Bee line.

Many years ago I was away with friends staying in some cabins over yonder in Kangaroo Valley.

The cabins had a large spa… and after a long day of hiking around, it was inevitable that we all piled in to the hot froth to steep our fatigued muscles as we sipped on something cold and refreshing.

This was all going swimmingly well until the girls ran out of champagne. Being the only male on this expedition I was immediately voted pack mule and expunged from the spa all dripping wet to go back to the cabins and re-supply.

It was just after dusk and I remember I was carrying one of those big orange dolphin torches as I made my way in the dark over the rough unfamiliar track back to the building where we were sleeping.

The darkness was suddenly broken by this loud deep sound. Startled I instinctively swung the torch-light across to see what it was.

Lit by my beam I could immediately make out a big old ghost-gum stump on top of which sat this great dollop of brown and black popcorn. Only it wasn’t popcorn, it was a huge mass of bees.

The instant my searchlight hit this natural bee hive, it burst forth into a swarm of queen protecting fury that began jabbing me before my brain had properly figured out what the frick going on.

Like some sort of soggy, strobing, voodoo doll, I ran in a yelping bee-line back to the spa.

The girls were skeptical of the life threatening savagery of my story:
Um…Bees are unlikely to attack when they are swarming… or at night time.
You probably just startled them and they all flew around for a while.
Didn’t you even get the booze?

So I sulked in the spa like a prune for the rest of the evening, picking the prickles out of my feet and the occasional in-situ stinger out of the other parts of me.

—–

Actually, and despite this one painful incident, I totally love bees.
So watch this….

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