I think this sums it up, when a secular source like the Times does the following, and with snow and cold in the UK and in Australia now over 76 dead from wildfires now officially there worst in history, can there be little doubt we are that generation, else there will be nothing left for Jesus to return to in a few years, the way we are going on.
Anyway the long article as follows:
Plight of the humble bee
Native British bees are dying out and with them will go flora, fauna and one-third of our diet. We may have less than a decade to save them and avert catastrophe. So why is nothing being done?
Midwinter. In a garden not far from the sea in Plymouth, there is a splash of pale sunlight and a sound both familiar and strange. Familiar, because if we close our eyes and think of English gardens its the sound that fills our heads. Strange, because now it should be silent.
The drone of a bee.
It is a buff-tailed bumble, Bombus terrestris, a worker pottering among late-flowering fuchsias, heathers and mahonias like the ghost of summers past. All the textbooks say it should be dead. Only queens overwinter in holes in the ground. Yet here it is, at 200 wing-beats a second, energetically hawking the beds for nectar. And it is not alone. The man in whose garden it flits, Dr Mick Hanley, a lecturer in terrestrial ecology at Plymouth University, has recorded them in December and January all the way along the south coast as far east as Ramsgate. Others have found them as far north as Shropshire, Leicestershire and even North Wales.
Weird, you might think, but not something we should worry about. But aberrant behaviour in nature, especially when it happens suddenly, is rarely a sign of systemic good health. A bee in winter is no more proof of a thriving ecosystem than a flake of snow is disproof of global warming. The world is going haywire. If the very worst scenarios are to be believed, then the Plymouth bee is an early pathfinder en route not just to its own Armageddon but to our own.
Think of summer. Meadows and gardens daubed with so much colour it looks as if some giant hand has gone berserk with a paintbrush. Now expunge that picture and think of another. This time the giant hand has mislaid every pigment save brown and olive. There are no blooms, no insects, no birds. No visible wildlife of any kind. No fruit. No sound other than the mechanistic din of humankind harvesting fungi and the approaching cries of battle.
The first picture is a poetic fiction, a received vision of England as it never was, an idyllic land of apple-cheeked rustics singing in harmony with a bountiful Nature. The second is a piece of bleak futurology that assumes the process of environmental degradation will be irreversible, leaving hollow-cheeked starvelings to follow the rest of the worlds fauna across the Styx. The creature that links the two visions by its abundance in the first and absence from the second is the same that now buzzes unseasonably among the dripping foliage of our winter gardens. The bee.
The bee, of course, is a gross oversimplification. There are many species of bumble as well as of honeybee. Or there were. In the bounteous days of teeming hedgerows and fields of clover, Britain had 25 kinds of bumble, all merrily gathering nectar and pollinating plants and trees. Three of these already have vanished, and seven more are in the governments official Biodiversity Action Plan (Uk Bap) as priorities for salvation.
Its the same right across Europe, and the reasons everywhere are the same changes in agricultural practice that have replaced historic mixed farmscapes with heavily industrialised monocultures in which wild animals and plants are about as welcome as jackals in a pie factory. Insects in particular have been targets of intense chemical warfare. We are, at the eleventh hour, learning from our mistakes, but patching nature back together again is exponentially more difficult than blowing it apart.
Most people do now get the point about honeybees. Following the multiple crises that continue to empty the hives foulbrood, varroa mites, viral diseases, dysfunctional immune systems, and now the mysterious but globally devastating colony-collapse disorder (CCD) it is understood that the true value of Apis mellifera lies not so much in the sticky stuff that gives our favourite insect its name as in the service it provides as a pollinator of farms and gardens. If you add retailers profit to farm gate prices, their value to the UK economy is in the region of £1 billion a year, and 35% of our diet is directly dependent on them. It is an equation of stark simplicity. No pollination: no crops. There is nothing theoretical about it. The reality is in (or, more accurately, not in) the hives. The US has lost 70% of its honeybee colonies over the past two winters. Losses in the UK currently are running at 30% a year up from just 6% in 2003.
But fewer people realise that bumbles, too, are important not just to some remote, bug-ridden process called ecology, of interest only to bearded men in anoraks. Growers of beans, oilseed rape and fruit especially have reason to feel alarm at their disappearance. So vital are they to the productivity of the fields, and so lethal the pressures on them, that farmers are having to import captive-bred reinforcements, many of them southern-European species raised in Slovakia. The total annual influx is reckoned at some 100,000 nests, each containing a queen and 200 workers, priced around £50 a time.
As the example of honeybees shows, this is a strategy of literally incalculable risk. International trade in honeybees has spread pests and diseases that imminently threaten their survival. In November 2007 the then food-and-farming minister, Lord Rooker, declared in the House of Lords that if things went on as they were, the honeybee in the UK would be extinct within 10 years. The situation since then has worsened, so at the best estimate the 10 years have shrunk to eight.
For bumbles, too, time is running out, and nobody knows whether the introduction of alien bees will delay the end or bring it closer. The signs are not encouraging. In the US, wild-bumblebee numbers have collapsed dramatically since the 1990s they have been killed by parasites carried by European species brought in to pollinate greenhouse crops such as tomatoes and peppers.
There is a high likelihood of interaction between wild and commercially reared bees at flowers, says Dave Goulson, professor of biological sciences at the University of Stirling and a world expert on bumblebees. This creates the ideal conditions for what ecologists call pathogen spillover. Nor is disease the only risk. There is also the grey-squirrel effect, in which native species are driven out by more aggressive foreigners. This is happening in Japan, where, ironically, imports of Bombus terrestris the same bumblebee now humming in southern England have escaped and are outbreeding the locals. And it may already be happening in the UK.
As in Japan, the aliens are better foragers and breed more rapidly than the natives, whose health and territory they threaten, while there is no guarantee that the immigrants themselves will not be poleaxed by local infections. This is bad news for more than just the bees themselves. In the complex world of inter-species relationships developed over millennia, small changes can have massive effects. In addition to his general theory of relativity, Albert Einstein had a specific theory about the relativity of man and bee. If the bee disappears off the surface of the globe, he is supposed to have said, then man would only have four years of life left.
If other scientists are more cautious, it is only in terms of the timescale.
On the face of it, the midwinter appearance of Bombus terrestris looks encouraging a harbinger of the all-year summers that optimists look forward to. But this is precisely the problem. Contrary to what one might expect, says Goulson, a warming climate will not set the hedgerows buzzing. Bumblebees evolved in the Himalayas. They are unusual among insects in that they dont like warm weather. Their thick fur coat is an aid to survival in a cool climate but an energy-sapping body-broiler in the heat. This is why the southern hemisphere has no bumblebees.
Once upon a time, for example, the great yellow bumblebee, Bombus distinguendus, which thrives in the cold and wet, was common throughout Britain. Now it has been driven so far northwards that it occurs on the mainland only within half a mile of the extreme north coast of Caithness and Sutherland. So, says Goulson, it can go no further. It is probably doomed as a result of climate change. Other species, too, are shrinking into local redoubts. The shrill carder bee, Bombus sylvarum, is now limited to the Somerset Levels, Salisbury Plain and the Thames Estuary, where much of its habitat is on brownfield sites and impossible to protect. Since 1980, the formerly common large garden bumblebee, Bombus ruderatus, has been recorded at fewer than 10 sites in the UK.
For the full article as won't let me post it all see:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/environment/article5604401.ece
Anyway the long article as follows:
Plight of the humble bee
Native British bees are dying out and with them will go flora, fauna and one-third of our diet. We may have less than a decade to save them and avert catastrophe. So why is nothing being done?
Midwinter. In a garden not far from the sea in Plymouth, there is a splash of pale sunlight and a sound both familiar and strange. Familiar, because if we close our eyes and think of English gardens its the sound that fills our heads. Strange, because now it should be silent.
The drone of a bee.
It is a buff-tailed bumble, Bombus terrestris, a worker pottering among late-flowering fuchsias, heathers and mahonias like the ghost of summers past. All the textbooks say it should be dead. Only queens overwinter in holes in the ground. Yet here it is, at 200 wing-beats a second, energetically hawking the beds for nectar. And it is not alone. The man in whose garden it flits, Dr Mick Hanley, a lecturer in terrestrial ecology at Plymouth University, has recorded them in December and January all the way along the south coast as far east as Ramsgate. Others have found them as far north as Shropshire, Leicestershire and even North Wales.
Weird, you might think, but not something we should worry about. But aberrant behaviour in nature, especially when it happens suddenly, is rarely a sign of systemic good health. A bee in winter is no more proof of a thriving ecosystem than a flake of snow is disproof of global warming. The world is going haywire. If the very worst scenarios are to be believed, then the Plymouth bee is an early pathfinder en route not just to its own Armageddon but to our own.
Think of summer. Meadows and gardens daubed with so much colour it looks as if some giant hand has gone berserk with a paintbrush. Now expunge that picture and think of another. This time the giant hand has mislaid every pigment save brown and olive. There are no blooms, no insects, no birds. No visible wildlife of any kind. No fruit. No sound other than the mechanistic din of humankind harvesting fungi and the approaching cries of battle.
The first picture is a poetic fiction, a received vision of England as it never was, an idyllic land of apple-cheeked rustics singing in harmony with a bountiful Nature. The second is a piece of bleak futurology that assumes the process of environmental degradation will be irreversible, leaving hollow-cheeked starvelings to follow the rest of the worlds fauna across the Styx. The creature that links the two visions by its abundance in the first and absence from the second is the same that now buzzes unseasonably among the dripping foliage of our winter gardens. The bee.
The bee, of course, is a gross oversimplification. There are many species of bumble as well as of honeybee. Or there were. In the bounteous days of teeming hedgerows and fields of clover, Britain had 25 kinds of bumble, all merrily gathering nectar and pollinating plants and trees. Three of these already have vanished, and seven more are in the governments official Biodiversity Action Plan (Uk Bap) as priorities for salvation.
Its the same right across Europe, and the reasons everywhere are the same changes in agricultural practice that have replaced historic mixed farmscapes with heavily industrialised monocultures in which wild animals and plants are about as welcome as jackals in a pie factory. Insects in particular have been targets of intense chemical warfare. We are, at the eleventh hour, learning from our mistakes, but patching nature back together again is exponentially more difficult than blowing it apart.
Most people do now get the point about honeybees. Following the multiple crises that continue to empty the hives foulbrood, varroa mites, viral diseases, dysfunctional immune systems, and now the mysterious but globally devastating colony-collapse disorder (CCD) it is understood that the true value of Apis mellifera lies not so much in the sticky stuff that gives our favourite insect its name as in the service it provides as a pollinator of farms and gardens. If you add retailers profit to farm gate prices, their value to the UK economy is in the region of £1 billion a year, and 35% of our diet is directly dependent on them. It is an equation of stark simplicity. No pollination: no crops. There is nothing theoretical about it. The reality is in (or, more accurately, not in) the hives. The US has lost 70% of its honeybee colonies over the past two winters. Losses in the UK currently are running at 30% a year up from just 6% in 2003.
But fewer people realise that bumbles, too, are important not just to some remote, bug-ridden process called ecology, of interest only to bearded men in anoraks. Growers of beans, oilseed rape and fruit especially have reason to feel alarm at their disappearance. So vital are they to the productivity of the fields, and so lethal the pressures on them, that farmers are having to import captive-bred reinforcements, many of them southern-European species raised in Slovakia. The total annual influx is reckoned at some 100,000 nests, each containing a queen and 200 workers, priced around £50 a time.
As the example of honeybees shows, this is a strategy of literally incalculable risk. International trade in honeybees has spread pests and diseases that imminently threaten their survival. In November 2007 the then food-and-farming minister, Lord Rooker, declared in the House of Lords that if things went on as they were, the honeybee in the UK would be extinct within 10 years. The situation since then has worsened, so at the best estimate the 10 years have shrunk to eight.
For bumbles, too, time is running out, and nobody knows whether the introduction of alien bees will delay the end or bring it closer. The signs are not encouraging. In the US, wild-bumblebee numbers have collapsed dramatically since the 1990s they have been killed by parasites carried by European species brought in to pollinate greenhouse crops such as tomatoes and peppers.
There is a high likelihood of interaction between wild and commercially reared bees at flowers, says Dave Goulson, professor of biological sciences at the University of Stirling and a world expert on bumblebees. This creates the ideal conditions for what ecologists call pathogen spillover. Nor is disease the only risk. There is also the grey-squirrel effect, in which native species are driven out by more aggressive foreigners. This is happening in Japan, where, ironically, imports of Bombus terrestris the same bumblebee now humming in southern England have escaped and are outbreeding the locals. And it may already be happening in the UK.
As in Japan, the aliens are better foragers and breed more rapidly than the natives, whose health and territory they threaten, while there is no guarantee that the immigrants themselves will not be poleaxed by local infections. This is bad news for more than just the bees themselves. In the complex world of inter-species relationships developed over millennia, small changes can have massive effects. In addition to his general theory of relativity, Albert Einstein had a specific theory about the relativity of man and bee. If the bee disappears off the surface of the globe, he is supposed to have said, then man would only have four years of life left.
If other scientists are more cautious, it is only in terms of the timescale.
On the face of it, the midwinter appearance of Bombus terrestris looks encouraging a harbinger of the all-year summers that optimists look forward to. But this is precisely the problem. Contrary to what one might expect, says Goulson, a warming climate will not set the hedgerows buzzing. Bumblebees evolved in the Himalayas. They are unusual among insects in that they dont like warm weather. Their thick fur coat is an aid to survival in a cool climate but an energy-sapping body-broiler in the heat. This is why the southern hemisphere has no bumblebees.
Once upon a time, for example, the great yellow bumblebee, Bombus distinguendus, which thrives in the cold and wet, was common throughout Britain. Now it has been driven so far northwards that it occurs on the mainland only within half a mile of the extreme north coast of Caithness and Sutherland. So, says Goulson, it can go no further. It is probably doomed as a result of climate change. Other species, too, are shrinking into local redoubts. The shrill carder bee, Bombus sylvarum, is now limited to the Somerset Levels, Salisbury Plain and the Thames Estuary, where much of its habitat is on brownfield sites and impossible to protect. Since 1980, the formerly common large garden bumblebee, Bombus ruderatus, has been recorded at fewer than 10 sites in the UK.
For the full article as won't let me post it all see:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/environment/article5604401.ece
