Category Archives: Miscellaneous

The gentle art of beekeeping

High summer.

The swarm season had been and gone. The June gap was over. Grafts made at the peak of the swarm season had developed into lovely big fat queen cells and been distributed around nucleus colonies for mating.

That was almost six weeks ago.

From eclosion to laying takes a minimum of about 8 days. The weather had been almost perfect for queen mating, so I was hopeful they’d got out promptly, done ‘the business’, and returned to start laying.

That would have been about a month ago.

Good queens

I’d spent a long morning in the apiary checking the nucs and the colonies they were destined for. In the former I was looking for evidence that the queen was mated and laying well. That meant looking for nice even frames of sealed worker brood, with some – the first day or two of often patchy egg laying – now emerging.

Brood frame with a good laying pattern

It was warming up. More significantly, it was getting distinctly close and muggy. I knew that thunderstorms were predicted late in the afternoon, but by late morning it already had that oppressive ‘heavy’ feel to the air. Almost as though there wasn’t quite enough oxygen in it.

Never mind the weather, the queens were looking good. 90% of them were mated and laying well.

Just one no-show. She’d emerged from the cell, but there was no sign of her in the nuc, and precious few bees left either.

Queenless nucs often haemorrhage workers to nearby queenright colonies (or nucs), leaving a pathetic remainder that may develop laying workers. There’s no point in trying to save a colony like that.

Actually, it’s not even a colony … it’s a box with a few hundred abandoned and rapidly ageing workers. Adding resources to it – a new queen or a frame of eggs and young larvae – is almost certainly a waste of resources. They’d better serve the colonies they were already in. The remaining workers were probably over a month old and only had another week or two before they would be lost, ‘missing in action’, and fail to return from a foraging flight.

If you keep livestock, you’ll have dead stock.

These weren’t dead stock, but they were on their last legs, er, wings. I shook the workers out in front of a row of strong colonies and removed the nuc box so there was nowhere for them to return. The workers wouldn’t help the other colonies much, but it was a better fate than simply allowing them to dwindle.

Spare queens

Most of the nucs were going to be used to requeen production colonies. A couple had been promised to beginners and would be ready in another week or so.

Midseason is a good time to get a nuc to start beekeeping. The weather – the predicted (and seemingly increasingly imminent) afternoon thunder notwithstanding – is more dependable, and much warmer. The inevitably protracted inspections by a tyro won’t chill the brood and nucs are almost always better tempered than full colonies. In addition, the new beekeeper has the pleasure of watching the nuc build up to a full colony and preparing it for winter. This is a valuable learning experience.

Late season bramble

Late season bramble

It’s too late to get a honey crop from these midseason nucs (usually, there may be exceptional years) but that’s probably also good training for the new beekeeper. An understanding that beekeeping requires a degree of patience may be a tough lesson to learn but it’s an easier one than discovering that an overcrowded nuc purchased in April, swarms in May, gets really ratty in June and needs a new queen at the beginning of July.

But, after uniting the nucs to requeen the production hives it turned out that I had one queen spare.

Which was fortunate as I’d been asked by a friend for an old leftover queen to help them improve the behaviour of their only colony. Rather than give them one of the ageing queens she could have the spare one from this year.

A queen has a remarkable influence over the behaviour and performance of the colony. Good quality queens head calm, strong colonies that are a pleasure to work with. But it’s not all good genes. You can sometimes detect the influence of a good new queen in a poor colony well before any of the brood she has laid emerges. I assume this is due to pheromones (and with bees, if it’s not genetics or pheromones I’m not sure what else could explain it – ley lines, phase of the moon, 5G masts nearby?).

Go west, young(er) man

My friend lived about 45 minutes away. I found the queen in the nuc, popped her into a marking cage and placed her safely in light shade at the back of the apiary while I rearranged the nuc for uniting over a strong queenright colony.

Handheld queen marking cage

Handheld queen marking cage

A few minutes later I’d recovered the queen, clipped her and marked her with a white Posca pen. I alternate blue and white (and sometimes yellow if neither of those work or can be found) and rely on my notes to remind me of her age should I need to know it. I’m colourblind and cannot see – or at least distinguish – red and green, either from each other or from lots of other colours in the hive.

I transferred the marked queen into a JzBz queen cage and capped the exit tube. Of all the huge variety of queen introduction cages that are available these are my favourite. They’re also the only ones I was given a bucket of … something that had a big part to play in influencing my choice ūüôā

JzBz queen cages

JzBz queen cages

I put the caged queen in the breast pocket of my beesuit, extinguished the smoker and tidied up the apiary. It was warm, dark and humid in the pocket – for an hour or so she would be fine.

Actually, it was getting increasingly humid and the heaviness in the air was, if anything, getting more oppressive.

What I’d really like now would be a couple of large mugs of tea … I’d inspected a dozen large colonies and nearly the same number of nucs. The colonies that needed requeening had been united with the nucs (having found and removed the ageing queens) and I’d neatly stacked up all the empty nuc boxes in the shed. Finally, I’d retuned all the supers, some reassuringly heavy, and left everything ready for the next inspection in a fortnight or so 1.

That’s a lot of lifting, carrying, bending, squinting, prising, turning, rearranging and then gently replacing the crownboard and the roof.

Not really hard work, but enough.

Actually, quite enough … I’d really like that cuppa.

Was that thunder? Way off to the west … a sound so faint I might have imagined it. There were towering cumulus clouds building along the horizon.

Cloud

Threatening

Time to get a move on.

With the car packed I lock the apiary gate and set off.

West.

Leaving the flat agricultural land I climbed gently into low rolling hills. The land became more wooded, restricting my view of the thunderheads building, now strongly, in the direction I was heading. The sun was now intermittently hidden between the wispy clouds ahead of the storm front.

Could you do me a favour?

The bad weather was still a long way off. I’d have ample time to drop the queen off, slurp down a cuppa and be back home before any rain arrived. If my friend was sensible she’d just leave the new queen hanging in her cage in a super. The workers would feed her until the weather was a little more conducive to opening the hive and finding the old queen.

I pull into the driveway and my friend comes out to meet me. We share beekeeping chat about the weather, forage, the now-passed swarm season, the possibility of getting a nuc for next season 2.

“Could you perhaps requeen the colony? I’m really bad at finding the queen and they’ve been a bit bolshy 3 recently. I’ll put the kettle on while you’re doing it.”

I did a quick mental calculation … weighing up the positives (kettle on) and the negatives (bolshy, the distant – but approaching – thunder) and was surprised to find that my yearning for a cuppa tipped the balance enough for me to agree to do it.

I returned to the car for my smoker and some queen candy which I used to plug the neck of the JzBz cage. At the same time I also found a small piece of wire to hang the cage between the frames from.

“They’re in the back garden on the bench by the gate to the orchard.”

I look through the kitchen window across the unkempt lawn (was the mower broken?). Sure enough, there was a double brooded National hive topped with two supers on a garden bench about 30 metres away.

“I’ll stay here if you don’t mind … they gave me a bit of a fright when I last checked them.”

Sure. No problem. I’ve done this a hundred times. White, no sugar and, yes, I’d love a cookie as well.

Be properly prepared

I stepped into the back garden and fired up the smoker. It was still warm from being used for my own bees and the mix of cardboard, woodshavings and dried grass quickly started smouldering nicely. A couple of bees had come to investigate but had just done a few laps of my head and disappeared.

But they returned as I walked across the lawn.

And they brought reinforcements.

By the time I was half way across the lawn I’d been pinged a couple of times. Not stung, but the sort of glancing blow that shows intent.

A shot across the bows, if you like.

I didn’t like.

I pulled the veil over my head and zipped it up quickly, before rummaging through my pockets to find a pair of gloves. Mismatched gloved. A yellow Marigold for my left hand and a thin long-cuff blue nitrile for my right. It’s an odd look 4 but an effective combination. The Marigold is easy to get on and off, and provides ample protection.

Nitriles ...

Nitriles …

The nitrile is a bit of a nightmare to get on when it’s still damp inside. Another couple of bees dive bomb my veil, one clinging on and making that higher pitched whining sound they make when they’re trying to get through. I brushed her off with the Marigold, turned the nitrile inside out, blew into it to inflate the fingers, and finally got it on.

Why two different gloves? Two reasons. I’d lost the other Marigold and because nitriles are thin enough to easily pick a queen up with, and that’s what I’d been doing most of the morning.

And hoped to do again shortly when I found the old queen in the agitated colony.

Opening hostilities

I approached the hive. It was a strong colony. Very strong. It was tipped back slightly on the bench and didn’t look all that stable 5. I gave them a couple of puffs of smoke at the entrance and prised the supers up and off, placing them propped against the leg of the bench.

I was faintly aware of the smell of bananas and the, still distant, sound of thunder. It probably wasn’t getting any closer, but it certainly wasn’t disappearing either.

The thunder that is.

The smell of bananas was new … it’s the alarm pheromone.

Actually, it’s one of the alarm pheromones. Importantly, it’s the one released from the Koschevnikov gland at the base of the sting. This meant that one or two bees had already pressed home a full attack and stung me. Felt nowt. Presumably they’d hit a fold in the beesuit or the cuff of the Marigold.

Or my adrenaline levels were sufficiently elevated to suppress my pain response.

I was increasingly aware of the number of really unpleasant bees that were in the hive.

And, more to the point, coming out of the hive.

But I was most aware that I was only wearing a single thickness beesuit in the presence of 50,000 sociopaths with a thunderstorm approaching. Under the suit I had a thin short sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts.

It might be raining in half an hour … this could get ugly.

It was late July, it was a hot day, my bees are calm. I wasn’t dressed appropriately for these psychos.

I felt I needed chain mail … and an umbrella.

Time for a rethink

I gave the hive a couple of larger puffs from the smoker and retreated back to the car, ducking under and through – twice – some dense overhanging shrubs to deter and deflect the bees attempting to hasten my retreat.

Ideally I’d have put a fleece on under the beesuit. That makes you more or less impervious to stings.

Did I mention it was a warm day in July? No fleece ūüôĀ

However, I did have a beekeeping jacket in the car. This is what I wear for most of my beekeeping (unless I’m wearing shorts). I removed the jacket hood and put it on over the beesuit, remembering to transfer the queen to the outer jacket pocket. I also found another nitrile glove and put it on to be double gloved.

“The queen’s not marked”, my friend shouted to me as I walked back across the garden, “Sorry!”

Now you tell me …

I See You Baby

I See You Baby

I returned to the hive. To reduce the immediate concentration of bees, I split the two brood boxes off the floor, placing each several metres away on separate garden chairs. I balanced the supers on the original floor to allow returning foragers and the increasing maelstrom of flying bees to have somewhere to return if needed.

And then I found the unmarked queen.

As simple as that.

Amazingly, it was on the first pass through the second brood box.

Each box was dealt with in the same way. I gently split the propolis sealing the frames together – first down one side of the box, then the other. I removed the outer frame, inspected it carefully and placed it on the ground leaning against the chair leg. With space to work I then methodically went through every frame, calmly but quickly.

I didn’t expect to find her so easily. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find her at all.

It helped that she was huge and pale. It helped that she was calmly ambling around on the frame, clearly confident in the knowledge that there were 50,000 acolytes willing to lay down their lives to protect her.

Her confidence was misplaced ūüôĀ

Veiled threat

And then a bee got inside the veil.

This happens now and then. I suspect they sneak through the gap where the zips meet at the front or the back. There are little Velcro patches to hold everything together, but it was an old suit 6 and the Velcro was a bit worn.

There are few things more disconcerting that 50,000 psychos encouraging a Ninja worker that’s managed to break through your defences and is just in your peripheral vision. Or worse, in your hair. With a calm colony you can retreat and deal with the interloper. You have to take the veil off. Sometimes you have to take the suit off.

Removing the veil would have been unwise. Perhaps suicidal. I retreated a few yards and dealt with the bee. It was never going to end well for one of us ūüôĀ

Reassemble in the reverse order

Returning to the original bench, I removed the supers that were now festooned with thousands of bees, balancing them against the leg again. I found a pencil-thick twig and used it under one corner of the floor to stop everything wobbling. Both brood boxes were returned, trying to avoid crushing too many bees at the interface. A combination of a well aimed puff or two of smoke, brushing the bees away with the back of my hand and placing the box down at an angle and then rotating it into position reduced what can otherwise cause carnage.

I hung the new queen in her cage between the top bars of the central frames in the upper box, returned the queen excluder and the supers and closed the hive up.

It took 15 minutes to avoid and evade the followers before I could remove the beesuit safely. I’d been stung several times but none had penetrated more than the suit.

I finally got my cup of tea.

Confidence

This was several years ago. I took a few risks towards the end with the queen introduction but got away with it. The colony released the queen, accepted her and a month or so later were calm and well behaved.

I was lucky to find the queen so quickly in such a strong colony. I didn’t have to resort to some of the tricks sometimes needed to find elusive queens.

Ideally I’d have left the queen cage sealed to see if they were aggressive to her, only removing the cap once I was sure they’d accept her. This can take a day or two, but you need to check them.

There was no way I was going back into the hive and my friend definitely wasn’t.

The rain and thunder never arrived … like many summer storms it was all bluster but eventually dissipated as the day cooled.

This was the worst colony I’ve ever handled as a beekeeper. At least for out and out, close quarter, bare knuckle aggression. By any measure I’d have said they were unusable for beekeeping. I’ve had colonies with followers chase me 300 metres up the meadow, though the hive itself wasn’t too hot 7. This colony was an order of magnitude worse, though the followers were less persistent.

I suspect that aggression (or, more correctly, defensiveness) and following have different genetic determinants in honey bees.

Lessons

  • Knowing when to retreat is important. Smoking them gently before I returned to the car for a jacket helped mask the alarm pheromone in the hive and gave me both time to think and renewed confidence that I was now better protected.
  • Confidence is very important when dealing with an unpleasant hive. It allows you to be unhurried and gentle, when your instincts are screaming ‘get a move on, they’re going postal’.
  • Confidence comes with experience and with belief in the protective clothing you use. It doesn’t need to be stingproof, but it does need to protect the soft bits (my forearms, ankles and face react very badly when stung).
  • Indeed, it might be better if it’s not completely stingproof. It’s important to be aware of the reactions of the colony, which is why I prefer nitrile gloves to Marigolds, and why I never use gauntlets.
  • Many colonies are defensive in poor weather or with approaching thunderstorms. If I’d known just how defensive this colony were I’d have planned the day differently.
  • The unstable ‘hive stand’ would have agitated the bees in windy weather or during inspections.

Bad bees

It turned out the colony had been purchased, sight unseen, as a nuc the year before. By the end of the season it had become unmanageable. The supers had been on since the previous summer and the colony hadn’t been treated for mites.

They appeared healthy, but their behaviour was negatively influencing their management (and the upkeep of the garden). Beekeeping isn’t fun if you’re frightened of the bees. You find excuses to not open the hive, or not mow the lawn.

The story ended well. The new queen settled well and the bees became a pleasure to work with. My friend regained her confidence and is happy to requeen her own colonies now.

She has even started using proper hive stands rather than the garden bench … which you can now use for relaxing on with a mug of tea and a cookie.

While watching the bees ūüôā


 

A virus that changes bee behaviour

Particle physicists might not agree, but I think that evolution is the most powerful force in the universe. It is responsible for the fabulous diversity of life, for everything from the 6,000,000 kg Pando clonal colony of quaking aspen covering 43 hectares of the Fishlake National Forest in Utah, to the teeniest of tiniest of viruses.

As a microbiologist I’m acutely aware of the role evolution has played in the genetic arms race between hosts and pathogens. This is what is responsible for the multi-faceted immune system higher organisms carry – the antibodies, the lymphocytes, the complement and interferon responses, and everything else.

In turn, the fast replicating bacteria and viruses have evolved countermeasures to subvert these immune mechanisms, to switch them off entirely or to decoy them into targeting the wrong thing. This ‘arms race’ has gone on since well before the evolution of multicellular organisms (~600 million years ago) … and continues unabated.

Evolution is powerful for one simple reason; if a particular genetic combination 1 ‘works’ it will be passed on to the progeny. If a virus evolves a way to resist the immune response of the host, or to spread between hosts more efficiently, then the trait will be inherited.

Molecular mechanisms and behavioural changes

Some of changes work at the molecular level, invisible without exquisitely sensitive in vitro analysis; protein A binds to protein B and, in doing so, stops protein B from doing whatever it should have be doing. These are important but often very subtle.

Rabies: Slaying a mad dog, 1566 illustration from Wellcome Images

Other changes are far more obvious. Take rabies for example (or don’t, it’s not recommended as it has a near-100% case fatality rate) … the primary host of the rabies virus are carnivorous mammals. Infection causes gross behavioural changes that facilitate virus transmission. The animal becomes bolder and much more aggressive, resulting in virus transmission through biting.

Recent studies have elegantly demonstrated that this (also) is an example of protein A binding to protein B at the molecular level, it’s just that the phenotype 2 is very much more marked.

A protein on the surface of the virus resembles a snake venom toxin and has the ability to bind to nicotinic acetylcholine receptors present in the central nervous system of the mammalian host. These receptors ‘do what they say on the tin’ and bind the neurotransmitter acetylcholine. If the virus protein binds the receptor the response to acetylcholine is blunted and this, in turn, leads to hyperactivity, one of the key behavioural responses caused by rabies viruses.

That’s enough about mad dogs.

If virus-induced behavioural changes are so obvious, why haven’t lots of different examples already been identified and characterised?

Sniffles

Part of the problem is the blurring of distinctions between overt behavioural changes and the direct symptoms induced due to the virus replicating.

Human rhinovirus, the aetiological agent of the common cold, causes upper respiratory tract infections. You get a runny nose and you sneeze a lot.

Gesundheit

Your behaviour changes.

However, it’s generally accepted that the sneezing and runny nose are a result of the physiological response to infection, rather than a virus-induced behavioural response to facilitate transmission.

It’s worth noting that all that “stuff” that comes out of your nose contains infectious virus, so it’s perhaps an artificial distinction between the general symptoms of sickness and evolutionarily-selected host behavioural changes caused by the virus.

Which in a roundabout way …

… allows me to¬†finally¬†introduce the topic of bee viruses that cause host behavioural changes involved in their transmission.

Or, rather, one bee virus that does this … though I’m certain that there will be more.

Israeli Acute Paralysis Virus (IAPV) is an RNA virus transmitted horizontally by direct contact between bees, or while feeding on developing pupae, by the parasitic mite Varroa destructor. It was implicated as a causative agent of Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD), though really compelling evidence supporting it as the primary cause never materialised.

It’s a virus UK beekeepers should be aware of, but unworried by, as it is extremely rare in the UK.

A recent paper has shown two behavioural changes in response to IAPV infection in honey bees. One of them – that facilitates horizontal transmission between colonies – is also partially explained at the molecular level.

The paper was published a couple of months ago:

Geffre et al., (2020) Honey bee virus causes context-dependent changes in host social behavior. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. USA 117:10406-10413. 3

I’m going to focus on the results, rather than the methods, though the methods are rather cool. They used barcoded bees to allow the automated image analysis of every bee in a colony for some of the studies where they had introduced known IAPV infected individuals.

Responses of nestmates to IAPV infected bees

Imagine watching a few hundred waggle dances and being able to recount the position, distance and response of every bee ‘watching’ 4 the dance, and then being able to summarise the results.

Over five days.

Non-stop.

Including nights (and yes, bees do still waggle dance at night – a subject for the future).

The scientists orally infected groups of 30 bees with a sub-lethal dose of IAPV, marked them and released them into an observation hive. They then recorded their movements around the hive and their interactions with other bees in the colony. In particular, they focussed on trophallaxis interactions where one bee ‘feeds’ another.

Trophallaxis is also considered to be a method of communication in the hive and has been implicated in disease transmission.

The authors love their whisker plots and statistical analysis.

Who doesn’t? ūüėČ

However, they generally make for rather underwhelming images in a bee blog for entertaining reading. Here .. see what I mean …

Number of trophallaxis interactions per hour.

Suffice to say that the results obtained were statistically significant.

They showed that the infected bees in the colony actually moved about the colony more than their nestmates. Conversely, they were engaged in fewer trophallaxis interactions¬†i.e. it appeared as though they were being ‘ignored’ by their nestmates.

Were they really being ignored altogether or did their nestmates approach them, detect something was amiss and move away?

Antennation

Antennation is the mechanism by which bees recognise nestmates. They use the sensitive chemoreceptors on their antenna to detect cuticular hydrocarbons (CHC) which are distinctive between bees from different hives.

Antennation is a precursor to trophallaxis.

After all, bees do not want to feed a foreigner, or exchange chemicals involved in communications, or even potentially risk being exposed to a new pathogen.

Good as the barcoding and camera system is, it’s not good enough to record antennation within the observation hive. To do this they manually 5 recorded antennation events between IAPV-infected bees and nestmates in cages in the laboratory 6.

In these studies IAPV-infected bees were engaged in the same number of antennation events as control bees. This strongly suggests that the nestmate could detect there was something ‘wrong’ with the IAPV-infected individuals. In support of this conclusion, the authors also demonstrated that bees inoculated with a double stranded RNA (dsRNA) stimulator of the honey bee immune response were also also antennated equally, but engaged in less trophallaxis interactions.

Therefore, these studies appear to show that nestmates exhibit a behavioural response to IAPV-infected bees (and bees with elevated immune responses, recapitulating their response to pathogen infection) that is likely to be protective, reducing the transmission of horizontally acquired viruses.

It’s worth noting two things here.

  1. There were no virus transmission studies conducted. It’s assumed that the lack of trophallaxis reduces virus transmission. That still needs to be demonstrated.
  2. This response is not¬†induced by the virus on the host. It’s a response¬†by nestmates of the host to virus infected individuals (or individuals that present as ‘sick’). As such it’s not the same as the rabies example I started this post with.

Virus-induced behavioural responses

But do the IAPV-infected bees behave differently when they come into contact with other bees who are not their nestmates?

After all, IAPV is a pathogenic virus and its continuing presence within a population (not just a single hive) depends upon it being spread from hive to hive.

For a highly pathogenic virus this is very important. If you spread from bee to bee within a hive and kill the lot you also go extinct … this partly explains the mechanism by which highly virulent viruses become less virulent over time.

But back to IAPV. What happens when IAPV-inoculated bees interact with bees from a different hive?

For example, what would happen if they drifted from one hive to another in a densely populated apiary? Drifting is a significant contributor to the spread of bees between adjacent colonies – studies show that 1% of marked bees drift to adjacent hives over a 3 day window. This partially accounts for the genetic mix of workers (up to 40% are unrelated to the queen that heads the colony) in a hive, a fact generally unappreciated by beekeepers.

The authors first showed that IAPV-infected bees could apparently leave and return to the hive with a similar frequency as uninfected foragers. Their flying was not compromised.

They then resorted again to recording interactions in the laboratory between IAPV-infected bees or control dsRNA-inoculated bees and workers from a different hive.

This was where it gets particularly interesting.

Hello stranger

The dsRNA-immunostimulated bees (remember, these induce a generalised immune response characteristic of a ‘sick’ bee) were treated aggressively by unmatched workers from a different hive.

In contrast, the IAPV-infected bees (which were ‘sick’ and would have been undergoing immunestimulation caused by the IAPV infection) experienced significantly less aggression than both uninoculated workers (which induced an intermediate response) and the dsRNA-inoculated.

This strongly suggests that IAPV is somehow able to modulate the appearance or behaviour (and one often determines the other) of the host to make it more acceptable to an unmatched worker.

They extended this study to conduct “field-based assays at the entrances of three normally managed honey bee colonies”, monitoring whether IAPV-infected bees were more likely to be accepted by the guard bees at the entrance of the hive.

They were. The IAPV-infected bees received a less aggressive reception and/or entered the hives much more easily than the controls.

But what about proteins A and B?

Good question.

The behavioural alterations described above must be explainable in terms of the molecular changes that IAPV induces in the bees. By that I mean that the virus must make, or induce the making of, a chemical or protein or other molecule, the presence of which explains their acceptance by the foreign guard bees.

And the obvious candidates are the cuticular hydrocarbons (CHC) that are recognized during antennation, which I introduced earlier.

And here the story leaves us with some tantalising clues, but no definitive answer.

The scientists demonstrate that there were marked differences between the CHC profile of IAPV-infected and control bees. Again, they used their favoured whisker plots to show this, but collated all of the CHC data into an even more difficult to explain scatter plot of linear discriminant analysis.

CHC profiles (relative abundance) shown using linear discriminant analysis.

The key take home message here is that for each of the CHC’s analysed there were differences in both the quality and relative abundance between the control bees, bees immunestimulated with dsRNA and the IAPV-infected bees.

These differences were so marked that you can see distinct clustering of points in the analysis above … these bees ‘look’ 7 different to the guard bees that antennate them.

This is a great story.

It’s as yet incomplete. To complete the understanding we will need to know which of those CHC’s, or which combination, when suppressed (or overrepresented) induce the guard bees to say “Welcome, step this way … “.

We’ll then of course need to find out¬†how IAPV induces the change in CHC profile, which takes us right back to protein A and protein B again.

Ever the pedant

Much as I like this science I’d perhap argue that, again, the virus isn’t directly inducing a behavioural change in the host.

What it’s doing is inducing a behavioural change in the response to the infected host (by the guard bee). So perhaps this again isn’t quite the same as the rabies example we kicked off with.

A behavioural change in the host might include IAPV-infected bees drifting more, or drifting further. Alternatively, perhaps a colony with widespread IAPV infection could more easily indulge in robbing neighbouring colonies as they would experience less aggression from guard bees.

Smaller is better ...

Reduced entrance to prevent robbing …

I can see immediate evolutionary benefits to a virus that induced these types of behavioural changes. It’s not an original idea … the late Ingemar Fries suggested it in a paper two decades ago 8.

I’m also certain that researchers are looking for evidence supporting these types of directly-induced behavioural changes caused by viral pathogens in honey bees.

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry

Edgar Allen Poe may or may not have said this.

However, while we’re on the thorny subject of pathogen-induced behavioural changes in the host, it might be worth mentioning a couple of more controversial areas in which it has been proposed.

In the snappily titled paper “Assortative sociality, limited dispersal, infectious disease and the genesis of the global pattern of religion diversity” Fincher and Thornhill argue 9 that the wide diversity of religions in the tropics (compared to temperate regions) is driven by infectious disease selecting for three anti-contagion behaviours; in-group assortative sociality; out-group avoidance; and limited dispersal. It’s an interesting idea and I’m pleased I don’t have to test it experimentally. Their argument is that these three behavioural changes select for fractionation, isolation and diversification of the original culture … and hence the evolution of religions.

Conversely, perhaps microorganisms induce religious behaviours (rather than religion per se) that facilitate their transmission. This is exemplified in the entertainingly titled paper “Midichlorians – the biomeme hypothesis: is there a microbial component to religious rituals?” by Panchin¬†et al., (2014). They argue that microbes – and they are really thinking about the gut microbiota here – might be able to influence their hosts (humans) to gather for religious rituals at which both ideas (memes) and infections are more easily transmitted.

Perhaps something to think about when mindlessly spinning out all that summer honey in the next few weeks?

Party, party

I think it’s fair to say that both the papers in the section above have some way to go until they achieve mainstream acceptance … if they ever do.

Furthermore, the general area in which parasites, bacteria and viruses, induce changes in the behaviour of their hosts’ is really in its infancy. We are aware of a lot of behavioural changes, but few are understood at the molecular level 10. As such, we often don’t know whether the association is correlative or causative.

Evolution is certainly a powerful enough selective force to ensure that even extremely subtle benefits to the pathogen may become a genetically-fixed feature of the complex interaction it has with the host.

Respiratory viruses, such as the common cold, Covid-19 and influenza infect millions of people globally and are readily transmitted by direct or indirect contact.

That’s why most of the readers of this post have a face mask nearby and a bottle of hand sanitizer ‘at the ready’. Or should.

Direct transmission benefits the virus as it does not have to survive on a door handle, milk bottle or petrol filling pump.

But direct transmission requires that people meet and are in close contact.

And a paper 10 years ago demonstrated that infection with influenza virus resulted in increased social interactions in the 48 hours post-exposure, compared with the same period pre-exposure 11.

It’s amazing what viruses can do … or might do … or (just look around you) are doing.


 

Barcoding bees

Every jar of honey I prepare carries a¬†square¬†20mm label that identifies the apiary, batch, bucket and the date on which is was jarred. The customer can scan it to find out about local honey … and hopefully order some more.

The label looks a bit like this:

Scan me!

This is a QR code.

You’ll find QR codes on many packaged goods in the supermarket, on bus stop adverts, on … well, just about anything these days.¬† QR codes were first used in 1994 and are now ubiquitous.

QR is an abbreviation of quick response.

It’s a machine-readable two-dimensional barcode that is used to provide information about the thing it’s attached to.

QR codes contain positional and informational content. In the image above the three corners containing large squares allow the orientation to be unambiguously determined.

Within the mass of other, much smaller, black and white squares are several alignment points, an indication of the encoding 1 and the ‘information payload’.¬†

Large QR codes can contain more information and more error correction (so they can be read if damaged 2 ). Conversely, small QR codes contain reduced amounts of information and less error correction, but can still be used to uniquely identify individual things in a machine-readable manner.

A barcoded bee and barcode diagram.

And those ‘things’ include bees.

I am not a number 3

I had intended to write a post on how pathogens alter honey bee behaviour. This has been known about in general terms for some time, but only at a rather crude or generic level. 

To understand behavioural changes in more detail you need to do two things:

  • observe bees in a ‘natural setting’ (or at least as natural as can be achieved in the laboratory)
  • record hundreds or thousands of interactions between bees to be able to discriminate between normal and abnormal behaviour.¬†

And that isn’t easy because they tend to all look rather similar.

Lots of bees

How many of the bees above are engaging in trophallaxis?

Does the number increase or decrease over the next five minutes? What about the next hour?

And is it the same bees now and in an hour?

And what is trophallaxis anyway? 

I’ll address the last point after describing the technology that enables these questions to be answered.

And, since it’s the same technology that has been used to monitor the behavioural changes induced by pathogens, I’ll have to return to that topic in a week or two.¬†

Gene Robinson and colleagues from the University of Illinois at Urbana‚ÄďChampaign have developed a system for barcoding bees to enable their unique identification 4.

Not just a few bees … not just a couple of dozen bees … every bee in the colony.

Though, admittedly, the colonies are rather small ūüėČ

Each barcode carries a unique number, readable by computer, that can be tracked in real time.

So, unlike Patrick McGoohan, these bees are a number.

bCode

The scientists designed a derivative of the QR code that could be printed small enough to be superglued to the thorax of a worker bee. They termed these mini-QR-like codes bCodes 5. The information content of a bCode was limited by its size and the reference points it had to carry that allowed the orientation of the bee to be determined.

In total the bCode could carry 27 bits of data. Eleven bits (each essentially on or off, indicated by a black or white square) encoded the identification number, allowing up to 2048 bees to be uniquely numbered. The remaining 16 bits were the error-correction parity bits that had to be present to ensure the number could be accurately decoded.

If you’re thinking ahead you’ll realise that the¬†maximum number of bees they could therefore simultaneously¬†study¬†was 2048. That’s about 1/25th of a very strong colony at the peak of the season, or the number of bees covering both sides of a two-thirds full frame of sealed brood.

It’s enough bees to start a one frame nucleus hive, which will behave like a mini-colony 6 and, in due course, expand to be a much larger colony.

And if you’re thinking a long way ahead you’ll realise the every barcode must be affixed to each bee in the same orientation. How otherwise would you determine whether the bees were head to head or abdomen to abdomen?

Labelling bees

This is the easy bit.

Each bCode was 2.1mm square and weighed 0.6mg¬†i.e. ~0.7% of the weight of a worker bee. Honey bees can ‘carry’ a lot more than that. When they gorge themselves before swarming they ingest ~35mg of honey.¬†

The bCode therefore should not be an encumbrance to the bee (and they confirmed this in an exhaustive series of control studies).

A single frame of sealed brood was incubated and the bees labelled within a few hours of emergence. Typically, two batches of ~700 bees each were labelled from a single frame for a single experiment.

Each bee was anaesthetised by chilling on ice, the bCode glued in place (remember … in the same orientation on every bee) and the bee allowed to recover.

Labelling a single bee took 1-2 minutes.

Labelling 1400 bees takes several people a long time.

I said it was easy.

I didn’t say it was interesting.

Smile for the camera

I’ve not yet discussed the goal of the study that needed barcoded bees. It’s not really important while I’m focusing on the technology. Suffice to say the scientists wanted to observe bees under near natural conditions.

Which means a free-flying colony, on a frame of comb … in the dark.

Free-flying because caged bees do not behave normally.

On a frame of comb because they were interested in the interactions between bees under conditions in which they would normally interact.

And in the dark because that’s what it’s like inside a beehive (and it’s one of the features that scout bees favour when selecting a site for a swarm).

Camera and hive setup.

The scientists used an observation hive with a difference. It had an entrance to allow the bees to fly and forage freely and it contained a single sided, single frame. In front of the frame was a sheet of glass separated by 8mm from the comb. This prevented the bees from clambering over each other, which would have obscured the bCodes 7. Behind the frame was an 850nm infrared lamp to increase contrast, and the front was illuminated by several additional infrared lamps.

Bees cannot see light in the infrared range, so they were effectively in the dark.

The camera used (an Allied Vision Prosilica GX6600 … not your typical point and shoot) recorded ~29MP images every second. A typical experiment would involve the collection of about a million images occupying 4-6 terabytes of hard drive space 8.

The recorded images were processed to determine the temporal location of every bee with a visible (and readable) bCode. This was a computationally interesting challenge and involved discarding some data – e.g. barcodes that moved faster than a bee can walk or barcodes that fell to the bottom of the hive and remained motionless for days (i.e. dead bees). About 6% of the data was discarded during this post-processing analysis.

Trophallaxis

Which finally gets us to the point where we can discuss trophallaxis. 

Honey bees and other social insects engage it trophallaxis.

It involves two insects touching each other with their antennae while orally transferring liquid food. It occurs more frequently than would be required for just feeding and it has been implicated in communication and disease transmission. 

bCoded bees and trophallaxis

So, if you are interested in trophallaxis, how do you determine which bees are engaging in it, and which are just facing each other head to head?

In the image above the two bees in the center horizontally of the insert 9 are engaged in trophallaxis. The others are not, even those immediately adjacent to the central pair.

Image processing to detect trophallaxis – head detection.

This required yet more image processing. The image was screened for bees that were close enough together and aligned correctly. An additional set of custom computer-vision algorithms then determined the shape, size, position and orientation of the bees’ heads. To be defined as trophallaxis the heads had to be connected by thin shapes representing the antennae or proboscis.

And when I say¬†the image … I mean all million or so images.

Bursty behaviour

And after all that the authors weren’t really interested in trophallaxis at all.

What they were really interested in was the characteristics of interactions in social networks, and the consequences of those interactions.

This is getting us into network theory which is defined as “Well out of my depth”.¬†

Transmission of things in a network depends upon interactions between the individuals in the network.

Think about pheromones, or honey, or email … or Covid-19.

It’s only when two individuals interact that these can be transmitted between the individuals. And the interaction of individuals is often characterised by intermittency and unpredictable timing.¬†

Those in the know – and I repeat, I’m not one of them – call this burstiness.¬†

If you model the spread of ‘stuff’ (information, food, disease) through a bursty human communication network it is slower than expected.

Is this an inherent characteristic of bursty networks?

Are there real bursty networks that can be analysed.

By analysing trophallaxis Gene Robinson and colleagues showed that honey bee communication networks were also bursty (i.e. displayed intermittent and unpredictable interactions), closely resembling those seen in humans.

However, since they had identified every trophallaxis interaction over several days they could follow the spread of ‘stuff’ through the interacting network.

By simply overlaying the real records of millions of interactions over several days of an entire functional community with an event transmitted during trophallaxis they could investigate this spread..  

For example, “infect” (in silico) bee 874 in the initial second and follow the spread of the “infection” from bee to bee through the real network of known interactions.

In doing this they showed that in a real bursty network, interactions between honey bees spread ‘stuff’ about 50% faster than in randomised reference networks.¬†

Why isn’t entirely clear (certainly to me 10, and seemingly to the authors as well). One obvious possibility is that the topology of the network i.e. the contacts within it, are not random. Another is that the temporal features of a bursty network influence real transmission events.¬†

Scientists involved in network theory will have to work this out, but at least they have a tractable model to test things on …

… and at a time when some remain in lockdown, when others think it’s all a hoax, when social distancing is 2m 11, when some are wearing masks and when prior infection may not provide protective immunity anyway, you’ll appreciate that ‘how stuff spreads’ through a network is actually rather important.

Stay safe


 

If it quacks like a duck …

Quack

… it might be a trapped virgin queen.

I discussed the audio monitoring of colonies and swarm prediction last week. Whilst interesting, I remain unconvinced that it is going to be a useful way to predict swarming. 

And, more importantly, that replacing the manual aspects of hive inspections is desirable. I’m sure it will appeal to hands off beekeepers, though I’m not sure that’s what beekeeping is about.

However there was a second component to what was a long and convoluted publication 1 which I found much more interesting.

Listening in

If you remember, the researchers fitted hives with sensitive accelerometers and recorded the sounds within the hive for two years. Of about 25 colonies monitored, half swarmed during this period, generating 11 prime swarms and 19 casts.

In addition to the background sounds of the hive, with changes in frequency and volume depending upon activity, some colonies produced a series of very un-bee-like toots and quacks.

Have a listen …

The audio starts with tooting, the quacking starts around 8-9s, and there’s overlapping tooting and quacking from near the 21s mark.

Queen communication

I’ve previously introduced the concept of pheromone-based communication within the hive. For example, the mated queen produces the queen mandibular and queen footprint pheromones, the concentrations of which influence the preparation and development of new queen cells.

Tooting and quacking is another form of queen communication, this time by virgin queens in the colony.

It’s not unusual to hear some of these sounds during normal hive inspections, but only during the swarming season and only when the colony is in the process of requeening.

If you rear queens, and in my experience particularly if you use mini-mating nucs, you will regularly hear “queen piping” – another term for the tooting sound – a day or so after placing a mature charged queen cell into the small colony.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.¬†

How does the queen make these sounds?

Queen piping or tooting

Queen tooting has been observed. The queen presses her thorax tight down against the comb and vibrates her strong thoracic wing muscles. Her wings remain closed. The comb acts as a sounding board, amplifying the sound in the hive (and presumably transmitting the vibrations through the comb as well).

This doesn’t happen just anywhere … the virgin queen is usually near the cell she has recently emerged from.¬†

And this swarm cell is usually on the periphery of a frame.

This is because the laying queen only rarely ventures to the edges of frames, so the concentration of her footprint pheromone is lower in this area, eventually resulting in queen cells being produced there

In their study, accelerometers embedded in the periphery of comb were able to detect much stronger tooting and quacking signals, supporting the conclusions of Grooters (1987) 2 who had first published studies on the location of piping queens.

Queen tooting and quacking

Queen piping is usually recorded at around 400 Hz and consists of one or more 1 second long pulses, followed by a number of much shorter pulses. In previous studies the frequency of tooting had been shown to be age-related. It starts at ~350 Hz and rises in frequency to around 500 Hz as the virgin queen matures over several days.

Compare the image above with the audio file linked further up the post. The tooting is followed by an extended period of quacking, and then both sounds occur at the same time.

Going quackers

The duck-like quacking is presumably also made by queens vibrating their flight muscles while pressed up against the comb.

I say ‘presumably’ as I don’t think it has been observed, as opposed to heard.

The reason for this is straightforward, the queens that are quacking are still within the closed queen cell.

Quacking is a lower frequency sound (is this because of the confines of the queen cell, the way the sound is produced, or the ‘maturity’ of the queen’s musculature?) but has also been shown to increase in frequency – from ~200 Hz to ~350 Hz – the longer the queen remains within the cell.

Afterswarms = casts

Before discussing the timing of tooting and quacking we need to quickly revisit the process of swarming. I’ve covered some of this before when discussing the practicalities of swarm control, so will be brief.

  1. Having “decided” to swarm the colony produces swarm cells. Usually several.
  2. Weather permitting, the prime swarm headed by the original laying queen leaves the hive, on or around the day that the first of the maturing queen cells is capped.
  3. Seven days after the cell was capped the first of the newly developed virgin queens emerges. 
  4. If the colony is strong, this virgin also swarms (a cast swarm). Some texts, including the publication being discussed, call these afterswarms.
  5. Over the following hours or days, successively smaller cast swarms may leave the hive, each headed by a newly emerged virgin queen.

Not all colonies produce multiple cast swarms, but initially strong colonies often do.

From a beekeeping point of view this is bad news‚ĄĘ. It can leave the remnants of the original colony too weak to survive and potentially litters the neighbourhood with grapefruit, orange and satsuma-sized cast swarms.¬†

Irritating ūüôĀ

Whether it’s good for the bees depends upon the likelihood of casts surviving. The very fact that evolution has generated this behaviour suggests it can be beneficial. I might return to this point at the end of the post.

Tooting timing

The Grooters paper referred to earlier is probably the definitive study of queen tooting or piping. The recent Ramsey publication appears to largely confirm the earlier results 3, but has some additional insights on colony disturbance during inspections 4.

Here is the acoustic trace of an undisturbed colony producing a prime swarm and two casts.

Timing of tooting and quaking in a swarming colony

I’ve added some visible labels to the image above indicating the occurrence of tooting and quacking in an undisturbed naturally swarming colony.

  • The prime swarm exited the hive on the afternoon of the 13th. No tooting had been recorded before that date.
  • On the 17th tooting starts and increases in frequency over the next two days.
  • Quacking starts 6 hours after the tooting starts.
  • The first cast swarm (afterswarm) exits the hive on the 19th and is followed by a three hour break in tooting.
  • Tooting and quacking then continue until the second cast swarm on the afternoon of the 21st.

So, in summary, tooting starts after the prime swarm leaves and stops temporarily when the first cast leaves the hive. Quacking starts after the tooting starts and then continues until the last swarm leaves the hive.

Why all the tooting and quacking?

The timing of queen tooting is consistent with it being made by a virgin queen that has emerged from the cell. The cessation of tooting upon swarming (the first afterswarm) suggests that the virgin left with the swarm. The restarting of tooting a few hours later suggests a new virgin queen has been released from another cell and is announcing her presence to the colony.

In previous studies, Grooters had shown that replaying the tooting sound to mature virgin queens actively chewing their way out of a queen cell delayed their emergence by several hours. This delay allowed the attendant workers to reseal the cell and obstruct her emergence for several days.

These timings and the behaviour(s) they are associated with suggest they are a colony-level communication strategy to reduce competition between queens. 

The newly emerged virgin queen toots (pipes) to inform the workers that there is ‘free’ queen in the colony. The workers respond by holding back emergence of other mature queens.¬†

If all (or several) of the virgin queens emerged and ran around the hive simultaneously they would effectively be ‘competing’ for the hive resources needed for successful swarming¬†i.e. the workers.¬†

By controlling and coordinating a succession of queen emergence, a strong colony has the opportunity to generate one, two or more cast swarms whilst sufficient workers remain in the hive. It presumably helps ensure the casts are of a sufficient size to give them the best chance of survival.

At what point does this succession stop or break down? One possibility is that this happens when there are insufficient workers to prevent additional virgin queens from emerging.

Unanswered questions

Why do mature virgin queens within the cell quack? It is clearly a response to tooting, rather than being standard behaviour of a soon-to-emerge queen. 

Hear! Hear the pipes are calling, Loudly and proudly calling (from Scotland the Brave)

Is the quacking to attract workers to help reseal the cell?

I suspect not. At least, I suspect there is a more pressing need to attract the workers. After all, wouldn’t it be easier for the queen to simply stop chewing her way out for a few hours?¬†

Isn’t there a risk that a quacking cell-bound queen might attract the virgin queen running around ‘up top’ who might attempt to slaughter her captive half-sister?¬†

Possibly, so perhaps the workers that are attracted to the quacking cell also protect the cell, preventing the loose virgin queen from damaging the yet-to-emerge queens.

This would make sense … if the virgin leaves with a cast, the workers that will remain must be sure that there will be a queen available to head the colony

And finally, back to the tooting. I also wonder if this has additional roles in colony communication. For example, what other responses does it induce in the workers? 

Does the increasing frequency of tooting inform the workers that the virgin is maturing and that they should ready themselves for swarming? Perhaps tooting above a certain frequency induces workers to gorge themselves with honey to ensure the swarm has sufficient stores?

In support of this last suggestion, studies conducted almost half a century ago by Simpson and Greenwood 5 concluded that a 650 Hz artificial piping sound induced swarming in colonies containing a single mobile (i.e. free) virgin queen.

Casts

The apparently self-destructive swarming where a colony generates a series of smaller and smaller casts seems to be a daft choice from an evolutionary point of view.

Several studies, in particular from Thomas Seeley, have shown that swarming is a risky business for a colony … and that the majority of the risk is borne by the swarm, not the parental colony.¬†

87% of swarmed colonies will rear a new queen and successfully overwinter, but only 25% of swarms survive. And the latter figure must only get smaller as the size of the swarms decrease. 

One possibility is that under entirely natural conditions a colony will not undergo this type of self-destructive swarming. Perhaps it is a consequence of the strength of colonies beekeepers favour for good nectar collection or pollination?

Alternatively, perhaps it reflects the way we¬†manage our colonies. Ramsey and colleagues also record tooting and quacking from colonies disturbed during hive inspections. In at least one of these their interpretation was that there were multiple queens ‘free’ in the hive simultaneously, presumably because workers had failed to restrict the emergence of at least one virgin queen.

So, perhaps hive inspections that (inadvertently) result in the release of multiple virgin queens are the colonies that subsequently¬†slice’n’dice themselves to oblivion by producing lots of casts.

I can only remember one colony of mine doing this … and it started days after the previous inspection, but that doesn’t mean the disturbance I created during the inspection wasn’t the cause.

I’d be interested to know of your experience or thoughts.


Colophon

The title of this post is derived from the Duck Test:

If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.

This probably dates back to the end of the 19th Century. It’s a form of abductive 6 reasoning or logical inference. It starts with an observation or set of observations and then seeks to find the simplest and most likely conclusion from those observations. In comparison to deductive reasoning, logical inference does not lead to a logically certain conclusion.¬†

Inevitably, Monty Python stretched the logical inference a little too far in the Witch Logic scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail:

What do you do with witches? Burn them! And what do you burn apart from witches? Wood! So, why do witches burn? ‘cos they’re made of wood? So; how do we tell if she is made of wood? Build a bridge out of ‘er! Ah, but can you not also make bridges out of stone? Oh yeah. Does wood sink in water? No, it floats! It floats! Throw her into the pond! What also floats in water? Bread! Apples! Very small rocks? Cider! Gra-Gravy! Cherries! Mud! Churches? Churches! Lead, Lead. A Duck! Exactly. So, logically… If she weighs the same as a duck, she’s made of wood… and therefore… a witch!

A June Gap

As far as the beekeeping season is concerned, we’ve had the starter and we’re¬†now waiting for the main course.¬†

Like restaurants, the size of the ‘starter’ depends upon your location. If you live in an area with lots of oil seed rape (OSR) and other early nectar, the spring honey crop might account for the majority of your annual honey.

If you are in the west, or take your hives to the hills, you might have skipped the starter altogether hoping the heather is the all-you-can-eat buffet of the season.

Lockdown honey

In Fife they appear to be growing less OSR as the farmers have had problems with flea beetle since the neonicotinoid ban was introduced.

Nevertheless, my bees are in range of a couple of fields and – if the weather behaves – usually get a reasonable crop from it. My earlier plans to move hives directly onto the fields, saving the bees a few hundred yards of flying to and fro, was thwarted (like so much else this year) by the pandemic.

The timing of the spring honey harvest is variable, and quite important. You want it to be late enough that the bees have collected what they can and had a chance to ripen it properly so that the water content is below 20% 1.

However, you can’t leave it too late. Fast-granulating OSR honey sets hard in the frames and then cannot be extracted without melting. In addition, there’s often a dearth of nectar in the weeks after the OSR finishes and the bees can end up eating their stores, leaving the beekeeper with nothing ūüôĀ

Judging all that from 150 miles away on the west coast where I’m currently based was a bit tricky. I had to timetable a return visit to also check on queen mating and the build up of all the colonies I’d used the nucleus method of swarm control on.

Ideally all in the same visit.

Blowin’ in the wind

I’d made up the nucs, added supers and last checked my colonies around the 17-19th of May. I finally returned on the 10th of June.

In the intervening period I’d been worried about one of my more exposed apiaries. I’d run out of ratchet straps to hold the hives together and was aware there had been some gales in late May.

Sure enough, when I got to the apiary, there was ample evidence of the gales …

How the mighty fall

The only unsecured hive was completely untouched and the bees were happily working away. However, one of the strapped hives had been toppled and was laying face (i.e. entrance) down. You can see the dent in the fence where it collided on its descent.

If she hadn’t already (and I expect she hadn’t based upon the date of the gales) I suspect the queen struggled to get out and mate from this hive ūüôĀ

Nuked nucs

Two adjacent 8-frame nucs were also sitting lidless in the gentle rain. The lids and the large piece of timber they’d been held down with were on the ground. The perspex crownboards were shattered into dozens of pieces.

These bees were fine.

Both queens were laying and the bees were using the new top entrance (!) for entering and leaving the hive. They were a little subdued and the colonies were less well developed than the other nucs (see below). However, their survival for the best part of three weeks uncovered is a tribute to their resilience.

They were thoroughly confused how to get back into the hive after I replaced the lids ūüôā

Slow queen mating

Other than extracting, the primary purpose of this visit was to check the queenright nucs from my swarm control weren’t running out of space, and to check on the progress of queen mating in the original colonies.

Queen mating always takes longer than you expect.

Or than I expect at least.

Poor weather hampered my inspection of all re-queening colonies but, of those I looked at, 50% had new laying queens and the others looked as though they would very soon.

By which I mean the colonies were calm and ‘behaved’ queenright, they were foraging well and the centre of the ‘broodnest’ (or what would be the centre if there was any brood) was being kept clear of nectar and had large patches of polished cells.

Overall it was a bit too soon to be sure everything was OK, but I expect it is.

However, it wasn’t too soon to check the nucs.

Overflowing nucs

In fact, it was almost too late …

With one exception the nucs were near to overflowing with bees and brood.

I favour the Thorne’s Everynuc which has an integral feeder at one end of the box. Once the bees start drawing comb in the feeder they’re running desperately short of space.

Most had started …

Here's one I prepared earlier

Here’s one I prepared earlier

I didn’t photograph any of the nucs, but the photo above (of an overly-full overwintered nuc) shows what I mean; the feeder is on the right.

The nucs had been made up with one frame of predominantly emerging brood, a few more nurse bees, two foundationless frames, a frame of drawn comb and a frame of stores.

They were now all packed with 5 frames of brood and would have started making swarm preparations within a few days if I hadn’t dealt with them.

Good laying pattern from queen in 5 frame nucleus

And the queens had laid beautiful solid sheets of brood (always reasonably easy if the comb is brand new).

Housekeeping and more swarm prevention

The beauty of the nucleus method of swarm control is that you have the older queen ‘in reserve’ should the new queen not get mated, or be of poor quality.

The problem I was faced with was that the new queens weren’t all yet laying (and for those that were it was too soon to determine their quality), but the older queen was in a box they were rapidly outgrowing.

I therefore removed at least three frames of brood 2 from each nuc and used it to boost the re-queening colonies, replacing the brood-filled frames with fresh foundation 3.

The nucs will build up again strongly and the full colonies will benefit from a brood boost to make up for some of the bees lost during requeening. Some of the transferred frames had open brood. These produce pheromones that should hold back the development of laying workers.

Finally, if the requeening colonies actually lack a queen (the weather was poor and I didn’t search very hard in any of them) there should be a few¬†larvae¬†young enough on the transferred frames for them to draw a new queen cell if needed.

I marked the introduced frames so I can check them quickly on my next visit to the apiary.

This frame needs to be replaced … but could be used in a bait hive next year

The additional benefit of moving brood from the nucs to the full colonies is that it gave me an opportunity to remove some old, dark frames from the latter.

Shown above is one of the removed frames. As the colony is broodless 4¬†and there’s the usual reduction in available nectar in early/mid June, many of the frames in the brood box were largely empty and can easily be replaced with better quality comb.

Everyone’s a winner ūüėČ

Drone laying queen

One of the nucs made in mid/late May had failed. The queen had developed into a drone layer.

Drone laying queen

The laying pattern was focused around the middle of frame indicating it had been laid by a queen. If it had been laying workers the drone brood would be scattered all over the frames.

There was no reasonable or efficient way to save this colony. The queen was removed and I then shook the bees out in front of a row of strong hives.

I was surprised I’d not seen problems with this queen when making up the nucs in May 5. I do know that all the colonies had worker brood because the nucs were all made containing one frame of emerging (worker) brood.

Perhaps the shock of being dumped into a new box stopped her laying fertilised eggs. Probably it was just a coincidence. We’ll ever know …

Extraction

And, in between righting toppled hives, checking for queens, stopping nucs from swarming, moving a dozen hives/nucs, boosting requeening hives and replacing comb … I extracted a very good crop of spring honey.

Luvverrrly

Although I had fewer ‘production’ hives this season than previous years (to reduce my workload during the lockdown) I still managed to get a more than respectable spring harvest. In fact, it was my best spring since moving back to Scotland in 2015.

The crop wasn’t as large as I’d managed previously in Warwickshire, but the season here starts almost a month later.

A fat frame of spring honey

I start my supers with 10 or 11 frames, but once they are drawn I reduce to 9 frames. With a good nectar flow the bees draw out the comb very nicely.

The bees use less wax (many of my frames are also drawn on drone foundation, so even less wax than worker comb 6), it’s easier to uncap and I have fewer frames to extract.

Again … everyone’s a winner ūüėČ

Not the June gap

Quite a few frames contained fresh nectar, so there was clearly a flow of something (other than rain, which seemed to predominate during my visit) going on. These frames are easy to identify as they drip nectar over the floor as you lift them out to uncap ūüôĀ

In some years you find frames with a big central capped region – enough to usefully extract – but containing lots of drippy fresh nectar in the uncapped cells at the edges and shoulders. I’ve heard that some beekeepers do a low speed spin in the extractor to remove the nectar, then uncap and extract the ripe honey.

I generally don’t bother and instead just stick these back in the hive.

If there’s one task more tiresome than extracting it’s cleaning the extractor afterwards. To have to also clean the extractor¬†during extracting (to avoid the high water content nectar from spoiling the honey) is asking too much!

Colonies can starve during a prolonged nectar dearth in June. All of mine were left with some stores in the brood box and with the returned wet supers. That, plus the clear evidence for some nectar being collected, means they should be OK.

National Honey monitoring Scheme

I have apiaries in different parts of Fife. The bees therefore forage in distinct areas and have access to a variety of different nectar sources.

It’s sometimes relatively easy to determine what they’ve been collecting nectar from – if the back of the thorax has a white(ish) stripe on it and it’s late summer they’re hammering the balsam, if they’ve got bags of yellow pollen and the bees are yellow and the fields all around are yellow it’s probably rape.

Mid-April in the apiary ...

Mid-April in a Warwickshire apiary …

But it might not be.

To be certain you need to analyse the pollen.

The old skool way of doing this is by microscopy. Honey – at least the top quality honey produced by local amateur beekeepers 7 – contains lots of pollen. Broadly speaking, the relative proportions of the different pollens – which can usually be distinguished microscopically – tells you the plants the nectar was collected from.

The cutting edge way to achieve the same thing in a fraction of the time (albeit at great expense) is to use so-called next generation sequencing to catalogue all the pollen present in the sample.

Pollen contains nucleic acid and the sequence of the nucleotides in the nucleic acid are uniquely characteristics of particular plant species. You can easily get both qualitative and quantitative data.

And this is exactly what the National Honey Monitoring Scheme is doing.

They use the data to monitor long-term changes in the condition and health of the countryside” but they provide the beekeeper’s involved with the information of pollen types and proportions in their honey.

National Honey Monitoring Scheme samples

Samples¬†must be taken directly from capped comb. It’s a messy business. Fortunately the labelling on the sample bottles is waterproof so everything can be thoroughly rinsed before popping them into the post for future analysis.

I have samples analysed already from last year and will have spring and summer samples from a different apiary this season. I’ll write in the future about what the results look like, together with a more in-depth explanation of the technology used.

When I last checked you could still register to take part and have your own honey analysed.


Notes

Under (re)construction

Lockdown means there have been more visitors than ever to this site, with numbers up at least 75% over this time last year.

This, coupled with the need to upgrade some of the underlying software that keeps this site together, means I’m in the middle of moving to a bigger, faster, better (more expensive ūüôĀ ) server. I’m beginning to regret the bloat of wordpress over the lean and mean Hugo or Jekyll-type templating systems (and if this means nothing to you then I’m in good company) and may yet switch.

In the meantime, bear with me … there may be some broken links littering a few pages. If it looks and works really badly, clear your browser cache, re-check things and please send me an email using the link at the bottom of the right hand column.

Thank you

 

Does DWV replicate in mites?

Buckle up.

After a gentle tale of bad beekeeping last week 1 I think it’s time for a bit of science.

Does deformed wing virus replicate in Varroa mites?

Varroa destructor – focus stacked image

Actually, do any pathogenic virus of honey bees replicate in mites?

Does it matter?

Not really … in comparison to the 2.1 billion people who don’t have access to safe drinking water 2, it’s unimportant.

But if you’re interested in how viruses are transmitted between bees, or how the virus population evolves, then knowing whether the virus replicates in Varroa is important.

For example, perhaps replication in Varroa amplifies a particular sub-population of virus that are more virulent, or more transmissable?

Or causes bees to drift more, so spreading the virus more widely in the environment?

Behaviour-altering viruses are interesting. There has been recent a report that IAPV 3 changes the social behaviour of honey bees to potentially increase transmission 4.

So, if it does matter …

Why now?

Three things prompted me to write this post now:

  1. A recent paper on Black Queen Cell Virus replicating in Varroa was briefly discussed on the Bee-L mailing list. This paper repeated many of the errors of assumption in the historical literature  on virus replication in Varroa 5.
  2. The experiments done to address this question over the last couple of decades have been either contradictory or uninformative. Or both. Or just not very good ūüôĀ
  3. We have¬†just published a study 6 that specifically addresses whether deformed wing virus can replicate in mites. Inevitably 7 I think it’s the most complete answer to date but, as will become clearer, it raises more questions than it answers and I know we don’t yet understand the full story.

To understand the problem you need to have a little background on both viruses and Varroa. Our paper is on deformed wing virus (DWV) and I’ll almost exclusively be using this as an example. If I use the word ‘virus’ I mean DWV.

However, the generalities of the shortcomings in some of the historical studies and the way we tackled the problem is relevant to any virus of honey bees. In that regard, when I use the word ‘virus’ it could probably mean¬†any virus of honey bees.

Background to viruses

Viruses are obligate intracellular parasites. They can only replicate inside a living cell. The majority of pathogenic viruses of honey bees have a genome composed of single stranded positive sense RNA.

I did remind you to buckle up? … here we go.

All single strand positive sense RNA viruses share a broadly similar replication strategy.

Virus replication – select for full size and legend.

The virus enters the cell and the genome is translated to make proteins. There are essentially two types of proteins made:

  • the structural proteins – these form the new progeny virus particles. They are what package the new virus genomes into particles (thereby protecting it from damage) to infect the next cell, or host.
  • the¬†non-structural proteins – these proteins are the ‘motor’ that makes new virus genomes 8. They do not form part of the virus particle.

After translation the non-structural proteins replicate the virus genome. To do this they first make a single stranded negative-sense template from which they eventually copy hundreds or thousands of more positive-strands.

The positive strands (only) associate with the structural proteins to form new virus particles. These leave the cell and go on to infect another cell, or another bee.

It’s as simple as that ūüôā

A few important things to remember:

  • negative strands are¬†never present in the virus particle. Since they would be non-infectious the virus has evolved all sorts of elegant ways of excluding them from the particle.
  • there are¬†lots of positive strands produced from each negative strand. A ratio of 1000:1 or higher is not unusual 9.
  • without the initial production of the non-structural proteins the virus cannot replicate.

Background to Varroa

I’ve discussed¬†Varroa extensively in previous posts. A full description of the life cycle was presented in the post¬†Know your enemy. For lots of juicy background detail please refer back to that post.

As far as this post is concerned the important facts are as follows:

  • Varroa feeds on developing honey bee pupae and, during the (misnamed) phoretic stage of the life cycle, on adult bees.
  • the mite ingests a rich ‘soup’ of cells and proteins from the bee. For a long time it was thought that the mite fed on haemolymph (effectively bee blood), but some currently favour the evidence that¬†Varroa feeds on the fat body of bees. As far as this post goes, it’s irrelevant whether the mite feeds on haemolymph or the fat body 10.
  • when the mite feeds on a virus-infected bee is also ingests the virus.
  • when the mite subsequently feeds on a different bee (for example, to initiate another round of incestuous replication) it transmits some of the virus in its saliva to the new bee.

There, that wasn’t so bad was it?

Evidence for virus replication in Varroa

I’m not going to provide an exhaustive review the extensive literature here. It goes back to the mid-90’s and is pretty dull and rather hard going in places.

There are also lots of papers on DWV replication in bumble bees … does it?

Essentially the evidence¬†for replication of viruses in mites is the presence of virus¬†negative strands in the mite. Time and again this has been presented as “definitive proof” that the virus replicates in Varroa.

Does that seem reasonable?

You already know enough Varroa and virus biology to see the flaw in this conclusion.

Q. What did that mite last feed on?

A. A virus-infected pupa.

Q. And what was therefore present in abundance in that pupa?

A. Negative strands of the virus genome.

Just because viral negative strands are detectable in the mite does not mean that they were produced in the mite when (if?) the virus replicated.

Perhaps they were simply ingested with the soup of proteins and cells that the mite eats?

This is an error based upon a positive result. There is an assumption that the positive result tells you something … but it doesn’t, or at least it might not.

Evidence against virus replication in Varroa

This one is more subtle and – in contrast to the above –¬† is an error based on a negative result.

It’s always dangerous drawing scientific conclusions from negative results. Perhaps the experiment just didn’t work? Perhaps it wasn’t sensitive enough? This is why lots of controls are needed.

Scientists looked in detail at all of the proteins present in Varroa mites. They used a method called mass spectroscopy that detects tiny fragmented proteins which they identified by comparison with a database of known proteins.

Orbitrap ID-X Tribrid Mass Spectrometer

If one of the tiny fragments matches, there’s a reasonable chance that the entire protein was present. If lots of different tiny fragments match one protein there’s compelling evidence that the entire protein was present in the sample 11.

Using mass spectroscopy scientists detected the structural proteins of deformed wing virus. However, using the same methods, they could not detect the non-structural proteins.

Since the non-structural proteins were ‘absent’ the virus could not have been replicating in the mite as they are a prerequisite for replication.

Seems logical, but is again potentially wrong.

Perhaps the tiny protein fragments of the non-structural proteins of DWV are ‘sticky’ and remain associated with cellular fats and membranes 12 during the purification process?

What about controls? Did the authors demonstrate they could detect the non-structural proteins of a virus that does replicate in Varroa? Was the sensitivity of their assay sufficient to detect the levels of non-structural proteins expected to be present? Did they provide evidence they could detect other similarly low abundance proteins?

No.

Should honey bee viruses replicate in Varroa?

Viruses are obligate intracellular parasites. They depend upon proteins and processes in the cell for their replication. This often means that viruses are restricted to a very narrow range of hosts. Sometimes viruses will only replicate in certain tissues or cell types of a single host species.

Varroa and honey bees are both Arthropods, but belong to different classes (Arachnida and Insecta respectively) within this phylum. They are therefore rather distantly related.

This does not mean that a virus of honey bees cannot replicate in the mite. There are several human viruses that also replicate in the mosquito (Dengue, Yellow Fever, Zika for example) during transmission. However, it’s an interesting philosophical¬†cul-de-sac which is distracting us from the main event.

Genetically engineered deformed wing virus

Keeping up?

Good.

Now we’re getting to the more exciting stuff 13.

For some time now my lab have been able to genetically engineer deformed wing virus. This means we can make changes to the virus that help us do interesting or informative experiments.

For example, Olesya ‘Alex’ Gusachenko in my team built a virus that expresses a protein that turns bees green.

Green bees

This is allowing us to look in detail at the specific tissues the virus replicates in, or at transmission of the virus between bees. I’ll discuss green bees again in the future.

To investigate whether deformed wing virus replicates in Varroa we used a virus that had been engineered to contain a tiny genetic tag. It was equivalent to altering 0.05% of the virus genetic material. This genetic modification had three really important features:

  • it was¬†unique and was not present in any other strains of deformed wing virus
  • although present in the virus genome it did not change any of the characteristics of the virus 14.
  • it was easy to detect. Alex developed an assay that could detect really tiny amounts (probably less than 100 copies) of genomes that contained this modification.

An artificial diet for Varroa

The final thing I need to introduce is how to keep Varroa mites in the laboratory 15. The experts can maintain Varroa in incubators, feeding them on little drops of honey bee haemolymph in what are called feed packets.

We’re not experts. But we know people who are.

We collaborated with our friends Alan Bowman, Ewan Campbell and Craig Christie in Aberdeen University who helped us with the Varroa feed packet part of the experiment.

A mite-infested apiary in Aberdeen with Luke, from my lab, and Craig discussing craft beers.

Critically, Alan’s lab have developed a feed packet system that contains no honey bee material. They can maintain¬†Varroa in the lab without feeding them on mushed up bees. This means we had total control over what our¬†Varroa could eat.

The feed packet contents are a closely guarded secret 16 but will be published soon.

Enough! Enough! Does DWV replicate in mites?

This is how we did the experiment. We grew large amounts of our genetically-tagged virus in honey bee pupae.

We purified the virus and treated it with an enzyme called RNAse.

As described above, the genome of DWV is made from the chemical RNA. RNAse degrades and destroys RNA.

However, viruses are resistant to RNAse because the RNA genome is protected inside the structural protein coat that forms outer layer of the virus particle.

We treated the purified virus preparation with RNAse to remove all RNA that was not inside the virus particles. This contaminating RNA could otherwise compromise the experiment.

Importantly, RNAse degrades both positive and negative strand RNA molecules. Therefore, we could be certain that our virus input into the experiment contained no contaminating negative strand RNA (and confirmed this in several controls).

We then added our virus to the feed packets being used to maintain groups of ten Varroa. After 4 days we harvested the Varroa and extracted all the RNA from them. We also had control mites which were not fed our tagged virus, but were otherwise treated in an identical manner.

All the mites contained very large amount of DWV-specific positive strand RNA. This was unsurprising. Even if our tagged DWV did not replicate in mites they had been feeding on honey bee pupae packed with DWV only four days ago.

We then looked for the presence of negative strand RNA. Again, there were reasonable amounts present, entirely consistent with their previous diet of DWV-infected honey bees. The control mites contained good levels of negative strand RNA.

DWV replicates in Varroa

However, only the mites fed the tagged virus contained a variably weak but consistent signal for the unique genetic tag we had introduced.

We interpret that as very good evidence that DWV does replicate in Varroa.

Is this level of replication significant?

Significant in terms of what?

It’s significant in that this experiment demonstrates for the first time the de novo production of replication intermediates (the negative strand RNA) in mites.

I’m not unbiased ( ūüôā ) but I think this is some of the best evidence supporting DWV replication in Varroa. It also demonstrates the types of experiments that are probably needed to determine whether other honey bee viruses replicate in the mite. The presence of negative strands is not enough. As the figure above shows, at least in the case of DWV, the majority come from the bee pupa the mite last fed on and we have no way to determine whether they are newly replicated or not.

But is the replication significant in terms of the amplification of the virus?

The presence of this signal confirms that there is some replication of DWV in Varroa. The fact that the signal is weak suggests that virus replication is not very extensive or very fast.

For comparison, if we inject the equivalent of 10 DWV virus particles into a honey bee pupa 17 they will be replicate to produce 1,000,000,000 (one billion) viruses within 48 hours. Assuming a conservative ratio of positive to negative strands, these individual pupae would each contain a million copies of negative strand RNA two days after infection.

We have yet to fully quantify specific negative strand levels replicated in Varroa, but it looks a whole lot less than that to me.

These are technically very demanding experiments and will take some time to complete. In the meantime we can and should ask a more relevant question.

Is this replication significant in terms of the biology of the virus?

By ‘biology of the virus’ I mean things like differential amplification of specific variants of the virus in the mite, so changing the virus population. For example, does virus adaptation occur, selecting for DWV variants that are more transmissable by Varroa?

We don’t know yet, but at least we have a system which will allow us to test this.

Although we have additional genetically-tagged variants of DWV we can test in the future, in mixed infections one will only be consistently selected over the others if it has a growth advantage.

We don’t yet know such a growth advantage even exists and there might be better ways to determine if it does. These are not straightforward experiments to undertake.

Based upon the limited replication we see in mites I do not think that the replication is significant in terms of increasing the amount of infectious virus in the mite. In contrast, the very high level of replication in honey bees may well allow the evolution of particular strains with particular characteristics.

Where is the replicating virus in Varroa?

We treated the mite like a simple bag of RNA.

We didn’t determine whether the virus was present in muscle, or brain or the ovaries.

The location of the virus is really important.

If the virus is replicating in a tissue that facilitates transmission to the next bee 18, particularly if certain types of virus are being selected because they grow better there, then it might be significant.

Some tissues allow viruses to be transmitted, others do not.

For example, poliovirus is a very distant cousin of DWV. Poliovirus is transmitted faecal-orally 19 in contaminated water supplies. After ingestion it replicates really well in the small intestine. It then has a short distance to travel (!) until it is excreted again. So, the primary site of poliovirus replication (the gut), is ideal as it ensures an obvious route for transmission.

Actually, poliovirus replicates so well in the gut that in about 0.5% of infected people it escapes from the gut and enters the peripheral nervous system. It then travels to the spinal cord and finally reaches the brain.

Poliovirus replicates pretty well in the brain as well … so well that it destroys some of the grey matter causing paralytic poliomyelitis 20.

But, as far as the virus is concerned, the brain is a dead-end. There’s no way out. Virus that replicates in the brain can never infect another person. How could it get from the brain to a water supply?

What about DWV? Is DWV replicating in tissues that enables transmission to another host?

Replication in the gut, in salivary glands or possibly the ovaries would all be consistent with transmission (with the ovaries as a source for vertical transmission to progeny mites – though they have already fed at the same spot on the pupa so determining this might be difficult). However, if DWV is replicating in mite muscle or brain it may well be irrelevant in terms of honey bee virus biology as there’s no obvious way out of those tissues.

Questions and answers

We attempted to answer a seemingly simple question “Can DWV replicate in mites?

We think the answer is yes.

But, as you can see from the few paragraphs above, that short question and even shorter answer has generated lots more questions.

And some of them are much more difficult to answer than the one we tackled ūüôĀ

Identifying the site(s) of virus replication in Varroa would normally require microdissection of a variety of different tissues. Is the virus present? Is it replicating?

But a virus that expresses a fluorescent green protein during replication should make things a lot more straightforward … but more on that some other time.


Notes

The paper containing this study is available Рopen access (i.e. free) Рthe full title and journal details are: Gusachenko et al., (2020) Green Bees: Reverse Genetic Analysis of Deformed Wing Virus Transmission, Replication, and Tropism. Viruses 12: 532.

The memory of swarms

I’m writing this waiting for the drizzle to clear so I can go to the apiary and make up some nucs for swarm control. Without implementing some form of swarm control it’s inevitable that my large colonies will swarm 1.

Swarming is an inherently risky process for a colony. Over 75% of natural swarms perish, often because they do not build up strongly enough to overwinter successfully.

As a mechanism for reproduction swarming is somewhat unusual in that the intact colony is split into two not fully functional ‘halves’ 2.

By not fully functional I mean that neither the swarmed colony, nor the swarm are guaranteed to survive.

The swarmed colony lacks a queen, but has ample stores.

The swarm has a queen but has only the stores carried in the bellies of the workers.

The swarmed colony needs to rear a new queen. The swarm needs to find a new nest site, move there, build comb, rear brood, forage etc.

That seems like the very opposite of intelligent design, but it’s the way evolution has made things work. This being the case it involves a whole range of compromises and quick fixes that¬†make it work.

One of these involves the memory of worker bees, which is what this post is about.

Two-stage swarming

A range of events within the hive Рwhich for reasons that will become obvious I will term the original nest site Рtrigger the urge to swarm. I discussed some of these when covering swarm prevention. Swarming is then essentially a two-stage process. 

The two stage process of swarming

The first stage is the swarm leaving the original nest site and establishing a bivouac nearby. This is the classic cluster of bees hanging from a branch.

The bivouac sends out scout bees to search the nearby area for potential new nest sites. After ‘discussion’ (comprehensively covered by Thomas Seeley in Honeybee Democracy) between the scouts they reach a consensus of the best site.

The second stage is the relocation of the bivouacked colony to the new nest site. For example, this could be the church tower, a hollow tree or a bait hive. This site is likely to be within a few hundred metres of the original nest site, but can be further away.

All of which should raise some questions in the minds of beekeepers who are familiar with the¬†“less than 3 feet or more than 3 miles” rule.

Have these bees not read the rules?

If you want to move a hived colony of bees you’ll often be told, or have read, that you need to move them either less than three feet¬†or¬†more than 3 miles.

Worker bees have a foraging range of about 3 miles. Within this range they have an uncanny ability to return to the hive location using features of the landscape to orientate themselves. The ‘final approach’ uses scent from the hive entrance.

Therefore, if you move a colony 3 feet they’ll still find the general location using landscape features, and then orientate to the hive entrance using scent.

If you move a colony 10 miles away everything is new to them and they’ll embark on some orientation flights to learn the new landscape features.

But if you move the colony a mile they’ll use the landscape features to return to the site of the original hive … to find it gone ūüôĀ 3

Swarms break all these rules.

The bivouac is (in my experience) always more than 3 feet from the hive entrance. If the scout bees make the choice (e.g. selecting a bait hive to occupy), the swarm always relocates to a new nest site less than three miles from the site it left 4.

And a beekeeper who drops a bivouacked colony into a skep can move it wherever she wants, even back to the same hive stand it recently vacated.

If the swarm followed the rules, the majority of the workers would return from the bivouacked swarm to the original nest site.

At least they would if they had orientated to the original nest site in the first instance.

Are the bees naive?

About half of a workers life is spent as a forager collecting water, pollen or nectar. But before they venture out of the hive, the first half of a worker bees life is spent building comb, nursing larvae or cleaning cells.

Therefore, one possibility is that the bees present in a swarm have no knowledge of the hive location because they’ve never before left the hive.

We know that the proportion of workers that leave the colony when it swarms is about 75%. This has been determined in a number of independent studies and is remarkably consistent, irrespective of the size of the colony that swarms.

If 75% of the workers leave the colony when it swarms it is mathematically impossible for the swarm not to include older foragers (assuming the laying rate of the queen is steady).

In fact, we don’t need to resort to any underhand mathematics as the age classes of bees in a swarm have been measured. I’ve discussed this before when comparing natural and artificial swarms.

Age distribution of bees in swarms

Age distribution of bees in swarms

The median age of adult bees in the hive is 19 days. The median age of bees in a swarm is 10 days. Therefore swarms do contain younger bees, but not exclusively so.

One of the reasons for this bias towards younger bees must be to do with the relatively short lifespan of foragers. Many of the older bees in the swarm will have perished long before the new brood laid by the queen emerges.

Permanent amnesia?

The bivouacked swarm doesn’t dwindle in size as the older foragers drift back to the original nest site. Other than a few hundred scout bees, the majority of the bivouacked swarm huddle together to protect the queen, buried somewhere in the centre, from the elements.

They don’t fly or forage … they’re waiting for the signal from the scout bees that a new nest site has been located.

And, once they relocate to the church tower, the hollow tree or a bait hive, the older foragers stay in the new nest location. It’s as though the bees in a swarm that previously knew where the original nest site was have amnesia.

And this makes sense. If they did return to the original nest site the swarm (whether bivouacked or relocated) would shrink in size and it’s chances of surviving would be severely diminished. Other than a full belly of honey a swarm can rely on nothing. They need as many bees as possible to take on all the roles needed to establish a new colony – comb builders, nurses, foragers¬†etc.

But have they really forgotten the original nest site?

Temporary amnesia?

It turns out that swarms do retain a memory of their original nest site.

In 1993 Gene Robinson and colleagues demonstrated that a swarm shaken out from its new nest site preferentially returns to the original nest site, rather than to an equidistant alternate 5.

This ability must rely on the memory of the foragers in the swarm. Therefore it is likely to be lost in a relatively short time (days, not weeks) 6.

Firstly, the foragers will be busy reorienting to the new nest site, effectively overwriting the memory of the original nest location. In good weather this takes just a couple of days.

Secondly, these ageing bees don’t have long to live, so there will be ever-decreasing numbers of them to lead a shaken out swarm back to the original location.

Rain stops play

Sometimes the bivouacked colony never relocates to a new nest site. Either the scouts never achieve a consensus or – more likely – bad weather forces the swarm to hunker down.

When you hive a bivouacked swarm you will often find a small crescent or two of new wax on the branch they were clinging to.¬†If the bees get trapped by bad weather I think the comb building continues. It’s not unusual to find comb in hedgerows near apiaries where bees that have got trapped have ended up trying to make a new nest.

Natural comb

Natural comb …

What does the memory – or lack of it – of swarms mean for practical beekeeping?

The (temporary) amnesia of swarms means you can collect a bivouacked swarm and move it wherever you want. A swarm that relocates to your bait hive can also be moved, but don’t wait too long. Within just a few days of a swarm arriving the bees will have reoriented to their new location. I always try and move bait hives to their final location within three days of a swarm appearing.


Notes

The drizzle stopped and I spent the entire day finding queens and making up nucs.

Note to self … a super-strong colony with no queen cells, wall-to-wall brood and no very young larvae or eggs probably has a faulty queen excluder ūüôĀ

Second note to self … Sod’s law dictates that the colony with the faulty queen excluder probably has supers filled with drone comb ūüôĀ

Aristotle’s hairless black thieves

Aristotle not in his beesuit

Almost every article or review on chronic bee paralysis virus 1 starts with a reference to Aristotle describing the small, black, hairless ‘thieves‘, which he observed in the hives of beekeepers on Lesbos over 2300 years ago 2.

Although Aristotle was a great observer of nature, he didn’t get everything right.

And when it came to bees, he got quite a bit wrong.

He appreciated the concept of a ‘ruling’ bee in the hive, but thought that the queen was actually a king 3. He also recognised different castes, though he thought that¬†drones (which he said “is the largest of them all, has no sting and is stupid”) were a different species.

He also reported that bees stored noises in earthenware jars (!) and carried stones on windy days to avoid getting blown away 4.

However, over subsequent millenia, a disease involving black, hairless honey bees has been recognised by beekeepers around the world, so in this instance Aristotle was probably correct.

Little blacks, maladie noire, schwarzsucht

The names given to the symptomatic bees or the disease include little blacks or black robbers in the UK, mal nero in Italy, maladie noire in France or schwarzsucht (black addiction) in Germany. Sensibly, the Americans termed the disease hairless black syndrome. All describe the characteristic appearance of individual diseased bees.

Evidence that the disease had a viral aetiology came from Burnside in the 1940’s who demonstrated the symptoms could be recapitulated in caged bees by injection, feeding or spraying them with bacterial-free extracts of paralysed bees. Twenty years later, Leslie Bailey isolated and characterised the first two viruses from honey bees. One of these, chronic bee paralysis virus (CBPV), caused the characteristic symptoms described first by Aristotle 5.

CBPV causes chronic bee paralysis (CBP), the disease first described by Aristotle.

CBPV infection is reported to present with two different types of symptoms, or syndromes. The first is the hairless, black, often shiny or greasy-looking bees described above 6. The second is more typically abnormal shivering or trembling of the wings, often associated with abdominal bloating 7. These bees are often found on the top bars of the frames during an inspection. Both symptoms can occur in the same hive 8.

CBP onset appears rapid and the first thing many beekeepers know about it is a large pile (literally handfuls) of dead bees beneath the hive entrance.

It’s a distressing sight.

Despite thousands of bees often succumbing to disease, the colony often survives though it may not build up enough again to overwinter successfully.

BeeBase has photographs and videos of the typical symptoms of CBPV infection.

Until recently, CBP was a disease most beekeepers rarely actually encountered.

Emerging and re-emerging disease

I’ve got a few hundred hive year’s worth 9 of beekeeping experience but have only twice seen CBP in a normally-managed colony. One was mine, another was in my association apiary a few years later.

A beekeeper managing 2 to 3 colonies might well never see the disease.

A bee farmer running 2 to 3 hundred (or thousand) colonies is much more likely to have seen the disease.

As will become clear, it is increasingly likely for bee farmers to see CBP in their colonies.

Virologists define viral diseases as emerging if they are new in a population. Covid-19, or more correctly SARS-CoV-2 (the virus), is an emerging virus. They use the term re-emerging if they are known but increasing in incidence.

Ebola is a re-emerging disease. It was first discovered in humans in 1976 and caused a few dozen sporadic outbreaks 10 until the 2013-16 epidemic in West Africa which killed over 11,000 people.

Often the terms are used interchangeably.

Sporadic and rare … but increasing?

Notwithstanding the apparently sporadic and relatively rare incidence of CBP in the UK (and elsewhere; the virus has a global distribution) anecdotal evidence suggested that cases of disease were increasing.

In particular, bee farmers were reporting increasing numbers of hives afflicted with the disease, and academic contacts overseas involved in monitoring bee health also reported increased prevalence.

Something can be rare but definitely increasing if you’re certain about the numbers you are dealing with. If you only have anecdotal evidence to go on you cannot be certain about anything very much.

If the numbers are small but not increasing there are probably other things more important to worry about.

However, if the numbers are small but definitely increasing you might have time to develop strategies to prevent further spread.

Far better you identify and define an increasing threat before it increases too much.

With research grant support from the UKRI/BBSRC (the Biotechnology and Biological Sciences Research Council) to the Universities of Newcastle (Principle Investigator, Prof. Giles Budge) and St Andrews, and additional backing from the BFA (Bee Farmers’ Association), we set out to determine whether CBPV really was increasing and, if so, what the increase correlated with (if anything).

This component of the study, entitled Chronic bee paralysis as a serious emerging threat to honey bees, was published in Nature Communications last Friday (Budge et al., [2020] Nat. Comms. 11:2164 https://doi.org/10.1038/s41467-020-15919-0).

The paper is Open Access and can be downloaded by anyone without charge.

There are additional components of the study involving the biology of CBPV, changes in virus virulence, other factors (e.g.environmental) that contribute to disease and ways to mitigate and potentially treat disease. These are all ongoing and will be published when complete.

Is chronic bee paralysis disease increasing?

Yes.

We ‘mined’ the National Bee Units’ BeeBase database for references to CBPV, or the symptoms associated with CBP disease. The data in BeeBase reflects the thousands of apiary visits, either by call-out or at random, by dedicated (and usually overworked) bee inspectors. In total we reviewed almost 80,000 apiary visits in the period from 2006 to 2017.

There were no cases of CBPV in 2006. In the 11 years from 2007 to 2017 the CBP cases (recorded symptomatically) in BeeBase increased exponentially, with almost twice as much disease reported in commercial apiaries. The majority of this increase in commercial apiaries occured in the last 3 years of data surveyed.

Apiaries recorded with chronic bee paralysis between 2006 and 2017.

BeeBase covers England and Wales only. By 2017 CBPV was being reported in 80% of English and Welsh counties.

During the same period several other countries (the USA, several in Europe and China) have also reported increases in CBPV incidence. This looks like a global trend of increased disease.

But is this disease caused by CBPV?

It should be emphasised that BeeBase records symptoms of disease Рblack, hairless bees; shaking/shivering bees, piles of bees at the hive entrance etc.

How can we be sure that the reports filed by the many different bee inspectors 11 are actually caused by chronic bee paralysis virus?

Or indeed, any virus?

To do this we asked bee inspectors to collect samples of bees with CBPV-like symptoms during their 2017 apiary visits. We then screened these samples with an exquisitely sensitive and specific qPCR (quantitative polymerase chain reaction) assay.

Almost 90% of colonies that were symptomatically positive for CBP were also found to have very high levels of CBPV present. We are therefore confident that the records of symptoms in the historic BeeBase database really do reflect an exponential increase of chronic bee paralysis disease in England and Wales since 2007.

Interestingly, about 25% of the asymptomatic colonies also tested positive for CBPV. The assay used was very sensitive and specific and allowed the quantity of CBPV to be determined. The amount of virus present in symptomatic bees was 235,000 times higher than those without symptoms.

Further work will be needed to determine whether CBPV is routinely present in similar proportions of ‘healthy’ bees, and whether these go on and develop or transmit disease.

Disease clustering

Using the geospatial and temporal (where and when) data associated with the BeeBase records we investigated whether CBPV symptomatic apiaries were clustered.

For example, in any year were cases more likely to be near other cases?

They were.

Across all years of data analysed together, or for individual years, there was good evidence for spatial clustering of cases.

We also looked at whether cases in one year clustered in the same geographic region in subsequent years.

They did not.

Clustering of CBPV – spatial and temporal analysis.

This was particularly interesting. It appears as though there were increasing numbers of individual clustered outbreaks each year, but that the clusters were not necessarily in the same geographic region as those in previous or subsequent years.

The disease appears somewhere, increases locally and then disappears again.

Apiary-level disease risk factors

The metadata associated with Beebase records is relatively sparse. Details of specific colony management methods are not recorded. Local environmental factors – OSR, borage, June gap etc. – are also missing. Inevitably, some of the factors that may be associated with increased risk are not recorded.

A relatively rare disease that is spatially but not temporally clustered is a tricky problem for which to define risk factors. Steve Rushton, the senior author on the paper, did a sterling job of analysing the data that was available.

The two strongest apiary-level factors that contributed to disease risk were:

  1. Commercial beekeeping – apiaries run by bee farmers had a 1.5 times greater risk of recording CBP disease.
  2. Importing bees Рapiaries which had imported bees in the two preceding years had a 1.8 times greater risk of recording CBP disease.

Bee farming is often very different from amateur beekeeping. The colony management strategies are altered for the scale of the operation and for the particular nectar sources being exploited. For example, colonies may already be booming to exploit the early season OSR. This may provide ideal conditions for CBPV transmission which is associated with very strong hives and/or confinement.

Bee imports does not mean disease imports

There are good records of honey bees imported through official channels. This includes queens, packages and nucleus colonies. Between 2007 and 2017 there were over 130,000 imports, 90% of which were queens.

An increased risk of CBP disease in apiaries with imported bees does not mean that the imported bees were the source of the disease.

With the data available it is not possible to distinguish between the following two hypotheses:

  1. imported honey bees are carriers of CBPV or the source of a new more virulent strain(s) of the virus, or
  2. imported honey bees are susceptible to CBPV strain(s) endemic in the UK which they were not exposed to in their native country.

There are ways to tease these two possibilities apart … which is obviously something we are keen to complete.

All publicity is good publicity …

… but not necessarily accurate publicity ūüôĀ

We prepared a press release to coincide with the publication of the paper. Typically this is used verbatim by some reporters whereas others ask for an interview and then include additional quotes.

Some more accurately than others ūüôĀ

The Times, perhaps reflecting the current zeitgeist, seemed to suggest a directionality to the disease that we certainly cannot be sure of:

The Times

Its sister publication, The Sun, “bigged it up” to indicate – again – that bees are being wiped out.

The Sun

And the comments included these references to the current Covid-19 pandemic:

  • “Guess its beevid – 19. I no shocking”
  • “It’s the radiation from 5g..google it”
  • Local honey is supposed to carry antibodies of local virus and colds – it helps humans to eat the stuff or so they say. So it could be that the bees are actually infected by covid. No joke.

All of which I found deeply worrying, on a number of levels.

The Telegraph also used the ‘wiped out’ reference (not a quote, though it looks like one). They combined it with a picture of – why am I not surprised? – a bumble bee. D’oh!

The Telegraph

The Daily Mail (online) had a well-illustrated and pretty extensive article but still slipped in¬†“The lethal condition, which is likely spread from imports of queen bees from overseas …”. The unmoderated comments – 150 and counting – repeatedly refer to the dangers of 5G and EMFs (electric and magnetic fields).

I wonder how many of the comments were posted from a mobile phone on a cellular data or WiFi network?

ūüėČ

Conclusions

CBPV is causing increasing incidence of CBP disease in honey bees, both in the UK and abroad. In the UK the risk factors associated with CBP disease are commercial bee farming and bee imports. We do not know whether similar risk factors apply outside the UK.

Knowing that CBP disease is increasing significantly is important. It means that resources – essentially time and money – can be dedicated knowing it is a real issue. It’s felt real to some bee farmers for several years, but we now have a much better idea of the scale of the problem.

We also know that commercial bee farming and bee imports are both somehow involved. How they are involved is the subject of ongoing research.

Practical solutions to mitigate the development of CBP disease can be developed once we understand the disease better.


Full disclosure:

I am an author on the paper discussed here and am the Principle Investigator on one of the two research grants that funds the study. Discussion is restricted to the published study, without too much speculation on broader aspects of the work. I am not going to discuss unpublished or ongoing aspects of the work (including in any answers to comments or questions that are posted). To do so will compromise our ability to publish future studies and, consequently, jeopardise the prospects of the early career researchers in the Universities of St Andrews and Newcastle who are doing all the hard work.

Acknowledgements

This work was funded jointly by BBSRC grants BB/R00482X/1 (Newcastle University) and BB/R00305X/1 (University of St Andrews) in partnership with The Bee Farmers’ Association and the National Bee Unit of the Animal and Plant Health Agency.

The scent of death

It’s late May. Outside it’s dark, so you’re trapped inside until sunrise. Inside it’s warm, dark and humid. You and your sisters are crowded together with barely enough space to turn around.

And your mother keeps laying more eggs … perhaps 2000 a day. If it wasn’t for the fact that about 2000 of your sisters perish each day you’d have no space at all.

Most of them die out in the fields. Missing in action.

I counted them all out and I didn’t count them all back, as the late Brian Hanrahan did not say in 1982 ūüėČ

But some die inside. And in the winter, or during prolonged periods of poor weather, your sisters all die inside.

Which means there’s some housekeeping to do.

Bring out your dead

Dead bees accumulating in the hive are a potential source of disease, particularly if they decompose. Unless these are removed from the colony there’s a chance the overall health of the colony will be threatened.

Not all bees die of old age. Many succumb to disease. The older bees in the colony may have a higher pathogen load, reinforcing the importance of removing their corpses before disease can spread and before the corpses decompose.

Corpses

Honey bees, like many other social insects, exhibit temporal polyethism i.e. they perform different tasks at different ages.

One of the tasks they perform is removing the corpses from the colony.

The bees that perform this task are appropriately termed the undertaker bees.

Gene Robinson in Cornell conducted observational studies on marked cohorts of bees. In these he identified the roles and activities of the undertaker bees. At any one time only 1-2% of the bees in the colony are undertakers 1.

These are ‘middle aged’ bees i.e. 2-3 weeks after eclosion, similar to guard bees. Although called undertakers, they do not exclusively remove corpses. Rather they are generalists that are more likely to remove the corpses, usually depositing them 50-100m from the hive and then returning.

They preferentially occupy the lower regions of the hive – presumably because gravity means the corpses accumulate there – where they also perform general hive cleansing roles e.g. removing debris.

Bees, like all of us, are getting older all the time. Some bees may spend only one day as undertakers before moving on to foraging duties. Presumably – I don’t think we know this yet – the time a bee remains as an undertaker is influenced by the colony’s need for this activity, the laying rate of the queen and, possibly, the numbers of other bees performing this role 2.

No no he’s not dead,¬†he’s,¬†he’s¬†restin’!

Dead parrot

In Monty Python’s¬†Dead Parrot sketch Mr. Praline (John Cleese) argues with the shop owner (Michael Palin) that the Norwegian Blue parrot he’d purchased was, in fact, dead.

The shop owner tries to persuade Mr. Praline that the parrot is resting.

Or stunned.

Or pining for the fjords.

The inference here is that it’s actually rather difficult to determine whether something is dead or not 3.

So if you struggle with an unresponsive parrot how do you determine if a bee is dead?

More specifically, how do undertaker bees in a dark, warm, humid hive determine that the body they’ve just tripped over is a corpse?

As opposed to a resting bee 4.

The scent of death

Almost forty years ago Kirk Visscher at Cornell studied necrophoresis (removal of the dead) in honey bees 5.

He noted that it had two distinct characteristics; it happened rapidly (up to 70 times faster than debris removal) and dead bees that were solvent-washed or coated in paraffin-wax were removed very much more slowly.

Kirk Visscher concluded that the undertaker bees “probably use chemical cues appearing very rapidly after the death of a bee” to identify the corpses.

Visscher studied honey bees,¬†Apis mellifera. I’m not aware of any recent studies in¬†A. mellifera that have better defined these ‘chemical cues’. However, a very recent preprint has been posted on bioRŌáiv describing how the closely related Eastern honey bee,¬†Apis cerana, undertakers identify the dead.

As an aside, bioRŌáiv (pronounced bioarkive) is a preprint server for biology. Manuscripts published there have not been¬†peer reviewed and will potentially be revised and/or withdrawn. They might even be wrong. Many scientists increasingly use bioRŌáiv to post completed manuscripts that have been submitted for publication elsewhere. The peer review and publication process is increasingly tortuous and long-winded. By posting preprints on bioRŌáiv other scientists can read and benefit from the study well before full publication elsewhere.

It’s also used as a ‘marker’ … we did this first ūüėČ

The preprint on bioRŌáiv is¬†Death recognition by undertaker bees by Wen Ping, submitted on the 5th of March 2020.

Odours and pongs

Death recognition in honey bees is rapid. Visscher demonstrated that a dead worker bee was usually removed within 30 minutes, well before it would have started producing the pong associated with the processes of decay.

Corpse recognition occurs in the dark and in the presence of lots of other bees. Logically, an odour of some sort might be used for identification. Both visual and tactile signals would be unlikely candidates.

In searching for the odour or chemical clues (the term used by Visscher), Ping made some assumptions based on prior studies in social insects. In Argentine ants a reduction in dolichodial and iridomyrmecin is associated with corpse recognition, and addition of these compounds (respectively a dialdehyde and a monoterpene) prevented necrophoresis.

Conversely, some social insects produce signals associated with death or disease. Dead termites give off a mix of 3-octanone, 3-octanol and the combination of ő≤-ocimene and oleic acid production is a marker of diseased brood in honey bees.

What else could be assumed about the chemicals involved? Corpse removal is an individual effort. There’s only one pallbearer. Therefore the chemical, whatever it is, doesn’t need to be a recruitment signal (unlike the alarm pheromone for example).

Finally, the signal needs to operate over a very short range. There’s no point in flooding the hive with a persistent long-range chemical as that would make the detection of the corpse impossible.

Cuticular hydrocarbons

Cuticular hydrocarbons (CHC) are widely used in insect communication. They are long chain hydrocarbons (chemicals composed solely of carbon and hydrogen) that have many of the characteristics expected of a ‘death chemical’.

Nonacosane – a long chain CHC with 29 carbons and 60 hydrogen atoms

They are generally short-range, low volatility compounds. Honey bees use CHC’s for communication during the waggle dance and to distinguish colony mates by guard bees. They also have structural roles, being a major component of wax comb and, in the cuticle, they help maintain water balance in bees.

As would be expected from chemicals with a wide variety of roles, there’s a huge range of CHC’s. Taking all the above together, Wen Ping searched for CHC’s that functioned during necrophoresis.

Cool corpses and cuticular hydrocarbons

Wen studied undertakers removing segments of dead bees and determined that the chemical signal was most probably a component of the cuticle.

Living bees in his studies had a body temperature of ~44¬įC. In contrast, dead bees rapidly cooled to ambient temperatures. Wen demonstrated that corpse removal was significantly delayed if the corpses were warmed to ~44¬įC, but then occurred rapidly once they were allowed to cool. Finally, dead bees washed with hexane (which removes CHC’s) were removed even if the corpse was warm.

Taken together, these results suggest that a cuticular hydrocarbon that was produced and released from warm bees, but reduced or absent in cold bees, was a likely candidate for the necrophoresis signal.

But which one?

Gas chromatography

A gas chromatograph analyses volatile gases. Essentially gas vapour is passed through a thin coated tube and gaseous compounds of different molecular weights bind and elute at different times. It’s a very precise technique and allows all the components of a mixture to be identified by comparison with known standards.

Gas chromatography of volatiles from live (red) and dead (blue) bees.

Ping studied the volatile CHC’s in the airspace immediately surrounding dead bees or live bees using gas chromatography. There were some significant differences, shown by the absence of peaks in the blue trace of gases from the cold, dead bees. All of the peaks were identified and nine of the twelve peaks were CHC’s.

CHC’s with chain lengths of 27 or 29 carbons exhibited the greatest difference between live warm bees and cool dead bees and synthetic versions of these and the other CHC’s were tested to see which – upon addition – delayed the removal of dead bees.

Three had a significant impact in the dead bee removal assay – with chain lengths of 21, 27 and 29 carbons. These include the compounds heptacosane (C27H56)and nonacosane (C29H60).

Summary

The results section rather fizzles out in the manuscript posted to bioRŌáiv and I wouldn’t be surprised to see modifications to this part of the paper in a peer reviewed submission.

The overall story can be summarised like this. Live bees are warm and produce a range of CHC’s. Dead bees cool rapidly and some of the volatile CHC levels decrease in the immediate vicinity of the corpse. The undertaker bees specifically monitor the levels of (at least) heptacosane and nonacosane 6 as a means of discriminating between live and dead bees. Within 30 minutes of death local heptacosane and nonacosane levels have dropped below a level associated with life and the undertaker bee removes the corpse.

One final point worth making again. This study was conducted on Apis cerana. Our honey bees, A. mellifera, may use the same necrophoresis signals. Alternatively, they might use different chemicals in the same way.

Or they might do something else entirely.

Personally, I bet it’s a similar mechanism, potentially using different chemical.

There are mixed species colonies of A. mellifera and A. cerana. Do the undertakers only remove same-species corpses?

Global warming and hive cooling

The discussion of the bioRŌáiv paper raises two interesting points, both of which are perhaps a little contrived but still worth mentioning.

We’re living in a warming world.

Temperatures are rising

Dead bees cooling to ambient temperature lead to reduced CHC production. If global temperatures rise, so will the ambient temperature. Potentially this could decrease the reduction in the levels of CHC’s i.e. the dead bees might not look (er, smell!) quite so dead. This could potentially reduce corpse removal, with the concomitant potential for pathogen exposure.

I suspect that we’ll have much bigger problems to worry about than undertaker bees if the global temperatures rise that high …

But Wen also points out that the rise in global temperatures is also associated with more extreme weather, including very cold weather. Perhaps cold anaesthetised or weak bees will be prematurely removed from the hive under these conditions because their CHC levels have dropped below a critical threshold?

Finally, do dead bees lying on open mesh floors (OMFs) cool more rapidly and so trigger more efficient undertaking? Perhaps OMFs contribute more to hive hygiene than just allowing unwanted Varroa to drop through?


 

Do bees feel pain?

Even the most careful hive manipulations sometimes result in bees getting rolled between frames, or worse, crushed when reassembling the hive. Some beekeepers clip one wing of the queen to reduce the chance of losing a swarm, or uncap drone brood in the search for Varroa.

All of these activities can cause temporary or permanent damage, or may even kill, bees. A careful beekeeper should try and minimise this damage, but have you ever considered whether these damaged bees suffer pain?

Before considering the scientific evidence it’s important to understand the distinction between the¬†detection of, for example, tissue damage and the awareness that the damage causes is painful and causes suffering.

Detection is a physiological response that is present in most animal species, the pain associated with it may not be.

What is pain?

Tissue damage, through chemical, mechanical or thermal stimuli, triggers a signal in the sensory nervous system that travels along nerve fibres to the brain. Or to whatever the animal has that serves as the equivalent of the brain 1.

This response is termed¬†nociception (from the Latin nocńďre, meaning ‘to harm’) and has been recorded in mammals, other vertebrates and in all sorts of invertebrates including leeches, worms and fruit flies. It has presumably evolved to detect damaging stimuli and to help the animal avoid it or escape.

But nociception is not pain.

Pain is a subjective experience that may result from the nociceptive response and can be defined as¬†‚Äėan aversive sensation or feeling associated with actual or potential tissue damage’.

Most humans, being sentient, experience pain following the triggering of a nociceptive response and, understandably, conflate the two.

But they are separate and distinct. How do we know? Perhaps the first hint is that different people experience different levels of pain following the same harmful experience; an excruciatingly painful experience for one might be “just a scratch’ to another.

‘Tis but a scratch

With people it’s easy to demonstrate the distinction between nociception and pain – you simply ask them.

Can you feel that?

Does that hurt?

For the same stimuli you may receive a range of answers to the second question, depending upon their subjective experience of pain.

Painkillers

But you cannot ask a leech, or a worm or a fruit fly or – for the purpose of this post – a bee, whether a particular stimulus hurts.

Well, OK, you¬†can ask but you won’t get an answer ūüėČ

You¬†can determine whether they ‘feel’ the stimulus. Since this is a simply physiological response you can measure all sorts of features of the electrical signal that passes from the nociceptors (the receptors in the tissue that detect damaging events) through the nerve fibres to the brain. This involves electrophysiology, a well established experimental science.

But how can we determine whether animals feel pain?

What do you do when you have a bad headache?

You take a painkiller Рan aspirin or paracetamol. You self-medicate to relieve the pain.

Actually, even before you reach for the paracetamol, your body is already self-medicating by the release of endogenous opioids which help suppress the pain.

In cases of extreme pain injection of the opiate morphine may be necessary. Morphine is a very strong painkiller, or analgesic. Opioids bind to opioid receptors and this binding is blocked by a chemical called naloxone, an opiate antagonist. I’ll come back to naloxone in a minute.

But first, back to the unhelpfully unresponsive bee that may or may not feel pain …

It is self-medication with analgesics that forms the basis of the standard experiment to determine whether an animal feels pain.

The principle is straightforward. Two identical foods are prepared, one containing a suitable analgesic (e.g. morphine) and the other a placebo. If an animal is in pain it will preferentially eat the food containing the morphine.

Conversely, if they do not feel pain they will – on average – eat both types of food equally 2.

But this experiment will only work if morphine ‘works’ in bees.

Does morphine ‘work’ in bees?

An unpleasant or harmful stimulus induces a nociceptive response which might include taking defensive action like retreating or flying away. Studies have shown that the magnitude of this defensive action in honey bees is reduced or blocked altogether by prior injection with morphine.

This is a dose-response effect. The more morphine injected the smaller the nociceptive response by the bee. Importantly we know it’s the morphine that is having the effect because it can be counteracted by injection with naloxone.

So, morphine does work in bees 3.

We can therefore test whether bees choose to self-medicate with morphine to determine whether they feel pain.

And this is precisely what Julie Groening and colleagues from the University of Queensland did, and published three years ago in Scientific Reports. The full reference is Groening, J., Venini, D. & Srinivasan, M. In search of evidence for the experience of pain in honeybees: A self-administration study. Sci Rep 7, 45825 (2017); https://doi.org/10.1038/srep45825

Ouch … or not?

The experiment was very simple. Bees were subjected to one of two different injuries; a continuous pinch to the hind leg, or the amputation of part of the middle leg. They were then offered sugar syrup alone and sugar syrup containing morphine.

The hypothesis proposed was that if bees felt pain they would be expected to consume more of the sugar syrup containing morphine.

To ensure statistically relevant results they used lots of bees. Half were injured and half were uninjured and used as controls. If syrup laced with morphine tasted unpleasant you would expect the control group to demonstrate this by eating less.

Throughout the experiments the authors were therefore looking for a difference in syrup alone or syrup with morphine consumption between the injured bee and the uninjured controls.

All of the experiments produced broadly similar results so I’ll just show one data figure.

Relative consumption of morphine (M) and pure sucrose solution (S) by injured (i; amputated) or control (c) bees.

Both groups of bees preferred the pure syrup (the two box plots on the right labelled S_c or S_i) over the morphine-laced syrup (M). However, the bees with the amputation did not consume any more of the morphine-containing syrup (M_i) than the controls (M_c).

Therefore they did not self-medicate.

Very similar results were obtained with the bees carrying the hind leg clip (recapitulating an attack by a competing forager or predator, which often target the rear legs). The injured bees consumed statistically similar amounts of plain or morphine-laced syrup as the control group.

The one significant difference observed was that bees with amputations consumed about 20% more syrup overall than those with the rear leg ‘pinch’ injury. The authors justified this as indicating that the amputation likely induced the innate immune system, necessitating the production of additional proteins (like the antimicrobial peptides that fight infection), so leading to elevated energy needs. Speculation, but it seems reasonable to me.

Feeling no pain

This study, using a pretty standard and well-accepted experimental strategy, strongly suggests that bees do not feel pain.

It does not prove that bees feel pain. It strongly supports the theory that they do not. You cannot prove things with science, you can just disprove them. Evidence either supports or refutes a hypothesis; in this case the evidence (no self-medication) supports the hypothesis that bees do not feel pain because, as has been demonstrated with several other animals, they would self-medicate if they did feel pain.

In the discussion of the paper the authors suggest that further work is necessary. Scientists often make that kind of sweeping statement to:

  • encourage funders to provide money in the future ūüėČ
  • allow them to incorporate additional, perhaps contradictory, evidence that could be interpreted in a different way to their own results.

Skinning a cat

That is painful … but the proverb¬†There’s more than one way to skin a cat¬†4 means that there is more than one way to do something.

And there are other ways of interpreting behavioural responses as an indication that animals feel pain.

For example, rather than measuring self-medication with an analgesic, you could look at avoidance learning or protective motor reactions as indicators of pain.

Protective motor reactions include things like preferential and prolonged grooming of regions of the body which have been injured 5. There is no evidence that bees do this.

Avoidance learning

However, there is evidence that bees exhibit avoidance learning. This is a behavioural trait in which they learn to avoid a harmful stimulus that might cause injury.

If a forager is attacked by a predator at a food source (and survives) it stops other bees dancing to advertise that food source when it returns to the hive 6.

Whilst avoidance learning does not indicate that bees feel pain, it does imply central processing rather than a simple nociceptive response. It shows that bees are able to weigh up the risk vs. reward of something good (a rich source of nectar) with something bad (the chance of being eaten when collecting the nectar). This type of decision making demonstrates a cognitive capacity that might make pain experience more likely.

We’re now getting into abstruse areas of neuropsychology … dangerous territory.

Let’s assume, as I do based upon the science presented here and in earlier work, that bees do not feel pain. What, if anything, does this mean for practical beekeeping.

Practical beekeeping

It certainly does not mean we should not attempt to conduct hive manipulations in a slow, gentle and controlled manner. Just because rolled bees are not hurting, or crushed bees are not feeling pain, doesn’t give us carte blanche to be heavy handed.

One of the nociceptive responses is the production of alarm pheromones (sting and mandibular) which are part of the defensive response. Alarm pheromones agitate the hive and make the colony aggressive, much more likely to sting and much more difficult to inspect carefully.

So we should conduct inspections carefully, not because we are hurting the bees, but because they might hurt us.

But there are other reasons that care is needed as well. Crushed bees are a potential source of disease in the hive. One reason undertaker bees remove the corpses is to remove the likelihood of disease spreading in the hive. If bees are crushed the heady mix of viruses, bacteria and Nosema they contain are smeared around all over the place, putting other hive members at risk.

And, as we’re all learning at the moment, good hygiene can be a life-saver.


Colophon

This is the first post written under ‘lockdown’. It’s a little bit later than usual as it has had to travel a¬† ¬†v¬† e¬† r¬† y¬† ¬† l¬† o¬† n¬† g¬† ¬†way along the fibre to ‘the internet’. It’s going to be a very different beekeeping season to anything that has gone before.

At least spring is on the way …

Primroses, 27-3-20, Ardnamurchan