How much beekeeping practice is well-intentioned nonsense? The sort of thing that is earnestly passed on to beginners by a tutor, who learned it from their tutor, who learned it from … and has anybody ever stopped to test it?

A classic example would be what we call ‘the pirouette’ – that peculiar routine of turning a frame to see the opposite face by lowering an end, spinning the now-vertical frame, then lifting the lowered end back to the horizontal. Apparently, it’s necessary to prevent combs from sagging.

Wax comb produced by honey bees is an engineering marvel – strong, light, efficient. That such tiny insects can build it at will – instinctively and by feel in complete darkness to high degrees of precision while adapting its overall shape to fit an irregular cavity – is both wonderful and humbling.

There is an oft-quoted figure that it takes 8lbs of honey to make 1lb of beeswax, but how often do we consider the inverse relationship – how much honey can a pound of wax support? How much beeswax is there supporting 3, 5 or even 7lbs of honey in a fully-drawn frame of stores? Three or four ounces, perhaps?

When comb has brood raised in it, further strengthening takes place. The skins shed by moulting larvae and pupae are incorporated into the cell walls, fixed in place by regular tiny applications of propolis varnish as cells are prepared for re-laying. Thus the inherently strong wax comb is progressively reinforced by fibrous material bonded with resin – this really is the original honeycomb composite, the structural essence of planes, yachts and racing cars.

Added to all this structural strength, we lace frames and foundation with steel wire to help the comb better resist the rotational forces of honey extraction – forces that were never specified in its design brief. Almost all patterns of hive that provide for removable frames do so with frames of four sides. Once this wired, reinforced honeycomb composite structure has been diligently secured to all four sides by the bees, this comb is virtually immovable.

Put some starter strips of foundation in unwired frames and let the bees draw it on a flow. When the comb is extensive and has honey stored in it, but is not yet greatly secured to the sides or the bottom, lift it out and try manipulating it. In particular, rotate it slowly, gently, a little at first, and then steadily more, towards you and away from you. You will quickly learn to see when the comb starts to sag, but you will feel it too – the centre of mass of the frame/comb combination starts to move independently of your movements as the comb bends at its attachment with the top bar. Having started to sense this movement almost instinctively, switch back now to handing wired, fully drawn combs. Can you feel or see any sag as you rotate them? Unless the wax is freshly drawn, in a deep frame and filled with honey stores on a scorching hot day, the answer is most likely no.

So why teach the pirouette? Why follow by rote this strange dipping-and-bobbing approach to looking at the other side of a frame, when you can instead develop so quickly an intuitive feel for when comb is robust and when it is sagging? The tiny percentage of frames that actually merit a pirouette are those where the comb is obviously not sufficiently attached or reinforced. Even these can be handled so much more simply by a crossed-arms approach to turning.

I think it’s a bit like cover cloths, brood and a half, and Snelgrove’s swarm controls – part ritual, part performance, with reassurance growing seemingly as the inconvenience increases. They’re an odd bunch, beekeepers!

Photos: Ken Basterfield