A fight with the varroa mite in New Zealand

Varroa destructor hit the North Island first. It established around Auckland and spread gradually south. At first, beekeepers negotiated quarantine lines. Some apiaries were split down the middle, and boundaries had to be renegotiated every time the infestation spread. And in the meantime, an infested feral colony rode a hollow log into Wellington and Frank’s bees became the first in the area with Varroa.

Frank did not shy from the “bad beekeeping” stigma that encourages beekeepers to under-report cases like this. Instead, he worked to contain the infestation. He marked a five-mile radius around the Varroa hive, determined to destroy neighboring colonies to prevent Varroa from spreading. Frank climbed fences, turned ankles, and plugged and poisoned the wild beehives inside his quarantine zone. He offered honey to people who could point him towards feral colonies. He even managed to poison a nearby beekeeper’s unregistered hives—by mistake, of course—he had thought they were abandoned.

Frank got most of the ferals. All but one colony, actually, because it was on private property and the owners would not grant him access. So Varroa proliferated in the Wellington area, expanding outwards as the northern population spread south. The quarantine was a losing battle, Frank says.

That’s part of what makes Frank’s effort so admirable. Facing an impossible task, he refused to give up. These days, in anticipation of miticide resistance, he is exploring alternative Varroa treatments. In order to monitor mite levels, Frank  “fogs” his hives with vaporized food-grade mineral oil (FGMO) using a small flamethrower. He shows me how to pump a few puffs into the front entrance of each hive and warns me not to place the fogger too close. The popcorn sound is bees cooking, he says. Overall, casualties are relatively low. Frank estimates that we’re singeing the wings of approximately twenty bees per hive. After fogging the first apiary, I am red-faced and dizzy. Frank mentions that a dusk-mask would be advisable.

The fog agitates the mites, providing a one-day knock down, but it does not kill them. We collect the mite fall on slide-out “sticky boards” on the floor of each hive. These help us determine whether to implement a follow-up cord treatment. The short cotton cords are soaked in a solution of equal parts honey (or sugar syrup), food-grade mineral oil, and beeswax, adding 5% thymol for extra effect. Once dry, they are placed on top of the frames, two cords per brood box. The honey attracts the bees to the cords, and the FGMO kills the mites. Frank treats with cords about once a month, as needed.

These techniques were developed by Dr. Pedro Rodriguez of the United States, but Frank is experimenting with them himself to determine which treatments work best for his bees. It’s extra work for uncertain payoff. That’s some admirable beekeeping.

Maggie
HoneyBeeSuite

Frank uses a wide-tooth shearing comb to check drone brood for mites.
Frank uses a wide-tooth shearing comb to check drone brood for mites.
Fogging the hives with food grade mineral oil.
Fogging the hives with food grade mineral oil.
Cotton cord soaked in honey, mineral oil, beeswax, and thymol.
Cotton cord soaked in honey, mineral oil, beeswax, and thymol.

Queenless or clueless?

It happens. You open your hive and you can’t find your queen. Worse, you see no young brood—no larvae, no eggs. Several things are possible:

  • Your queen is dead.
  • Your queen is failing and is being superseded.
  • Your queen has swarmed.
  • You have a queen that hasn’t started laying.
  • You have a virgin queen.

At this point, you wonder what to do. You could buy a queen, but maybe you have a virgin queen or a newly mated queen and you just didn’t see her. Or maybe you can’t find her because she’s out on a mating flight this very minute. You hate the idea of adding a new queen, only to have them duke it out later. So what do you do?

The very best and least risky thing you can do is add a frame or two of mixed brood from another hive. By mixed brood, I mean brood in various stages of development from eggs to larvae to capped pupae. Here’s why:

  • A good supply of eggs and recently hatched larvae means the colony can raise a queen on their own if they need one. And if they don’t need one, no harm is done.
  • Brood, especially larvae, give off pheromones that reduce the likelihood of laying workers even if no queen is present.
  • If a queen needs to be raised, the capped brood and older larvae will supply the colony with new workers in the meantime.

As you can see, the colony—whether queenless or not—has everything to gain and nothing to lose with an infusion of brood. But what about the hive you stole from? Are you running a risk of weakening that colony?

A little judgment is useful when stealing brood. If you steal it from a populous and thriving hive, it won’t make any difference as long as you don’t accidentally take the queen. Shake all the bees from the frames you take to make sure you don’t have her.

If the hive you steal from is of only moderate strength, take frames that contain mostly eggs. The reason is that the donor colony hasn’t spent a lot of time, energy, or resources on a frame of eggs and it won’t take long for the colony to replace it. Larvae and capped brood, on the other hand, have taken a great deal of effort. So, if you are at all concerned about the strength of the donor colony, stick to stealing eggs—it’s like taking pennies instead of dollars.

The beauty of this system is that you don’t have to know whether you have a queen or not, or whether she’s a virgin or not. If they need a queen they can raise one. And if they don’t, you’ve done no harm.

A final thought: whenever I write something like this I realize there are beekeepers with only one hive. I can’t think of anything trickier. If you have only one hive—or if you haven’t yet started beekeeping—consider getting a second colony. It doesn’t just double your options; it multiplies them many times over.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

The queen can quickly replace lost eggs. Flickr photo by steveburt1947.
The queen can quickly replace lost eggs. Flickr photo by steveburt1947.

How to move a hive any distance

It’s really odd to find something you wrote being used as the main topic of somebody else’s video, especially when you’ve never met or even heard of the person. That’s the internet for you. In this case the videographer is LDSPrepper and, luckily, he found that my technique for moving a hive worked perfectly for him.

He refers to me by name “Rusty” for a while and then devolves into “Ray” which, I guess, is fine. Oh yes, he also refers to me as “he” which I guess is understandable, but it tells me he’s not a regular reader. Gotcha. Anyway, I forgive him because he gave me high marks in Beekeeping Myth Busting 101.

Anyway, here’s his video.

The biggest threat to bees today . . .

. . . is the beekeeper

We like to think we know better than the bees about what is good for them, play scientist, and put all manner of elixirs and whatnot in the hives. We tend to root through the brood nests more often than needed because we feel the urge to do “something” for the bees, and maybe so we can claim victory when a colony manages to survive a season of our clumsy interventions. And, as often as not, we just do plain stupid things without thinking about it—that’s where I come into this story.

When Rusty invited me to do a guest post, I said “sure!” without giving it too much thought. Then I started poking around this site to try and get an idea for a topic and quickly realized that I had been bamboozled. WTF! Rusty has already written about pretty much every topic thinkable, what was left to expound upon?

Luckily (?!) I sometimes do stupid things around the bee yard. Maybe this is an area that Rusty is less familiar with, and that I can provide some insight into for you, the esteemed reader of Honey Bee Suite.

Please refer to the photo below to see what awaited me at a yard where we had installed packaged bees the previous evening.

Why are these bees clustered outside on a cold night?
Why are these bees clustered outside on a cold night?

We thought we had gone to reasonable lengths to prepare the hives so the bees could stay warm, dry, and well-fed in this typical spring weather for southern B.C. (it has snowed briefly three times and rained daily since we hived them a week ago)–we even made quilt boxes.

So then why, oh why, did the bees in hive 106 decide to spend the night clustered outside when the temperature was 35.6°F, instead of enjoying a few shots of sugar syrup and getting all cuddly with each other inside their new home?

The answer, of course, as evidenced in the second photo, is the beekeeper.

The reason? A queen cage holding a dead queen.
The reason? A queen cage holding a dead queen.

The bees are simply trying to stay close to their queen—their cold, dead queen who was deposited on their doorstep by an unthinking beekeeper. I can only imagine what kind of message they thought we were trying to send; it’s no wonder they couldn’t sleep inside after that kind of welcome.

The extra stupid part is that I knew better, but I didn’t listen to that little voice in my head, and my back-up system (the little voice outside my head named Chelsea) did not question my error. We have poured packages for beekeepers that like to have the cages with dead queens left at the hive doorstep so they can easily see which ones to re-queen when they come back. At those times I have wondered if it was a good idea since the bees might be attracted by the dead queen pheromones, but the beekeepers asked us to do it on multiple occasions so I figured it must have been working for them. But why in the world did I do it this time?

Anyways, I scooped the cluster back into the hive, hoped they had enough life in them to rebound, and gave them a new queen later. At this point the news is good on all fronts: 1) The bees are still alive as of five days later, 2) I confirmed that bees can be drawn out of the hive by a dead queen (What did I tell you about beekeepers “playing scientist?”), and 3) I finally have a topic for a blog post.

Take home message? Umm . . . don’t do what I do . . . or maybe . . . think first, and try not do something stupid to your bees? Every possible beekeeping error has likely already been made countless times, so there’s no need to be shy about telling others about yours (that’s what the comment section is for, right?). And if you ever want to hear about more of my mistakes, then feel free to visit Chelsea and me over at The Honey Beat.

Jeff
The Honey Beat

Editor’s Note: I’m an avid reader of The Honey Beat. Because Jeff and Chelsea are employed by commercial beekeepers, they have gained a unique perspective on beekeeping as well as a world of experience in a very short time. I always learn something new when I read their blog. Then too, I’ve been impressed by the quality of the writing at The Honey Beat, so I was elated when Jeff agreed to write a guest post. The result is a fascinating story; it proves that if anything can go wrong in beekeeping, it will  . . . and it does. Be sure to check out other stories on their blog.

Rusty

Swarm sense

The conversation begins like this, “I’m a new beekeeper with a quick question. How do I keep my bees from swarming?” Then, even before the paroxysms of laughter, snorting, and choking die down, an officious, self-important beekeeper proclaims, “My bees don’t swarm because I keep them content and happy.” Wow, where do I begin?

I want to say, “Look around! What do you see besides seven billion humans?” Cats, rats, and mice tuck behind every garbage pail. Ants spill from your foundation. Termites dine on your sill plates. Mites suck bee blood. Bacteria vie for space in your gut and Occupy your kitchen sink. Weeds rend cracks in your driveway and ravage your garden. Reproduction happens, babe. Every living thing has the drive to reproduce itself. Why should bees be any different?

“How do I keep my bees from swarming?” is like asking, “How do I keep my [pick one: dog, cat, guppy, kid] from reproducing?” There are ways, of course, but the ways involve interference with a natural process. You can neuter your dog or cat. You can feed pills to your daughter or supply your son with condoms. You can tear apart your brood nest, split your hive, or cut swarm cells. Even checkerboarding interferes with the colony’s perception of its own strength.

Am I saying you shouldn’t do those things? Not at all. I’m saying that you will have a better chance of succeeding if you understand the reproductive imperative. Remember, when you try to prevent a swarm, you try to stop what a colony has an irrepressible urge to do. Swarmy bees are acting according to specs, working as designed. No manufacturer recall is needed.

That said, as beekeepers we want to prevent swarms. We want our bees to work for us, we want large strong colonies, we want to curb home invasions and spare children and old folks from marauding insects. So we try to prevent what nature is hell-bent on doing. It’s a little like building levees along the Mississippi or tsunami walls in Japan—it all works to a point.

The guy who says his bees don’t swarm because they are happy is naïve . . . and usually condescending. His words imply that your bees are unhappy and you are a bad beekeeper. BS. If all bees were as happy as his bees, the species would quickly go extinct.

I don’t believe bees experience happiness or lack thereof, but let’s use that language for a moment. Do you believe an animal is happier if it is neutered? Most pet owners swear their neutered pets are “happy and content.” Most humans want the same thing, yet they don’t get neutered in the pursuit of happiness. And a simple vasectomy or tubal ligation doesn’t prevent the reproductive urge any more than clipping a wing.

But reasonable management is not a bad thing, even if we wouldn’t go there ourselves. As humans, we can manage our animals and have compassion at the same time. My own pets are spoiled beyond measure and, yes, they are neutered and I am not. My point is simply that to be a successful beekeeper, you need to look at your colony through the eyes of a biologist, not a family therapist. Lose the idea that you must make your bees “happy” to keep them from swarming.

To prevent swarming you must interfere with the course of nature. Most swarm prevention measures weaken the colony in some way, lessening its bee-ness just as neutering your dog lessens his dog-ness. That’s okay as long as you realize that preventing reproduction enhances your goals—not the goals of bees or dogs or guppies—and not the goals of nature.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Related post: Romancing the swarm: the dream of wild bees

Swarm in a tree. Flickr photo by Frederick Knapp.
Swarm in a tree. Flickr photo by Frederick Knapp.