I haven’t been asked out on a bee expedition for a while, partly because of the incompatibility of our individual timetables, but partly, I suspect, because my literary efforts that follow each of these outings induce that dangerous state of mind which contemplates legal retaliation in the minds of my fellow beekeepers.

However, following our last Bee Club meeting, when a collective twinge of conscience was felt by our merry band, my past was evidently forgiven, and I joined Les, Ray and Frank C for their spring checks. Whether these checks would have taken place had a swarm not been caught and hived the day before, is unclear, but nonetheless we gathered at Frank C’s bright and early and ready to conquer the world.

Now, I think I have mentioned before that beekeepers like placing their hives on inaccessible sites, and those at Frank C’s are no exception. The first group of hives on his property is situated on what Land Agents would euphemistically describe as "rolling countryside", although the only rolling I have seen is done by Les when he trips over his gumboots – and that’s on the ascent! Following a brief byplay with some bovine spectators, we all repair to the hive site and prepare for duty. First hive – lid off, nice and quiet, until Les smokes them. At that point three of us unilaterally decide to be remote control beekeepers. A complicated discussion as to this year’s colour for Queens (its Blue actually), Les sights the Queen, good stores, frames look clean (quite clean from our long range perspective actually), close up and move on. This time no smoke – and no queen either. No brood and no eggs and some slightly buzzy bees. Les recalls that the neighbouring bovines recently knocked this hive for six, and he had to come and rebuild the happy home. Perhaps this explains the absent queen? We close up and move on.

The third hive is really interesting. Several capped queen cells, including one puny effort which I curiously open, a queen emerges, and Ray frantically exhorts me to "kill, kill". I reluctantly oblige, while we all marvel at her size, despite the smallness of her cell. Good things can come in small parcels as they say. Well, now we know where yesterday’s swarm came from don’t we?! After considerable discussion two frames with queen cells are placed in the queenless hive adjacent, we shut up shop, and gird our loins for the last hive.

The last hive has been placed on an adjacent mountain. In fact, I would rate this site as about a 9 on the Alexander scale of impenetrability. Scale 6 requires pitons, while Scale 12 is accessible by helicopter only. Several hazards on route demand an eagle eye and a firm clutch on one’s Life Insurance Policy, and practical obstacles such as a dearth of handholds and rampant arborescence (gorse!) render even serious beekeepers hesitant. To give an idea of the heights scaled, there is a rumour that it is possible to pick up Radio Moscow by way of the boundary fence wires! However, goal achieved, and Les sets fire to his smoker and prepares to attack.

At this point I must tell you about Les’s smoker. He has for this appendage a concern that knows no bounds. This is directly proportional to the inconvenience it causes the rest of us. The smoker itself has only two moods – dead, or barely controllable eruption. Again we watch from a discreet distance. However, these bees are very well behaved – possibly because they receive so few visitors, they are pleased to see us. Les sights the Queen, while we note water seeping in through the southwest corner of the hive has rendered some of the drawn frames mushy. Replace, waterproof and shut up nice and snug. Journey back to earth clutching the electric fence wires for stability – "is this fence live Frank? Aaagh!" - and a drop of resuscitation kindly supplied by Frank C’s better half, before we adjourn to our individual homes. I travel home from Les’s on my bike, covered in smoke stains and adherent gorse, and try hard to ignore the stares of my fellow road users. Pleasant though my ride is, it has an uneasy atmosphere, probably engendered by the reaction to my wild appearance (beesuit, purple gumboots, etc etc). All in all a lovely day out in the sun, only a handful of stings (all of them Les’s), – now for the literary effort!

Postscript: a week after the above we collected a second gold swarm on Frank C’s property. This appeared to have no queen, as it clustered all night on the outside of the box supplied, despite the cool (alpine) temperatures. Upon being brushed into the box, within half an hour it was gathered back outside. At that point we added a frame of brood and frames of stores, and that did the trick. Later we united this swarm with the swarm mentioned above. Then three days later another gold swarm, even larger, presented itself in the district, and it was decided to add this to the queenless hive. Now Les is frantically scouring timber sources for supplies to replace all the gear he sold – so much for downsizing his beekeeping operation. The season looks like it has got off to a good start!

The Interested Bystander