Reykjavík Grapevine - 14.08.2015, Blaðsíða 16

16 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 12 — 2015
“The main job of a beekeeper in summer,”
he says, “is to check the hives every seven
to ten days to see how they're develop-
ing.” From this basic principle, the bee-
keeper's task is to facilitate said develop-
ment in every way possible—to augment
the hives with additional compartments,
or to split them in the summer to prevent
swarming.
“The hive becomes too congested,
with too many larvae,” he says. “Bees can
sense when the hive will become over-
populated, and they'll begin to make new
queens.” Queen bees have the same ge-
netics as the female workers, but are fed a
different diet in the larval stage. “The old
queen will leave with the swarm—10,000
bees in a number of minutes.” A mass
migration of bees, whose goal is to cre-
ate a new hive from scratch. “You have to
control swarming, or you could lose them
all,” Torbjørn says. “Most every swarm,
if left to its own devices in Iceland,
would fail.”
Enter the hive
It's actually hard to believe that a new
hive could be successful anywhere in
nature, given how specific their require-
ments are. When scouting for a home,
bees look for a hollowed tree with a
south-facing opening of 10 cm2 that sits
three to four metres above the ground,
which then leads to a cavity with a vol-
ume of around 40 litres. “In the wild, un-
der the best conditions,” Torbjørn says,
“30-40% of swarms will succeed.”
We pull up to a modern cabin that
couldn't be more than two rooms, set be-
hind a patch of thin pines and tea-leafed
willow. From there, it is a short walk to
the hive. It can be heard well before it's
seen—the distinct hum that would, under
most other circumstances, have sent me
in the opposite direction.
The hive structure itself is rather in-
nocuous: little more than wooden boxes
set at ground level and stacked to around
the height of a bedside table. Called a
Langsroth hive, it's meant to replicate
the bees' ideal natural habitat. At the
bottom there is a minute slit where a
haze of worker bees zip in and out, each
moving with that kind of randomness
that belies an underlying order. I try
not to stand too close (while also trying
to look like I'm not trying to not stand
too close).
“The hive behaves like a single organ-
ism controlled by pheromones,” Torbjørn
says. “The temperature is 35ºC in the
brood [the beeswax structure where the
queen bee lays eggs].” When you open the
hive, you disturb this complex system—
so it's best to do so quickly.
Torbjørn removes the lid from the
top of the hive, and peels back a burlap
cloth draped over the opening to the
combs inside to reveal a complex hex-
agonal wax network teeming with ac-
tivity and plugged with honey. He offers
me a sample, which I take, while eyeing
workers cautiously. Its taste is incred-
ible—deliciously sweet and powerfully
floral. I've never had anything like it; I
realize firsthand the appeal of keeping
beekeeping local.
The fight for
self-sufficiency
This current experiment is not Iceland's
first foray into beekeeping. There were
attempts in the 1940s and 1960s to in-
troduce self-sustaining hives to Iceland,
both of which were ultimately unsuc-
cessful. The newest beekeeping venture
was started by Egill Rafn Sigurgeirsson,
who brought the first five hives from
Sweden back in
1998. Since then,
the total number of
hives in Iceland has
grown to 250, each
with up to 50,000
worker bees, 100
drones (males), and
one Queen.
The goal now,
as it has been in
the past, is for the
Icelandic hives to
become self-suffi-
cient—to not rely
upon yearly imports
from the Åland
Islands, from Swe-
den, or elsewhere.
“Self-sufficien-
cy would mean
a maximum loss
of 20-30% [of the
hive's population] in winter,” Torbjørn
says. “Long winters are the main problem
in Iceland. Last winter was rough.” Long
Icelandic winters, along with low median
temperatures in the summer, disrupt the
seasonal cycles of hive growth, develop-
ment, and reproduction.
“The hive is pretty good at keeping its
temperature up in winter, but the queen
only mates once,” Torbjørn says. “She
mates in the air at an optimal tempera-
ture of 18-20ºC.” This summer the tem-
perature was in the low end of this range
during only two days, and briefly at that.
Further, summer came late this year, af-
ter a particularly rough winter. Swarm
season in more temperate climates comes
in May or June—but in Iceland it's more
like August.
It's a game of numbers—can sum-
mer gains counterbalance winter losses?
“We just need one or two degrees more,”
chuckles Torbjørn. “That would be per-
fect.” So while elsewhere the looming
threat of climate change spells doom for
agriculture and apiculture alike, a slight
rise in summer averages would do won-
ders here in Iceland—at least for the bees.
Iceland's potential
Though the climate
presents a challenge to
bees and beekeepers
alike, Iceland has got a
lot going for it as well.
First, the bees in Iceland
are free of disease—both
due to their non-native
species statues, as well
their progenitors origi-
nating from areas with-
out mites, foulbrood,
viruses, etc. Self-suffi-
ciency would help assure
that the bees continue
to be free of disease (for
which the only remedy
would be to destroy the
infected hive).
Torbjørn points
out that Iceland's diverse
flora serve the bees as
well. “If you take a closer
look down into a square meter of vegeta-
tion you will discover such a richness in
plants, trees, moss and flowers.” Each
type of plant provides different kinds of
nectars and pollens. “There are many
important pollen plants found in Iceland:
wild heather, willow, dandelion, arctic
angelica, white clover, and millefolium,”
he says, to name a few.
Further, these plants bloom at vari-
ous periods throughout the summer,
providing bees with a seamless, long-
lasting source of nourishment. “We don't
have the vast monoculture crops that are
found in so many places,” Torbjørn says.
“Diseases and modern farming, mono-
culture and pesticides, are the two main
reasons for bee death.”
Propolis tasting
After checking the status of his second
hive, Torbjørn takes me to visit the farm
of another Icelandic beekeeper, Tomás
Ponzi, who shares Torbjørn's sentiments
about hive-as-organism (or what ento-
mologists call a “superorganism”). “The
honeycomb is like the skeleton,” he says,
“the brood is a womb, the honey is energy
stores...”
Tomás is having a successful summer
with his bees. He made a split two weeks
prior, and the second hive has since tri-
pled in size. One of the hives is well over
a metre in height, and is rampant with
worker activity.
Tomás removes the top to check the
hive, and Torbjørn offers me a sample
of propolis stuck to the underside of the
cover. It's a reddish-brown resin collect-
ed by the bees from budding plants. “It
has strong antibacterial effects,” he says.
“Bees line their hives with it as protection
from microbes.” It's extremely sticky, and
tastes strongly of herbs.
It's just one of the many products one
can collect from this superorganism.
Honey and beeswax in all their uses, this
propolis stuff, out of which you can make
a tincture (“With something strong, like
vodka,” Torbjørn says). And those are just
some of the many uses for bees.
As we stand there, attempting to clear
excess propolis from our teeth, Tomás
tells me that beekeeping has the poten-
tial to become big business in Iceland.
“We had a man from New York City come
here,” says Tomás. “He had a great busi-
ness plan. There are many corporations
that improve their image by putting
beehives on the roof.” Rooftop beekeep-
ing has developed into a sort of trend for
celebrities who wish to appear environ-
mentally conscious.
“I may do it,” says Tomás, with a
sardonic smile. “All of my hives will
read 'Alcoa'.”

Words by Sam Wright Fairbanks
Photo by Anna Domnick
The paved road transitions to dirt just south of Mosfells-
bær, but Torbjørn's new electric car handles the change
smoothly. “I have two hives out here at Hafravatn,” he says,
“and six more in the south. The southwest is the best region
in Iceland for beekeeping.” I trust he knows his stuff: Torb-
jørn Andersen took up beekeeping as a hobby when he was
just fourteen years old in Bergen, Norway, and has been at
it full time since 1997.
In The Eye
Of The Swarm:
Beekeepers Of Iceland
Politics | Bright?Life | Bee
So while elsewhere
the looming threat
climate change spells
doom for agriculture
and apiculture alike,
a slight rise in sum-
mer averages would
do wonders here in
Iceland—at least for
the bees.