Sharpton climbs the ladder and meets the
front-line forces that assault him, buzzing angrily.
Grinning, he turns to me and says, ``I'm
going to get this party started.''
Sharpton's mission is the removal of bees -
honeybees, bumblebees, wasps and yellow jackets - from homes, trees,
parks, schools, playgrounds, office buildings, power poles and cellular
towers stretching across South and Central Florida. His job is a lot
like that of a nuisance trapper - not as glamorous nor
headline-grabbing as those who tackle alligators and pythons, but
potentially just as dangerous.
During the past year, bees - specifically
the super-aggressive Africanized insects - have posed a growing public
safety hazard in Florida. Dubbed ``killer bees'' in B-movies and
tabloids, these small but fierce insects were transported from Africa
to Brazil in the 1950s in a failed attempt to boost honey production.
Since then, they have spread throughout South and Central America, into
the American southwest and recently, to Florida - mostly by hitching
rides on international freighters.
HARD TO DISTINGUISH
According to Gerald Hayes, chief of the
Florida Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services' apiary
section, Africanized bees can be hard to distinguish from Florida's
gentle, managed honeybees that pollinate citrus groves and flower
gardens - except by their behavior.
``The Africanized bee is highly defensive of
its nest,'' Hayes said. ``It will defend its nest to the death - up to
a quarter-mile out from their colony, sending out thousands of bees to
sting you and keep you from their nest. The best thing to do is to run.
If you stay, they will overwhelm you and get in every orifice of your
body.''
No humans have been killed in Florida by
Africanized bees, but several animals - including horses, dogs and
sheep - have been stung to death. Several people had to be hospitalized
last year in Miami Gardens following a bee attack. Nationwide, the
insects are blamed for 15 human fatalities.
Hayes' advice to anyone who discovers a
colony of bees: If it's not in a registered beekeeper's hive, call a
licensed bee removal expert.
Like Sharpton, 33, who operates Alpine Farms
in Palm City with his father-in-law, Jim Naylor. This time of year, the
two stay very busy, bouncing from one bee infestation call to another
throughout South and Central Florida.
Sharpton's target on this day is a colony of
tens of thousands of honeybees (not the dangerous Africanized variety)
that has taken up residence inside the roof soffit of a townhouse in
Margate's Merrick Preserve.
Homeowners Carla Orr and fiancé
Troy Vaccianna called Sharpton after insecticide spraying by the
residents' association failed to dislodge the bees.
``I woke up with some in my bed,'' Orr tells
the bee man. ``I fanned out my sheets and two of them fell out.''
Vaccianna adds that he was stung on the head
when he left the townhouse.
``This is going to be interesting,''
Sharpton says.
After checking the attic and finding a
couple of stragglers that bumbled in by daylight, he dons his
protective gear and ascends the ladder propped against the front of the
house. After a quick look around, Sharpton tells the anxious residents,
``We don't have to tear apart your ceiling, but we're going to cut a
section of the eave out. We should be able to get it out and treated.
You're looking at $385.''
They quickly agree to the price. He doesn't
require them to sign anything until after the bees are taken out.
Assembling his equipment at the truck,
Sharpton tells me, ``When you get an established colony, you can have
up to 40,000 bees. They can produce a big honeycomb. The honeycomb
inside the roof space will rot and leak, and you will get a maggot and
roach problem. If people just spray the outside where the bees are, the
bees can stay inside till the spray dissipates. They've got the food
source. Why would they have to come out?''
Atop the ladder, clad in bee suit and hood,
Sharpton sprays the bees with insecticide. They buzz around his head
until the gas knocks them semiconscious, then they tumble to the
sidewalk. Standing about 20 feet from Sharpton, I too am wearing a
protective hood, which is a good thing because a bee bashes into the
mesh covering my face and bounces off.
GOBS OF HONEYCOMB
Now, all sorts of construction-like noises
are coming from the roof, where Sharpton is sawing a hole in the soffit
and pulling out sticky gobs of honeycomb covered with bees. The arms
and front of his coveralls are coated with dripping honey and dead bees.
Some neighbors step outside, notice the
still-swarming bees and promptly retreat inside. Unruffled, Sharpton
stuffs wads of honeycomb into a plastic-lined trash can. Honey drips on
the ladder, on the plastic-covered air-conditioning unit and on the
townhouse wall.
``It's out,'' Sharpton says of the bees'
nest. ``Now it's just a matter of cleaning up.''
Wielding a garden hose, he estimates the
total weight of the honeycomb at 80 pounds. With their source of
nutrition and hydration gone, the bees will die within a few days.
``If there's still a problem, we'll come
back out on the warranty and do what we have to do to fix it,''
Sharpton tells his customers.
He says they should tell the homeowners'
association to seal the portion of the roof that housed the nest to
make sure the bees don't re-colonize it. As he writes out his invoice,
he realizes that he was stung once on the wrist.
``Oh well,'' he says. ``You expect it.''
CONTACTS
If you have a bee infestation problem, call
Alpine Farms at 1-800-668-6602 or 772-370-7540, or log on to
www.alpinefarms-bees.com. Other bee removal experts are listed in your
local yellow pages.
