My Garden Of A Thousand Bees (BBC4)
Would you step in and help? What do you do if you see an intruder breaking into the home of a single mother you’ve known for most of her life, while she’s away — intervene, or keep out of it?
Martin Dohrn was confronted with the classic wildlife film-maker’s dilemma, on a minute scale, as he trained his camera on a hole in a wall on My Garden Of A Thousand Bees.
After filming for months, this dedicated naturalist struck up a relationship with a female leafcutter bee who made her burrow in a ‘bee city’ he built by drilling holes in a heap of rocks.
Once she became aware he was watching her, she was too wary to emerge. But gradually, she became accustomed to his presence, with his high-magnification, ultra-slow-motion camera. Martin believes she actually learned to recognise him.
Because she had a small nick in one wing, he dubbed her Nicky. Throughout the lockdown summer of 2020, in the charmingly overgrown back garden of his Bristol home, he filmed her.
But bees like this have enemies. Sharp-tailed bees lay their eggs in leafcutter nests, and their larvae will eat the young of their host.
As his favourite bee sunned herself nearby, Martin spotted a sharp-tail sneaking towards the crevice where Nicky’s own egg was hidden.
He couldn’t prevent it. The job of a wildlife cameraman, he explained, is to observe as nature takes its course. But he seemed wracked with guilt.
Martin Dohrn (pictured) was confronted with the classic wildlife film-maker’s dilemma, on a minute scale, as he trained his camera on a hole in a wall on My Garden Of A Thousand Bees
After filming for months, this dedicated naturalist struck up a relationship with a female leafcutter bee who made her burrow in a ‘bee city’ he built by drilling holes in a heap of rocks
His kind nature and respect for all living things, even insects, is part of what makes him such an extraordinary film-maker — that, and his superhuman patience. Capturing one shot of bee behaviour, in perfect focus, can take days.
He has learned from the best, working with Sir David Attenborough on one documentary about ants. But a keen intelligence, combined with a shy and gentle nature, cannot be taught.
‘Cripes,’ he murmured, catching sight of how he himself looked on screen. ‘Oh dear.’
This 50-minute film first aired on U.S. public service channel PBS, and has been on Sky Nature. But for the majority of UK viewers, this BBC4 slot was a first opportunity to marvel at the footage.
Martin explained his video techniques without pretension or getting bogged down in jargon. The camera, with its lens no bigger than the one in a smartphone, was so sensitive that even blinking or the beating of his heart could make it shake.
The clarity and magnification he achieved was mesmerising enough to make you hold your breath. One sequence of honey bees mating revealed a piece of astonishing behaviour.
As the male clamped his legs around the female’s body, his hairy forelegs were a blur. By slowing down the film, Martin discovered the insect was stroking his mate’s antennae. It looked almost like a caress.
Can bees feel affection? Perhaps . . . and why not?
