A Bee in my Bonnet

My loving wife and confident, told me early this morning my hair looked SCRAGGY and to expect a haircut later today. What will be - Will be.  But I was treated to a cup of tea in bed, a small price to pay for straight honesty.

On the radio, the BBC is polluting airwaves with moralist phylisosophical rants that tell everyone, prepared to listen, how to think. Followed by some dreadfull  barbershop choir.

Here is my Apiary news letter. 

The early December inspection revealed one colony has perished and the hive to be plundered by wasps, and later by numbers of bees from the three remaining hives nearby.
Veroa treatment was carried out on the three surviving hives and all is well with these colonies. I prepared myself with bee suit and respirator and chose a day with very light airs. About 1.5 grams of oxalic acid was vaporized in the base of the hive and the proceedure from start to finish lasted about 10 minutes for each one. As usual each hive behaves slightly differently from the next. One is quite defensive and attack my veil. No.Two is oblivious to the job in hand and continue flying, No. Three is much more sensative to my touching the hive and create a loud buzz  at the slightest disturbance. This latter colony is one given me by my brother and a split from early last year -  it was rapidly running short of space. Now it looks to be flourishing again and most likely to require splitting once more, come the spring.
Little else to do as regards the bees appart from closing off the veroa undertrays and plugging the extra vent holes.  The vaporizor is a simple 12v device with a long handle and heated cup connected to a battery.  The respirator mask is worn to avoid breathing in the noxious fumes.

Land of the Free

"Land of the Free" once included the ordinary American, but today includes the freedom of a US cop to kill as this cop did, equipped with an AR-15 rifle with the phrase “You’re F—ed” etched onto his weapon.
This cops' own hip camera records the murder, yet he is acquitted  ; The victim face down.

Meanwhile at the well defended White House, sits a neurotic, narcissistic president in office clearly unfit for any such chair.

Little wonder then, why many settlers and their descendants dig-in with a bomb shelter, arm themselves to the teeth, store provisions, head for the hills, or emigrate like never before.

An American president in bed with Russia and Israel. A supporter of the National Rifle Association.

Courtesy of the Washington Post is the report "I study Liars" and it says quite a lot about Trump;  Perhaps that is exactly how he wants to be remembered.

My latest Watercolour

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St Peters, Exeter.  Original  51x33cm  

A letter to America

Horrific news is breaking in the UK and inevitably in the wider world of the unfolding tragic massacre in Las Vegas. Just another in a long line of masssacres, due in large part to the unfettered gun lobby and its associated American industry.

Your president is silent on the issue of gun control and pretends to hold out his heart felt sympathies to victims and their families.  What fool has spawned to lead your gun toting society!
I would not presume to speak for anyone else on such a life or death issue as this, and if you are an American reading this blog, it will inevitably make for difficult reading.
Your president Trump has spoken of obliterating a whole country - namely North Vietnam, which would result in millions of deaths. He pretends to be concerned about the deaths of just fifty nine Americans - one millionth of the number of deaths he threatens.
Trumps' hypocracy knows no bounds when one breath speaks of  deadly threat, then the next breath speaks of heartfelt sympathy.
All Americans will have heard the first commandment "though shall not kill".

3,000 Dollars mail order.

I suggest all America is responsible for many of the troubles seen in our world today. Much stems from the desire to bear arms, and not least from the unexpected consequences of holding to this mantra.
The battle cry of one sick mind has been allowed to run riot in an otherwise peacable community and the resultant carnage knows no bounds. It has been copied from previous events of a similar type, and inevitably will be copied in future, so long as the prevailing nature of the American phsyche holds to its present course.

Bees fed syrup plus fondant in TopBarHive

Tried out my brothers recipe for fondant today and the bees just love it.  Along with syrup fed at the same time, the fondant was attracting the greatest attention. 2kg sugar to 250ml hot water - boiled then simmered for 15mins to 245degF maximum. 2 teaspoons of white viniger  and half a stem of  lemongrass added.  Allowed to cool to 180 deg then wisked to whiten with air bubbles.  Lemongrass removed during the wisking and re-added later. Poured onto foil to cool and later sliced into strips. 

Foil left outside for bees to clean up

Fondant above top bars

Plenty of pollen being gathered

Busiest hive enjoyes the sunniest position

Bees flourishing in TopBarHive

Feeding sugar syrup mid morning in sunny mild weather. This is my most
active colony and has drones going into the hive as well as foraging bees bringing in pollen, some of which is bright orange in colour.
No verroa treatment has yet been undertaken but I shall take a count soon and treat with an oxalic acid vapour in December.

Jaka Pamplona Santander Plymouth

The itinery chosen made use of Airbnb in selecting places to stay. The best of these was with Lilian and Carlos at San Vicente. Delightful hosts and great food dishes enjoyed here....
Our drive to the Santander ferry port began at about ten in the morning, taking about six hours of scenic motorway, joined at Jaca, heading west via Pamplona,Vitoria Gastiez and Bilbao.

Three Morgan 4/4s or +4s including our own, boarded the Pont Aven, along with a Morgan three wheeler belonging to a well travelled morganeer and photographer Calum Frazer. (I didn't meet him but if your listening Calum I much admire your posts to the Talk Morgan pages.)
Poor weather delayed the very full Santander/Plymouth ferry with the sea-state fairly rough. Out of Plymouth at last, we reached home just before midnight. 

Loarre Castle and the Mallos de Riglos

The  conclusion to our two weeks away in the Pyrenees has been a visit to this spectacular castle and the nearby rock formations known as the Mallos.
The sheer walls of the Mallos are home to Vultures, Golden Eagles and Chuff.  Several climbers are also seen from here where the Aragon climbing school is based, and their calls of encouragement to one another, rival  the shrill calls of the circling vultures.

Loarre Castle is a Romanesque style fortress begun in the 11th century. The building is of great historical and architectural interest, and has had, incorporated within its walls, a church, a monastery and military keep; extended outer walls served to protect the people of Loarre in times of seige.

Valle de Anso and Valle de Hecho

A chill wind fom the north west gradually turned more westerly and warmed to a scorching hot sun.  Stopped at a petrol station our exit was delayed on meeting with four other Morgans from Yorkshire, UK;  en-rout from Bilbao to Andora.  Fresh off the ferry their paintwork sparkling against our desert dusted M44.

The approach to Anso was made from Jaca on the N240. Once off this dual carriageway the way becomes scenic to the point of making photo stops irresistable. The river Veral slices virtically into the limestone hundreds of feet. Beech, Fir and Pine trees cover much of the ground. Virtical crags come into view at intervals along the narrow road that skirts beside the river.

Anso was quiet being Monday. We had missed the festival when young bulls are free to run through the streets.  A faster new road has opened up the village approach from Hecho and our stop there in search of coffee failed.

Torla and a peep at Ordesa

Some overnight snow flurries had capped the mountain tops overnight but the valley drive through this dramatic gorge was pleasantly warm. Only to be cut short when the paved road became a rough stone surface and a little too risky for M44. With an about-face, our track back to Torla led through tight hairpin bends. A later stop for refreshments at Biescas completed the trip.

The old Roman stone bridge at Bujaruelo was on the wish list to see, but sadly missed out on this occasion. 

Ordesa

The river Ara 

So far and no further said dear Helen - The conveyance too precious - A few moments after this shot was taken FOUR young ladies leapt from their Peugot saloon and raved in Spanish or maybe it was French - so excited to see an opportunistic photo call.   M44 soon had all four squeeze like sardines onto  two available seats.  

Coffee at the monastery

Perhaps it was a Saturday prayer day. We never found out, but the core of the building was barred to non Spanish visitors. However the two open buildings seen were of interest. That built into the foot of an overhanging cliff is the burial place reserved for the ancient Kings of Aragon and benefactors of this place. At the upper level, above the cliff, is a more recent monastory where a palatial museum is created over the footings of the much earlier building.
No monks were to be seen at San Juan de la Peña, but a replica Holy Grail was on display, and supposedly this is the place where said grail was brought for safe keeping.  Opus Dei is very much alive in Spanish society and associated with the Roman Catholic Church.  Grand modernist architecture is in evidence, and whilst very spectacular, must have cost many many millions.
Of greater interest was the beautiful setting and approach road, as it passes across the ancient sea bed of some earlier epoch. The dour lady at the entrance foyer was impatient with us and our English queries, but I made her smile with an extravagant raising of my Australian leather hat on exit from the place.
The previous day we came across Buerba and for some reason a purchase was made of a carved wooden spoon. The elderly artisan was using a blunt hand axe and a rasp, to laboriously fashion the slightly crude ornament. Perhaps the cash will recirculate a few times in this little village and buy him a beer.

Buerba

Buerba

Monastary under the cliff

Who is this knight pretender

Downhill switchback

A very English vehicle

Looking towards the National Park of Ordesa

Long leg through Col du Somport tunnel

A wet start begins the heading south  into Spain.
Low cloud hid most of the scenery north of the border, and the minor road taken was not the best choice. The Somport Tunnel was traffic free and without toll, the damp soon forgotten, as we emerged to open blue sky. We decended, little by little, into the heat of the afternoon. The lush green of France exchamged for the baked dry fields of Spain.
For some days, our home is to be a self contained part of what was once a presbytery attached to the village church. 

Hairy-shaved-tanned & tired legs of Pilgrims

St-Jean-Pied-du-Port has leading from it and heading south, the D428 and, because it seemed to be the most direct road to the Spanish border and climbed steeply, the scenary looked promising on this bright morning. Whispy layered clouds hung in the valleys and the sun was about to disolve them away.
Soon apparant was the string of hikers heading south, their numbers swelling as the steepest inclines slowed their progress. Up and away into the hills our presence soon became slightly embarrassing with umbrella and single walking stick firmly fixed to the M44 luggage rack. All too easy, our romp skywards was far and away the laziest form of transport imaginable to a hardened walker.
At one stop along this narrow road, a couple from Edinborough explained that their pilgrimage was of concern to their children back home, but this was a now or never chance. Into their sixties, yet sprightly enough to set off, confident that eight weeks would be sufficient time in which to reach Santiago-de-Compestela.
Our serendipitous choice of route became our own challange, to pick a way between the souls bedecked with rucksacks, stout staffs or lightweight hiking sticks. With their backs towards us, a warning note was out of the question. This road was their road.
We reached the Spanish border and lost the trail, but rested a while amongst the creamy white cattle and crocuses adorning the hill pastures that sloped away on both sides of the road.

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port Market Day

Not expecting an evening meal today we wander through the covered market stocking up with some little local delicacies to snack on later. A connoiseur of cheese would spend a whole day sampling all that was on offer here from local producers.
Today's run took us through St-Etienne-de-Biagorry, Aldudes, briefly into Spain on the NA318, before looping back towards Elizonda and through St-Etienne-de-Biagorry, where the camera came into play briefly.
The Roman bridge has the date 1066 inscribed on a tablet in the stonework and the well worn track shows the trammel lines of many hundreds of years of river crossings. The church is equally interesting and attracts a steady stream of visitors  delivered by the coachload.
The motorist is fortunate in France not to be milked at every opportunity for parking and not a cent have we spent so far. However, there is a wake up call when regular speed humps appear, as they are vicious enough to launch an F35 fighter jet from the Aircraft carrier Queen Elizabeth 11. (At £100,000,000 each these aircraft should need no such assistance).  All that stops M44 from becoming airbourne is a snails pace approach to every such hump in the road.

Roman bridge dated 1066

Sheeps Legs--Day 3

Suggestions from Lucile for scenic drives out from St-Jean-Pied-de-Port, our first venture up into the hills has been a delight from start to finish. Through Beech woods and steep sided, deep valleys then quickly climbing through myriad hairpin bends to hill top grazing where very large flocks are to be seen. Spectacular views come into view across each new horizon.
To view a flavour of this extraordinary landscape the link below should lead to You Tube videos of our ride out today; (Link Below)...

The D18 heading south-sou-east was taken towards Pic des Escalliers where  the road bcomes the D19. Les Chalets d'Iraty are there for the many walkers who take themselves on the long trail to Santiago de Compostela armed with hiking sticks and laden with rucksaks, some small, some larger than their own torso.

On return, somehow finding ourselves on the D301, we passed through Esterencuby amongst hills and deep gouged valleys. Geology here speaks of ground rising from below sea level and exposed rock formations of beach rounded pebbles erode then wash away clean down rivers that teem with trout.

 

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