Like new visitors culms acclimate to their new environment at their own pace. The security alarm is set off by a single culm checking in the middle of the night. This goes on until ADT either fines me or I insulate the culms, usually the latter. Checking is a natural progression that a culm of bamboo goes through as it dries and adjusts to its given environment. The only time a fly rod will ever make an audible noise is before its split in the form of a culm. I always like to think of it as a time the bamboo speaks its mind before a maker binds and glues it into submission.
I often imagine that the popping sounds translate into a kind of secret bamboo dialog amongst the resting culms. They chit chat in this secret morse code and have a lot of questions in regards to the sharpness of the makers planes, is it painful to be split?, and what's it like to grow up and be a fly rod? This all starts to sound a bit Jeppetto-esque but spending countless hours handling bamboo your imagination wanders into some strange places. In the wee hours of a dark and cold January evening I think of the Disney classic Pinocchio while hand planing strips;
“Little puppet made of pine, awake. The gift of life is thine.”
~The Blue Fairy
“Little fly rod made of cane, awake. Before I go insane.”