchet cutter. You can cut some pretty big branches with little effort. Click, click, click.
“Almost got it. One more click!”
Click. SNAP! A sharp jolt to the main branch! Maybe 40% of the bees drop off and smack the ground! Where are those professionals I didn’t call? Seconds later the air is filled with bees but it now has a greater concentration of bees than it has oxygen molecules. My wife is on the ladder but she is inside the tree foliage and the bees are sticking to the open air, where I am.
“smmmmbzzzdddpppgrrrrnndd” she said.
“What?”
“som bzzzzz ddrrppppp o a grnnd”
“I can’t hear you, the bees are too loud!”
“SOME BEES DROPPED OFF AND HIT THE GROUND!”
“oh.”
Before the branch was cut loose I made a practice run climbing down the tall step ladder I was on, using no hands. It wasn’t easy to do. Now, holding a branch full of thousands of clinging stinging insects only inches from my face, I thought there was a good chance my life expectancy might be down to mere seconds. Fortunately, I made it all the way down with the remaining bees intact and headed over to the 5-frame nuc. I lowered part of the branch into the nuc but I could see right away this swarm was much too big to fit into it. I set the branch in the open box and ran up the hill to get a spare 10-frame deep. I set the branch into that box and slowly clipped off all the branchlets and then shook the bees into the box. Finally I took the main branch and shook the largest portion of the bees into the box. I was hoping the Queen was buried somewhere in that undulating mass. Even as I was doing the shaking, there were very many bees fanning into the wind from every surface and at every angle of the box surfaces providing a signal for the multitudes of bees still in the air. In seconds the outer box was almost completely covered with a film of bees, all seemingly and suddenly anxious to make this box their home.
My wife, suitably impressed, was now snapping away with the still shot camera from only 10 feet away. Brave, I thought.
After about 15 minutes, most of the bees on the outside of the box made their way to the inside. I grabbed 10 frames of unused foundation, pulled the makeshift lid off and gently placed all ten frames inside. It’s interesting to see a box full of bees with no frames and interesting as well to try and slide the frames in without smooshing half of them. I put a better lid on the box, raised it up onto a couple of cinder blocks and called it done. The bees on the porch were fanning, those bees that were flying were starting to land, I was still alive with no stings whatsoever and life was very good.
My wife was still taking pictures of the bees. Closeups on the new hive. Brave, I thought.
“Hey, get some pictures of me!” I said.
“Sure, Honey!” Click. "Sorry, the camera's out of memory".