ROADBOSS’s awesome adventure with leading apiarists, Neil and Brett Bingley, as they venture out to Western New South Wales with a truck full of hives to find some sweet honey
Beware my next local trivia night, I think my general knowledge game just got stronger.
I now know that bees don’t like dark colours – I forgot to tell our photographer before he arrived … sorry Alastair.
Bees get transported at night (as they don’t fly after dark), and a twin-steer Mercedes-Benz rigid is the best bee-keeping truck you can buy (in the eyes of the Bingley family).
I know all this now because father and son beekeepers Neil and Brett Bingley told me so. Who are they? Oh, I dunno, just a family who’ve supplied honey to Capilano for more than 40 years.
We’ve been working a site at Cootamundra for 60 years. I’m the third manager of the site from the same family.
That sweet, golden elixir that’s robbed from European bees for my morning Weet-Bix had until recently, been nothing more than a jar in my cupboard.
I knew you needed bees and presumably funny old, retired dudes in white suits, but not much else.
So, it was to my surprise that the Bingley family and its business, Weerona Apiaries, was much, much more.
Their operation – extensive! They’ve got three trucks (two Mercedes-Benz and an Isuzu 4×4), a caravan to camp in, an industrial-scale extraction facility, thousands of hives and three generations of know-how.
Ideally, you also need to be a ‘Jack of all trades’. A carpenter during the hive building process, a botanist and a farmer as well as a weatherman – because the bureau “ain’t worth listening to”, Neil says.
Trucks play a considerable role in the Bingley family’s complex bee-keeping operation, shifting the bees, honey and hives around in preparation for harvest. Images: Alastair Brook
Truck driving also plays a considerable role in the Bingley operation … obviously, you’ve got to shift the bees, honey and hives (admittedly, this also didn’t ever cross my mind) – further confirmation of the importance of heavy vehicles on our isolated island nation.
A good enough excuse to see the buzzing canola fields of Western New South Wales with the Bingley family? We think so.
Honey robbing
It’s 6am in the morning at the Bingley farm in Sutton just outside of Canberra, and dozens of empty colourful hive boxes are being loaded onto the tray of their Mercedes-Benz Arocs 3253 and the 4×4 Isuzu 550.
With Spring sprung, the Bingleys are in business. For weeks, Neil, Brett and their two recruits from the Philippines, Jan and Ron, have been moving hives and preparing their colonies for harvest. This week’s visit will hopefully show the year’s first drops of honey.
With hives scattered around numerous sites in New South Wales – in a 450km radius of their farm, it’s the hives near Griffith that are calling.
Fresh honey straight from the hive, you don’t get any fresher than that.
“We’ll be here for two hours if you keep chatting,” Brett gruffs to his father as we arrive at the first hive site.
We’ve just driven three hours west and the new backdrop of blooming canola fields is a dream.
Neil was only answering my reasonable first question – how many times have you been stung?
“How long is a piece of string,” he laughs, waving off Brett.
Calloused and tough, both Brett and Neil are basically immune to the sting of a bee. Neil even lets one sting him to prove his theory.
With an estimated 50-80,000 bees living in one hive, there’s literally millions of bees at this one individual site producing beautiful fresh honey for Capilano. Images: Alastair Brook
Except for the time he lost his knuckle … Almost ironically, Neil talks me through his recent medical ordeal, a potential bee sting gone bad.
“Oh, I don’t know if I got stung,” he says, almost defending his bees. “But I had an infection on my knuckle which had me on antibiotics for 12 months. It kept eating the bone away.”
There you go—the perils of beekeeping, the perils of being a farmer.
Neil’s reasonable return question is a difficult one to answer. I’ve never been stung by a bee, so how do I know if I’m allergic? Luckily, I didn’t wear dark-coloured clothes.
“Well, definitely don’t take a piss here then,” he jokes in return. “You might get a free enlargement.”
When it’s peak honey season, with plenty of resources and nectar around, they can fill this box with honey in four days.
Despite being suited up in overalls and a protective veil, getting up and personal with the hive and the bees is intimidating.
Decades of experience have surely dulled the senses, because 50-80,000 bees are living in one hive, meaning millions of bees are at this individual site.
The more the merrier Neil believes, a proud member and executive councillor of the NSW Apiarists’ Association.
A jaw-dropping 35 per cent of agricultural crops are reliant on bee pollination, including apples, pears, almonds and the likes of canola. NSW is the largest producer of commercial honey in the country.
Like gunslingers from a western, they set upon the hives with their smokers, carefully and efficiently inspecting the hives for honey, while shooting plumes of white smoke around the site.
With hives scattered around numerous sites in New South Wales – in a 450km radius of their farm, it’s the hives near Griffith that are calling. Images: Alastair Brook
“In nature when a bushfire comes, the bees gorge themselves with honey before they abscond,” Brett explains.
“They can’t sting as easily with a belly full of honey.”
It was at this moment, with plenty of bees hovering in front of my veil, that Neil gave me my first real beekeeper experience.
“Stick that in your gob,” he says and shoves a pallet knife into my mouth.
Fresh honey straight from the hive, you don’t get any fresher than that.
I had an infection on my knuckle which had me on antibiotics for 12 months. It kept eating the bone away.
“Don’t get cocky and let one sting you on the nose,” he says as I roll my veil off to enjoy a swig of another sweet substance.
Bee good
Just down the road a few kilometres is site number two. A good start … more honey is present, and the Merc and Isuzu pose well against the golden crop of canola.
Some of the sites used by the Bingley’s have been in use for decades, one even dating back to before Neil was born.
“We’ve been working a site at Cootamundra for 60 years,” Brett says. “I’m the third manager of the site from the same family.”
The bees seem calmer than site number one, I mention to Neil. “Don’t say that, they’ll change their minds,” he snaps with a wry smile.
Small changes in the weather can influence the mood of the bees, while different locations and varying crops can affect the harvest. Images: Alastair Brook
Apparently, they can be temperamental – small changes in the weather can influence the mood of the bees, while different locations and varying crops can affect the harvest.
It’s like these little yellow and black insects hold Neil and Brett to ransom.
Ideal conditions are 25 to 30 degrees, I’m told, and nice sunny long days where it doesn’t get dark until seven o’clock is a bonus.
“When it’s peak honey season, with plenty of resources and nectar around, they can fill this box with honey in four days,” Brett explains.
“When you get 12-to-14-degree nights, like this week, then the bees are a bit lazy, they’re not really starting to work till now,” he adds.
Everything’s got its own flavour. Canola honey is high in sugar and can candy (solidify) quite quickly.
Most would be familiar with Manuka honey or Yellow Box honey, but what about canola? Does canola change the taste or the flavour?
“Everything’s got its own flavour,” the boys explain. “Canola honey is high in sugar and can candy (solidify) quite quickly. If we take this box home with us and don’t extract it, within four days it can be solid rock.
“If you get pure Yellow Box, like we showed you at home, it’ll stay liquid forever.”
With a changeover of hives from the site to the back of the truck, it was time for lunch and a chance to learn more about the Bingley’s.
Honey trucks
Now 64, Neil has been full-time as an apiarist since 1980. Originally a mechanic by trade (and perhaps why his trucks are in such good condition) he turned his sights to the family business.
Weerona Apiaries started with Neil Bingley’s father back in the mid-fifties, with the managerial duties now passed down to his son Brett. Images: Alastair Brook
Weerona Apiaries started with Neil’s father back in the mid-fifties, with the managerial duties now passed down to Brett.
“Yeah, I did an apprenticeship as a mechanic, but I vividly remember first working with the bees when I was around 12,” Neil says. “Mum used to bring me and my brother out on weekends.
“Instead of that big, shiny honey extraction plant we now have in the shed, we used to tow an old thing behind us and do it in the field.
“Mum would take us out after school on a Friday, and I’d spend all weekend with the bees until she’d pick me up on Sunday – slave labour I reckon,” he says laughing.
Comically, Neil’s brother is actually allergic to bees and no longer lives in the area, something which the lads find amusing.
Mum would take us out after school on a Friday, and I’d spend all weekend with the bees until she’d pick me up on Sunday – slave labour I reckon.
“He had to run away to Perth,” Neil jokes. “But when he went to Perth, he got stung over there on the grass in his lawn.
“One time riding his motorbike home from Canberra, my brother got hit in the chest by a bee. By the time he got home, he passed out.”
Brett on the other hand is an “overqualified beekeeper”, according to his father.
“He went to year 12,” he jokes.
Deciding against a trade and opting straight for the family operation, Brett is not worried about shifting the family tradition.
It’s Mercedes-Benz all the way for the Bingley’s, who cite the reassurance of the German brand’s reliability for their unwavering preference. Images: Alastair Brook
“My old man told me that we all had to get a trade before we joined the bees, just in case something went wrong,” Brett says.
“Well, I didn’t listen, I got a truck licence, a forklift licence, I’ll soon get a job, if something goes wrong,” he jokes.
Speaking of trucks, how about those Mercs? “This is our fourth Merc believe it or not,” Neil says over a cup of tea and a sandwich in the caravan.
“We’ve also had a 1719, the 2228, then we had the old 3248 in the shed, and now the new Arocs 3253.”
Bought from the local dealership in Canberra, the Bingley’s appreciation for the German brand stems back to the 70’s.
Well, definitely don’t take a piss here then. You might get a free enlargement!
“We bought the first one in 1975 – my parents bought it brand new; it was $25,000 I remember,” he chuckles at the memory.
“They had to spend roughly the same amount to stretch it and put a lazy axle under it.”
Admittedly, the two have never driven anything else, and they don’t clock up a hell-of-a-lot of kilometres, but the reassurance of reliability has kept them going back.
“You won’t break them,” Brett says.
“Never had to replace anything really – never had to replace the kingpin bushes either.
A jaw-dropping 35 per cent of agricultural crops are reliant on bee pollination, including apples, pears, almonds and the likes of canola. Images: Alastair Brook
“We’re off-road a lot and do about 36,000 kilometres a year.”
And what about the fourth generation, what about Brett’s children, will we be seeing the next generation coming through?
“Not if they’ve got any brains,” Brett shouts from across the field.
Oh, and the best type of honey you can get, according to the Bingley’s? Green mallee. Of course, I scored a jar to take home!
