Sting Operations

Holly Ziman threw open her front door before the men in the white mesh suits had knocked, before they’d even trundled across her tidy lawn.

“Are you here for the bees?” she asked anxiously. “We didn’t know whether they were African or regular or what!”

The Bee Team, a pesticide-toting duo accustomed to such fervent greetings, was unfazed. Ever since the infamous Africanized honeybee arrived in Los Angeles County in late 1998, the buzz around town has kept the pair as busy as the bees they chase.

Bee-related complaints skyrocketed from 31 calls in 1998 to more than 5,550 in 1999, according to the Greater Los Angeles County Vector Control District. The agency, a state-authorized district funded by property taxes, recently hired 10 workers to keep up with the demand.

And as the weather warms up again, hundreds of cries for help will be heard.

“Ten or 15 years ago, if people saw bees in a bush, they thought, ‘Oh, how cute, the bees are pollinating my flowers,’ ” said Richard Baxter, a Bee Team member who covers the San Fernando Valley, as he zipped on his sting-proof hood for another call. “Now, they’re very concerned about Africanized bees.”

Last April, agriculture officials declared that Los Angeles County had been colonized by the aggressive bees--ending any hopes of eradication. Within a few years, Africanized bees are likely to replace ordinary European honeybees throughout the region.

Despite their fearsome “killer bee” moniker, they rarely kill people--but they do attack in larger numbers and pursue people more persistently than European bees, officials say.

Since 1990, six people have died from Africanized bee stings in the United States, said Robert Donley, director of pest detection for the county’s Agriculture Department. The only California victim was a Long Beach beekeeper who was stung more than 50 times last August.

“If people weren’t so aware [of the danger], I think we’d see a lot more multiple stinging incidents and possibly more fatalities,” Donley said.

To the eye, Africanized bees look just like their European counterparts, experts say. But their genes are dominant. Ever since some Africanized bees escaped from a Brazilian laboratory in the late 1950s, they have been steadily moving north, taking over the wild bee populations as they go.

Experts now assume Africanized honeybees to be so widespread here that county officials no longer test bees to confirm their genetic origins. Ziman said she and her husband contacted the pest control district as soon as they noticed bees buzzing around the roots of their magnolia tree. With neighborhood children scooting past on bikes and two dogs of their own, the couple didn’t want to take any chances.

“It’s been a concern ever since we saw them,” Ziman said, ducking as a stray bee whizzed by.

“Aaaagghh! There’s one flying over here,” she shouted to the bee squad. “I don’t like this.” The art of bee removal, at least as practiced by vector control workers, is fairly straightforward. If the hive is exposed--say, hanging from a branch--workers spray it with pesticide and yank it down. If it’s hidden inside a tree, they spray it and stuff the knot-holes with cotton batting, trapping the bees inside.

Jeremy Uhlenkott opted for the latter method at the Ziman house, jamming the cotton into the cracks between the tree roots with a screwdriver.

“It’s hard to tell if it’s all sealed up,” he said. If not, the bees will find another exit route. Even if the holes are blocked, plenty of bees that were out foraging will eventually return, only to find their ransacked hive. So Baxter and Uhlenkott leave a bucket filled with yet more pesticide behind, promising to return in a few days.

For guys who spend their days slugging it out with swarms of angry bees, they’re pretty cheerful. These are the golden days for bee workers, a time of high public appreciation and elevated status among their pest control brethren.

“People seem to like us more when we show up for bees,” Baxter said.

The Vector Control District also handles mosquito and other insect abatement. While trolling through backyards looking for stagnant water may not seem as glamorous as bee-busting, the effort keeps mosquitoes from breeding and possibly transmitting diseases such as St. Louis encephalitis.

“With the bees, your adrenaline’s going,” said Wesley Collins, who is currently on mosquito patrol. “But for me, I personally feel like I’m serving a better need with the mosquitoes. No one likes being bitten by a mosquito.”

Besides, working the bee shift isn’t all glory. Both Baxter and Uhlenkott have been stung on duty.

Not everyone is glad to see the Bee Team roll up in its white pickup truck, either. Sometimes people yell at them to leave the poor bees alone, Baxter said.

Occasionally, homeowners will insist that they don’t have a bee problem, even when a hive is clearly visible. On a recent call in Valley Village, for example, a woman swore that her gardener already had removed the hive in her yard. The team was forced to turn away, even though they could see the bees swarming around a tree.

“We’ll probably be back here next week,” Uhlenkott said.

And then there are the occupational hazards, like being covered by irate, possibly Africanized, bees.

“It is a little bit unnerving,” Baxter admitted. “Especially when they get by your ear, they make one heck of a racket. You have to keep your mind on what you’re doing, not fall off the ladder and so forth.”