Almost every tabletop fantasy RPG gamer (Dungeons & Dragons) from the early 2000s back to the game’s origin knows about the ten-foot-pole. It was added to the equipment shopping list quite early on and remained a staple for decades. I don’t play much 5e and later, so maybe it still is a staple. It is a super handy item used for prodding openings, testing spring loaded traps, and poking monsters, while keeping the player conveniently ten feet away from the target. Which is a common range of effect for stinking clouds, poisonous gasses, and triggered collapses.
As a GM and a person who enjoys fishing, this item has always made me twitch. I don’t know how many times during a game after players squeeze through three-foot openings, sneak down passageways, run from danger in winding tunnels, then when faced with a potential trap tell me, “I test it with my ten-foot pole”.
What does that have to do with fishing?
I invite anyone to find a fishing pole, even just a short 6’ spinning rod will do but a ten-foot fly rod is even better. Then go for a hike through the woods with it. Have a nice walk anywhere for an hour or two while carrying it. Maybe just pick one out at your local big box discount store and walk through all the isles with it while shopping.
The issue quickly becomes apparent. A ten-foot pole, even of slightest diameter, is not something you forget you have. It doesn’t allow you to sneak up on anyone and it certainly becomes a problem should you try to turn, fight, or run anywhere (Like folks do in Walmarts).
Yet it persists
Even while presenting this information to a table when someone begins their character creation with the ten-foot purchase, you will be met with scowls of disbelief before you finish talking. It’s as if you suddenly became opposed to iron rations, swords, or armor in Dungeons & Dragons.
Instead of trying to argue about the item before the table even gets rolling, it has become a standard practice for me to just note behind the screen who has a ten-foot pole in their inventory. It isn’t an item a player can strap to their pack, so it most likely will remain in a hand. If it gets strapped to a pack animal, it becomes a hilarious prop when that creature is spooked or tries to turn around in a wooded area. Even just 5 to 6 feet of a pole protruding from the saddle of a war horse quickly spinning around is enough to lay flat half the party in a single action.
If it remains in a hand, where does that player hold their sword? Their shield? The rogue slinking through the shadows of the streets with a ten-foot pole isn’t surprising anyone.
Player: “Melmac the rogue sneaks around the corner to get a better look.”
Party all nodding: “Good idea”
GM: “Ok, Melmac crouches down and heads toward the shadows of the inn. His ten foot pole whacks the eves nine feet up, then the secret meeting of the guild members stare at the long wooden shaft emerging into the light from the corner of the building.”
OK, maybe we don’t need to be so petty as to not mention it until it’s too late, but it is the time you ask the player if they will be proceeding while carrying their ten-foot pole. And before entering the dungeon, “After three days travel down the open road you finally find the dungeon entrance. Melmac and Judy, I see you are carrying ten-foot poles. You have just spent three days manipulating them around tree limbs, trying not to spook the horses, and now you are faced with a three-foot doorway. Will you be taking your poles into the dark?”
The Usual Response
The usual response I get from frustrated players about the pole is that they immediately attempt to shop for a telescoping or collapsible pole. While this might be rather common in the modern world when it comes to light weight camping or tripods, what the ten-foot pole typically refers to is a pole, ten feet long, and at least an inch or two thick and made of solid wood. Making one collapsible might be possible with medieval foot lathes, or bolted sections with mortised joints, but none of these solutions make a ten-foot pole convenient, lightweight, or practical to carry for days or weeks in a pack.
For what practical purpose would a regular medieval carpenter make a collapsing ten-foot pole? It wouldn’t likely be something just lying around.
Should you find yourself at a home improvement store, many of them sell round banister rails that are about how ten-foot poles are often portrayed in games. Compare this for weight and encumbrance.
Solve It With Magic
The ten-foot pole problem will quickly be seen as a thing to be resolved with magic, either through bags of holding or magical poles themselves. Which is fine and makes sense for higher level parties. But perhaps a quest for a magical ten-foot pole could be its own adventure and save many resurrections in future sessions.
No matter how it is addressed or approached, the addition of the ten-foot pole to that first equipment list was a curse. A curse whose cause I frequently find myself addressing at the table. Before your session begins and players begin to balk, maybe have a ten-foot pole in your basement and ask the player to go downstairs and bring it up before lighting into the conversation about it in their inventory.