Backyard Drain Clogged

You grab the plunger—the big one, the angry one. You stand in the tepid water, feet squelching in your Crocs, and pump like a man possessed. A few bubbles burp up. Nothing more.

Arthur sighed, set down his mug, and retrieved his "foul weather gear": a pair of waders he usually reserved for trout fishing and a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves that came up to his elbows.

He grabbed a stick from a nearby bush and probed the hole. He hit resistance. Something solid was down there, deeper than his arm could reach. backyard drain clogged

The moment of crisis comes when a second storm rolls in. You watch from the window as the downspout pours gallons onto the roof, sending a river across the concrete toward the drain—only to watch it stop. The water hits the grate, shrugs, and begins its slow creep toward the back door.

Pools of water that remain in your yard for days after rain, especially around the drain grate. You grab the plunger—the big one, the angry one

He tromped back toward the patio, peeling off the yellow gloves. The rain stopped completely, a ray of sun breaking through the clouds to illuminate the wet, messy, functioning backyard.

Arthur stood up, his knees cracking, his waders covered in a fine layer of silt. He felt a profound, primal sense of satisfaction. He had commanded the elements. He had vanquished the clog. He had retrieved the lost toy soldier. Nothing more

Then, a sound. A low, guttural rumble. The water in the yard began to move. The surface tension broke. A whirlpool formed over the drain grate, small at first, then widening. The sucking sound was loud and glorious.

As he approached, the scale of the blockage became clear. It wasn't just surface debris. The water was swirling counter-clockwise near the grate, indicating a partial suction, but the solid mass on top was impenetrable.