Elk Bros.com and Blue Collar Elk Hunting sat down with us recently, and had this to say about their discussion: Marc Carlton grew up with and around the most incredible elk callers of their time and competed in his first elk calling competition at the age of 8 years old! His father, Wayne Carlton, is legendary in the elk hunting world and one of the most incredible people you will ever meet. Wayne continues the legacy with a passion and artistic expertise that makes Native by Carlton one of the best call manufacturers in the world.
On today's show, the crew welcomes Marc Carlton to elk camp as we talk about the "ins" and "outs" of elk diaphragms as well as tap Marc's 40 years of elk hunting knowledge when it comes to calls and calling elk. Marc has probably forgotten more about elk hunting than most will learn in 3 lifetimes.
Watch the entire episode now:
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Watch this video below and get the low-down on how to make a great sounding diaphragm call - and impress your friends at your next hunting camp with all your knowledge about diaphragm calls!
]]>Watch this video below and get the low-down on how to make a great sounding diaphragm call - and impress your friends at your next hunting camp with all your knowledge about diaphragm calls!
In this episode of The Push, Native by Carlton President Marc Carlton sits down with Tim from The Push Podcast and talk all things elk and turkey diaphragm calls, the rich history of Native, and much more.
Don't miss a single episode of The Push - head over to their page and give those guys a follow - you'll be glad you did.
The abundant hunting opportunities we've had for a lifetime are becoming a little less popular. Before you turn away from all the democrat voters and our "green loco weed," let me remind you with an account of what you may be missing. The state is quietly shifting gears turning the hunting country into quality, draw only areas
In Colorado, it's considered the best five days. Warm, ocean waves of aspen are a visual prism of yellow and gold. The Elk are frantically pushing full tilt into the rut, murdering the innocent pine trees. Elk fighting, squealing, and bugles abound. Two divine parts of the year have waited for the outdoorsman in fervent promises. Finally, three hours into the morning hike with numbing feet and legs on fire, we both catch what we think is the cadence of an Elk bugle…but it's barely audible
We are on an obscure path consisting of a vaguely discernible outline that leads, as always, directly up. Following the remnant of a cattle trail dissecting the fall rabbitbrush and open patches of rock, we are skirting a mountain creek that cuts through a seemingly non-passable canyon of jagged black granite contrasting against barren white sandstone only the sheep call home.
It's only found by putting boots on the ground and following one of the general rules handed down from mentors: follow the water, and it will lead you to wildlife. Omitted is that it's usually in places that require repelling gear to access and lack of self-preservation. Years of stumbling around chasing elk take you into these unexpected tiny holes of hunting Eden that sear into memory, beckoning you to come back later to explore. This dim mountain artery leads to Elk. This route is my favorite but deceiving route. Known to the few local ranchers and maybe one or two obsessive-compulsive hunters that are more tough than smart.
It's driven by and overlooked by just about everyone. I smile as I place my feet down. No apparent wildlife sign before us this season as we curve, climb, and sidehill through Aspen benches of old grazing ground.
We are knee-deep in straw-colored mountain grass, working towards dark timber 3 hours away. Yet, I find comfort and contentment in these rarely traveled paths, even though they're perhaps a bit overly ambitious. It's a theme that echoes my choices throughout life.
It was 2020. A year that is better forgotten but can't be. Elk season in Colorado was no exception mirroring COVID. The Colorado Division of Wildlife turned the entire southwest corner of the state to draw only. It severely limits over-the-counter (OTC) hunting. And it crowds my usual haunts.
If Unit 62 was statistically estimated by the state as the busiest unit before, it's a total madhouse now. Now, throw in a midsummer drought helping birth a state record wildfire that is still actively burning over 300,000 acres of elk country to the north. The draw may end up being a good thing curbing the 12,000-13,000 archery hunters every year (we'll have to see in time if it helps our quality of hunting. I'm hopeful). The wildfire has more fuel to burn than ever with the beetle kill.
From a scouting plane, it's just a sea of a dead gray mass from the continental divide to the city of Denver. I fear that it will never be the Colorado of my youth again. Grizzly Creek, Williams fork, Cameron Peak, and more are burning as I sit here and start recapping my time in the woods
I'm with a long-time friend Jon Gunderson that I first met, guiding him in this same draw unit years ago in the Gunnison Basin. Originally an OTC unit but now costs a person the time and effort of applying. This opportunity took Jon years to acquire out of state. I failed to pull a tag but was determined to go whether I drew or not. I quickly picked up my camera, and elk calls in place of my longbow.
Glancing over Jon's gear, I smile to myself as I look at the worn-out compound bow. The graphics are seriously faded. The string is frayed and pilled. I think and laugh that it may be that same bow used 12 years ago. Heck, I think it may even be the same Gold Tip arrows. They are dressed out in the same simple white fletching from before. In comparison, I'm the guy that'll change gear as often as my underwear. This is one of our few contrasts.
At the first bugle, we sit and wait. Our breath comes ragged and hard at 11,000 feet. The crisp morning air burns your lungs. We wait all year thinking we know what's coming and try to anticipate it with preparation, but it's never this physically raw your mind. A break is needed, and time can be an ally.
I'm a long-time fire department guy. The first rule taught to every new cadet is to slow down, don't do stupid things twice. I've adopted this rule into everything. It's good advice and works great for things like running into burning houses and handling heart attacks, or peeing on an electric fence when you're six years old (advice I needed sooner in life).
Now, I like to give calling and even a single set up 45 minutes to an hour. It's 10:00 a.m. The elk is still bugling in the distance. So we start feeling him out, tenderly approaching him, trying to get some idea on location in the dense tangle of trees with simple high shrill location bugles. It takes him a few minutes, maybe 15 or so.
He's still there.
I check the wind and grimace, rolling my shoulders back in frustration. It's going the wrong way. The thermals should have shifted by now.
My primary concern has become the draft by moving up in elevation to him. Forced, we put in more climbing and effort, we slide over to the ridgeline. Here the wind will pull to the center of it, helping manage our scent. We took this route early, hoping to get elevated and anticipate the thermals before arriving at the main hunting area. Unfortunately, that original plan won't work with the unpredictable wind today.
We can slide back over once we get at least even or preferably above him in elevation. Years of screw-ups have taught me that getting even or above works better for successful call-ins. He's responsive to just about everything. Bugles and loud cow calls used primarily for locating keep him vocal. But there's no pressure yet. We're still far enough out that he is just talking back.
Elk are pressure sensitive like every other living thing. Past 500 yards, I consider it an indirect pressure. Closer, and he'll start to feel it more when we begin to close that distance.
Dealing with elk is like anything else. They have good days and bad days. Some are aggressive, others passive. They have moods and personalities all their own. So I have no expectations just yet, but the fact he's responsive is all we can ask for.
Once on the ridgeline, the wind is still not great, but it's better. The sky is overcast. An unremitting haze of orange smoke from the fires up north probably affects today's wind shifts. You can only see an obscured outline of the mountain on the pass close to us. We move silently up and stop.
I look around, and there are two to three rubs in every direction I turn. Eleven, I count as I turn all the way around in a circle. We both make remarks about it. It's damn impressive; Elk rubs as far as we can see. It's the most significant elk rut staging area I've ever seen, and I put it in the memory bank for next year. Today is officially a good day; I'll be back for sure. I love finding these little pockets.
I throw out a locate bugle, and he hits me back—a deep, nasty response at full throttle. I always giggle at what we think Elk should sound like. It's supposed to be clean with discernible notes and classic chuckles. But, then, out here, a big bull can bugle like a possessed Sasquatch in mating season, an unreal sound that we didn't quite imagine.
I like this one — a lot.
I can tell why we couldn't make him out at a distance. It's a very raw and primal bugle, nothing flutey. I guess him at 500 yards. Jon agrees so we push into the woods as stealthily as possible. My goal is two hundred yards or less. I want to get inside his bubble before I hit him again.
Sliding in with eyes wide, checking our winds, Jon whispers a dreaded and urgent hold. It's the kind that tells me we're screwed. The kind we don't recover from, it's like watching something precious falling in slow motion. Finally, after what seems like an eternity in a mid-step freeze stop, Jon sighs and drops his head.
Jon says, "That was a big damn elk."
Immediately I'm crushed inside, but I try to hide it. It's my mountain, my calling, my mistake. This country is immense, physical, and demanding. It's one of the few places in Colorado that's so big it was intimidating to me the first time into it years ago. Even from the air, I'm always taken back at the vastness of it.
Mistakes hurt like hell at the top of a big mountain. He was on a rope us, and I just made a rookie error that I was consciously trying not to. That one burns me because I know better. Don't do stupid twice rattles in my head.
Jon and I tell each other we're losing some hearing at 45, so the new rule of saying 500 yards will now be a 250-yard estimate. It seems common sense to me. Going along, we emotionally recover and realize we're still walking in thrashed-out trees for the last 45 minutes. I'm again overly impressed by all the Elk rubs here. I've decided to call it "Rub Ridge."
Jon and I still haven't reached the original plan of where we wanted to go, so I'm still optimistic. There's an incredible amount of signs every step, and with so many tree rubs, it looks like they have disease from the ground level to 7 feet up — my new favorite tree contagion. We bust a raghorn that slipped in after 20 minutes up the mountainside. Maybe the raghorn busted us is more accurate.
Once to the edge overlooking drainage where we can see and hear, I let loose again. Five minutes later, an elk bugles. I breathe a sigh of relief. We just were granted more playing time, and the day's effort isn't lost. The early mistake is not as painful now. We are moving slower, determined, stoic this time, not making any more mistakes. There's always this invisible engagement barrier when you get close that says time to get serious.
I have rules, but they are general. Although I have made every one of them, I've also had Elk break them, molding my habits to start easy and work up if needed. I like starting with light-calling pressure.
Calf calls and bugling are my favorites in close quarters. Calves get away with murder on the mountain; no one pays them any mind, and the mature cows don't feel pressure to compete with the bulls.
Like in turkey hunting, Gobblers never leave you as you sit there and yelp. It's the hens that feel the pressure, and they are the ones to leave, taking your opportunity away with them. Cow Elk? The same thing, in my opinion. I start light with my calf calls, and the woods light up. Trees begin to shake, and two separate bulls sound back. It is a fantastic thing to hear an Elk bugle under 100 yards in the woods for those of you that haven't been there.
The ground literally tremors, and trees vibrate. It's like a deafening thunderstorm stopping everything for a second. Jon and I share a look, but we know the setup we are about to make without saying. The draft is still screwy, going the wrong direction, but we can manage it.
It's pulling down at a diagonal, so Jon moves ahead of me 25 yards as I stay put, pulling any of the Elk's attention if one comes in. I'd love to get footage over the shoulder, but we are killing today, not filming.
Events are now moving fast, less than a minute. Jon draws back and holds, looking downhill as I can only catch glimpses of elusive tan hide, legs, ears, and antler branches that flash through small windows. It's been 2 or 3 minutes at full draw now. The anxiety is thick and heavy and builds into the final seconds in this make-or-break moment, seven years of waiting, time from your kids and wife, money spent.
Expectations and anticipations.
I bugle, and pine cones start falling out of the trees as a screaming bugle slams in, reverberating through the timber. Seconds later, I hear Jons bow thump sending an arrow, and all hell breaks loose in a collision of trees and dirt that I can't see. I scream a bugle hard the bull's last direction to calm the situation, and the crashing slows. More crashing follows.
Moments later, I hear death groans that remind me of a black bear in his last moment. It's a sound with finality to it.
At the same moment, Jon stares downhill like he's lost something bobbing up and down left and right, trying to steal some confirmation in the moments of chaos. Then, finally, he starts heading back with hands raised in what we both hope is a triumphant moment. Once he sits down, Jon recalls the whole sequence.
A small 5 point at 20 yards, then a big 6 point walks up to 10 yards leaving him a full-frontal shot that he chose to take in the proximity, and with the lousy wind, it seemed the best choice in the situation. The shot opportunity was crazy close and likely was the last encounter to the day.
With the wrong wind, it could have derailed at any moment. It's those decisions made in half seconds looking at possible scenarios that could go wrong, based on past failures.
A minute later, the adrenaline slams into Jon, making him shake. I smile. A few seconds ago, he was Joe Cool handling the whole thing like the seasoned hunter he is. Now he's reminded in part of why we are here.
At the same instant, another bugle, another bull, the one we thought we just shot, rattles the trees again less than 100 yards away. We probably just put a big satellite bull on the ground. I'm sure of it - I'd love to see the bull and work with him, but I'm confident we just signed up for two days of packing, and by the time we get down, it'll be dark.
In an unspoken emotion and selfish thought, I'm comforted by an Elk left on the mountain, more to chase next year.
We sit in a reprieve for 30 minutes. Sure enough, Jon brags on his old bow, confirming it's the same bow he had last time. I appreciate the simpleness and the admirable humility that goes with not buying the latest and greatest being caught up with all of today's techy gear.
Making our way down and looking hard, we find a deluge of blood on the trees and ground. Then 30 feet from there, we see Jon's 6 point augured under a tree with his feet in the air.
We can now see a crash that fits what we heard in the final moments of passing chaos. We do our work to quarter and de-bone the meat. We are steady in our work, knowing we have a long way down and preserving the moment. Jon has me dig around and pull the arrow out of the kill, hoping to recycle it (yep, I think, same old arrows too, apparently).
Good hunts like this are appreciated. Unfortunately, they come few and far between. I have 15 years before I'm 60. I know it'll be different for me in the future. Challenging hunts like this will be more demanding then. We'd stay here all day and soak this in, freezing time if we could.
There won't be enough of them.
Maybe it's an awareness of working an ambulance and sharing in people's worst moments. I've learned that we all don't have tomorrow, so appreciate today, bathe in those good moments.
The weather is warm. The view is irreplaceable. Camp Robbers watch over us as we work, sharing moments from long laid-out plans with a friend.
I let it burn into my head.
Finally, we head back down around 3:30, glancing back at the meat hanging in the trees, knowing that we have a second round yet to go. Flashes of Jim Carrey's movie line, "I'm kicking my own ass. Do you mind ?!!" flashes through my brain, knowing what's to come
Five hours down, the last of daylight passes to obscurity. We trudge out, uttering profanity, stumbling in pitch black, unable to retrace the chalky outline I was so fond of before. Tree branches in the face and deadfall that tears at my shins. I know the trail is right next to us, but I'll be damned if we can find it. We are earning it now, crawling back to the truck on the last of our legs.
Once there, I slam an old bottle of water left in the back of the pickup. I ran out 5 hours ago as soon as we left the top of the mountain. I'm nauseous, my head hurts, my feet are on fire, and my traps feel worn - everything hurts.
We get back to camp and crawl into bedrolls, feeling the exhaustion of putting it all out there, readying for the final round two in the morning, and maybe plans of the next hunt.
]]>As the days grow warmer and the leaves start to bud, turkey hunters everywhere gear up for the spring season. One of the most exciting aspects of this time of year is when you can call in a mature gobbler. The thrill of the hunt gets intense when a big tom responds to your call, and it's a feeling that never gets old.
If you're new to turkey hunting, don't worry – learning how to use a slate call is easy. Turkey hunters can use this versatile tool to create every type of sound needed to bring a gobbler in close. A slate call consists of a pot and striker. The pot is made from wood or plastic and holds a slate, crystal, glass, or aluminum surface. Pots and strikers are available in various woods to customize the sounds.
So if you're looking to add a little excitement to your next turkey hunt, try using a slate call. You never know – you might just bring in a big old tom!
Practice making turkey sounds with your slate call! Before starting, use sandpaper or a Scotch Brite pad to prep the slate's surface. Most slate calls come with a small piece of sandpaper or scratchpad to get you started.
First, don't sand in a circular motion- that'll create swirls on the surface. Instead, sand back and forth to create straight lines. Then, use your striker against the grain you created to make realistic turkey sounds. Once you've got your call ready, it's time to practice!
1. Hold the pot with your non-dominant hand, using the tips of your fingers on its outer rim. The sound comes from the bottom of the pot, so you'll muffle the sound if you rest the pot in your palm.
2. Hold the striker as you would a pencil in your dominant hand and angle it at about 45 degrees to the slate's surface. You'll produce higher-pitched sounds if you grip the striker toward the tip. If you hold the striker higher, you'll make deeper sounds. Most people find the sweet spot about 1½ inches from the striker's tip.
Pro tip: Don't lift your striker off the surface when calling. Keeping it pressed against the surface helps prevent unintentional sounds and produces better sounds.
This typical sound is made by hens, the female turkeys. Hens yelp in spring to communicate with toms or gobblers, the male turkeys. To make a yelp, apply light pressure with the striker while making small, tight ovals with its tip. A larger oval produces sounds more like those of a jake or tom yelp.
If a yelp means "hello," a cluck means "HELLO!" Hens cluck to get a tom's attention, which makes the cluck a great call when hunting. Hens usually make several clucks in quick succession. To make a cutt, apply pressure and snap the striker toward you. If you make unintentional squeaks, don't sweat it. Turkeys do the same thing when cutting.
Just as cats purr when content, turkeys purr while feeding and feeling secure. This soft vocalization is great for coaxing skeptical toms. To complete the illusion of feeding turkeys, scratch nearby leaves with a stick in between your soft purrs. Next, apply light pressure and drag the striker tip in a straight line to make a purr. Once you master this call, make a sequence of purrs by changing the striker's direction.
The best way to learn about turkey sounds is to listen to them. You can hear these calls and many others on the National Wild Turkey Federation's website. Click here to listen.
]]>I'm still unsure how to explain to non-hunters the connection and fulfillment this provides. How can we be woven into the complex fabric of something so much that we spend money, time, and effort to save and manage the thing, then we partake in shooting it?
How can we kill it then embrace the enthusiasm of adrenaline, wonderment, remorse, and even guilt that comes with it?
Just in processing that clutter of a statement, I can still feel the first hefty dose of emotions after an 870 pump roar to life in my hands, taking aim and shooting my first turkey as an 8-year-old, simultaneously getting submerged in this deluge.
It's a right of passage that sears in like a brand, experiencing firsthand the ramifications of taking a life. I can still smell the gunpowder and sense the coppery feathers under my fingers.
Often I wonder in today's craziness and school shootings if those kids who go that far would have done differently if a person had shown and introduced them to similar experiences making palpable the cause and effect of our choices.
Undeniably hunting and killing bring a wholly unique experience. It will be a tough sell to the Anti's on any subject if they can't feel and see these things and places we frequent firsthand.
I'm more mindful and environmentally aware, especially regarding hunting. My methods started becoming conscious and tangible. I prefer calling when I hunt because the verbal back and forth brings me closer to that particular experience.
Yeah, it increases my odds, but truthfully, it's just cool to say something "In Elk" and have one say something back.
I switched shooting a recurve for that same type of relationship; time spent crafting custom arrows and then watching them fly also fulfills. All these things we invest in start to mean something to us.
They become part of our personal stories.
These are some of the details that make up my own.
These paragraphs started to formulate in my brain while looking north towards Montana at a smoke column hundreds of feet in the air.
When taking time to look in the other direction, I found myself completely "nerding out" with ideas of Elk hunting the open plateaus and black timber basins. These features are unique to the Big Horns and graced by a sea of carpet consisting of open tundra and supple green grass broken up by rock outcroppings and jack pine.
If not for the smoke to the North, you'd never guess it would be burning. I'm on top of the world between Cody and Sheridan. Possible 350-400" elk in some of the most storied mountains in our country.
Drag marks still scored into the ground from Indian tribes pulling their belongings behind them a thousand years ago to seasonal hunting grounds. Who wouldn't like to chase elk in that area and retrace the steps of fellow bow-toting hippies that tagged out and scalped the famous (but was probably crazy) General Custer?
The whole place is just simply...epic. The kind of place you need to see to understand how unique it is.
Twenty-seven days away from home, sleeping on the ground in a military-like fashion, getting up at 5 am and going to bed after dark, dining on delightful Fed food, and practicing the forgotten art of pooping behind a tree with a Pulaski. Here a person does find ample time to process some things.
So I started asking questions and doing light research about the wildfires I took for granted.
The first thing that got me pondering was looking at a 70-year burn scar that was maybe 500 acres. It stands now with only a meager handful of young trees. The story here is that the timber was never thinned out in any management, so the excessive overgrowth added fuel to the fire. It got so hot that it nuked out the soil burning everything in the ground. Everything to naturally replenish incinerated. No organic seeding occurs because it was all consumed by excessive heat. At the rate I saw, it won't come back for hundreds of years without the help of replanting these types of burned areas. It takes about 35 years to grow a healthy pine tree back east. Out west, it is a literal lifetime of twice that.
I spent some time east as a kid in South Carolina. Three years in Edgefield, home of the NWTF.
Everything there is private; management is a priority among all landowners. With an excess of people and houses, healthy timber is a financial means for landowners and benefits the habitat and wildlife. Timber roughly generates 2000.00 profit per acre there. That's paying jobs and lumber for you and your local Home Depot.
Out west, however, a wildland fire costs around $300 - $2,000 per acre to have resources fight and watch burn, and we may or may not replant, depending on the situation and allocated money.
Our national five-year average cost is $2,351,501,800 per season.
Yep...over 2 billion 3 hundred million dollars for burned trees.
Your tax dollars.
Spent every year.
Seven million eight hundred sixteen thousand seven hundred sixty-three acres per year burned and gone at about $300 an acre, but it varies from fire to fire. The Dixie Fire in Idaho is almost a million acres and larger than Rhode Island, making it one of the worst fires in history, and over 616 million in cost at this point today, about $700 an acre cost.
The Crater Ridge fire ran at around $2,000 per acre. You can see some of this fire in the accompanying photos.
This is the money spent.
There still has to be accounting for houses replaced, trees (hopefully) replanted, roads damaged from mudslides, power supply replaced, river water and fish habitat affected, etc. I can look up fire statistics fairly easily, but the collateral cost will continue for years.
Throw in a natural situation like the beetle kill out west, killing 10's of millions of acres of pine trees in North America and Canada. Without proactive mitigation of some sort, you have a sea of supercharged fire hazards that is this worst scenario when it burns.
This grim reality is where my hippie shows up. While I don't agree with it, I understand a part of the Anti-movement and thoughts. I can see it a little from their shoes.
The truth is it's a fault in the lack of awareness from both sides. You have to see first hand that saving trees and wildlife has become complex. I get how a city dweller makes the "let it be natural" choice at election time for environmental decisions. Still, it's a decision made from emotion and not any tangible education without being connected firsthand. Without someone to explain how the dominos fall in any management, the choices are usually wrong. People need to know the "why" and the cause and effect.
I can't blame them for how they feel if no one has pulled back the curtain and taken the time and shown them "how and why." Most folks don't know any better, and we do poorly at waving our flag and making our wheel squeak to be heard.
It needs to be very clear that it's not the fault of the Bureau of Land Management. The money is spent in every effort to do good. These guys have degrees and experience in what they do and are darn good at it if allowed. Unfortunately, like many wildlife management teams, they get their hands politically tied and can't do their jobs.
In talking with just a few, they get it entirely and know it better than we ever will and are every bit as frustrated.
In my time around the 300 folks on the Crater Ridge Fire, they were the bright spot.
Wildlanders tend to be beard-wearing, gun-toting naturalists.
Hand crews work harder than anyone I've seen, and Hot Shot crews are borderline crazy in how much they can accomplish. Most are young, under 25, but all give me hope for the future.
They all show a level of grit and tenacity that is sorely lacking in today's world. They come together because of a love of the outdoors and hopes of doing something good. Even if they are too young to ponder this, anyone watching can see it as clear as day.
As I ramble to a close on what mostly is my opinion, is a simple thought. We need more of us doing a better job of being aware of the "How and Why's" and figuring out how to tell it better.
The fault is best found looking in the mirror if we are to get anywhere.
Lack of timber management is another example of the critical stories not being told. While out on assignment, I carried a camera taking pictures and became more aware by doing so. This is me just doing a part. People are primarily told global warming is to blame for the raging fires of today, and maybe it's a part of it. We won't know in our lifetimes if that theory proves true.
But, there are another 24 things in front of that that are significant factors we can do today.
Today the world has too many people and houses to leave it genuinely wild. The cost is too high, and lives aren't fair to risk.
So we can steward the land and at least make it make sense from all aspects of management for the health of the forest and safety for the people.
Or we can cause chaos by doing nothing spending billions. If it made even money, we'd be far ahead of the current strategy (if there even is one). So far in the last twenty years, what we've done by having our hands tied is equal to jumping off a cliff without even trying to grab on to anything. But, somehow and in some way, we need to start taking hold of it.
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More than 30 years ago, Wayne Carlton started learning how to call elk and turkey with a diaphragm call. Western Hunter Podcast host Chris Denham has the chance to sit with "the Legend," Wayne Carlton.
In this episode, Wayne and Chris talk about the "birth" of the diaphragm call - and Wayne's introduction to calling with a diaphragm call.
For those that may not know, Chris explains that back in the 80’s, Wayne's elk calling seminars were epic, and folks would drive hundreds of miles for the privilege of listening to his educational, inspirational and always entertaining talk.
In this incredible episode, Chris, Wayne, and Wayne's son Marc talk about the old days, how things have changed, and the rebirth of the legacy in call company, Native by Carlton.
Yes, 2020 was an odd year, but the times spent afield and with others would set the wheels in motion for an EPIC 2021 turkey season.
]]>During the spring of 2020, I hoped going things would be back to normal the following season. Not exactly sure what "normal" would be as our spring turkey season had been pushed back a month by Washington law. Fortunately, I was able to hunt in California in March. And for the first time since my days of chasing gobblers began in the mid-'90s, I couldn't purchase a license and tag for spring birds in Oregon. I could hunt with friends, which I did, but I could not hunt as a non-resident. To make it even weirder, on April 15th, I was not dressing in camo and setting up near a roost with anticipation of the fly down. Instead, I was walking along the Columbia River in Oregon. Yes, 2020 was an odd year, but the times spent afield and with others would set the wheels in motion for an EPIC 2021 turkey season.
The backdrop was tall pines and rocky hills that held plenty of birds for myself and my hunting companions. This would be the first of my hunts which, if all worked out properly, would have me hunting five states during the spring. As I mentioned earlier, I was able to hunt in California in 2020; this came in handy as the previous years' successful hunts gave me a great lay of the land.
Opening morning found Myself and my buddy Armone walking up to a familiar fly-down area nestled in the back of a ravine. We had competition from other California locals, but experience is vital, and I knew for a fact that the competition does not hold the turkey hunting resume I've built since 1997. As the birds were harassed and pushed around by various hunters, I worked my way up a hilltop towards a tom that was anxious for some companionship. Slipping in close and with a couple of soft clucks, he stepped out to meet his potential bride, and my hunt for the day was over. One bird down and my season was off to a good start with one of 5 states checked off. The weekend provided numerous opportunities for everyone in camp, lots of shots fired.
Morning two provided more of the same action, and by 11 am, I was taking photos of my second Tom that came in on a string from hundreds of yards away.
I was flying out to meet up with my friend Rocky and hunt an area over the Mississippi River. Steeped in historical artifacts and tradition, it's an area that I enjoy.
Being a western turkey hunter, we pursue Rios and Merriam's. However, Eastern wild turkeys are on entirely another level. This was my second time back to the "Show Me" state, and with the perfect conditions, I had a feeling it would be successful. One thing for sure was how skittish eastern turkeys were. One glance, and they were GONE.
I had a couple of days to scout and explore the hunting grounds. The evening before the opener, I decided to run to town and purchase a ground blind. I love to "Run and Gun," which is to call, set up, move, move… move… set up, and stick close to the action until the shot. With the openness of the trees lacking foliage and uncertainty of the terrain, these birds had me beat. I had an area picked out where I had seen birds twice at the same time of day. The feed was good; there's a pond and lots of cover.
Opening morning, I had a plan and walked in way before light. A cacophony of bird sounds filled the air in addition to one of the most eruptive pre-fly down gobbling sessions in memory. I had a feeling it would be a good day. As the sun rose and the birds hit the ground, I knew they were preoccupied with their morning ritual of trying to impress the ladies.
I slipped out the blind and took a walk down the ridgeline that afforded me the views of the prehistoric Mississippi River. Seeing where the river cut hundreds of years ago gives it the recognition that Mark Twain wrote about. Today, it's a sliver of what it used to be. With little action, I figured my best bet was to be back in the blind about the time the turkeys would frequent that specific spot.
One thing to note about turkey hunting is they are very predictable. And this can be used in your favor.
Returning to the blind, I had text messages from Rocky and Chris, another hunter who had filled their tags below. I let out a series of soft yelps from my box call and sat tight. Five minutes later, three or four yelps, nothing exciting. Soon, a gobble and another coming closer. A couple of simple clucks and the toms were 40 yards out. My Missouri tag was filled with one shot, and I had just bagged a 25-pound deep chocolate-tailed eastern Tom. I would enjoy the rest of my time in Missouri and pick up back home in Washington to hunt my third state for the season.
I live in Vancouver, Washington, which is very close to Portland. The joke currently is, "I live so close I can smell the courthouse burning" with the unfortunate turn of events and the powers that be, they have destroyed a once beautiful city - fingers crossed for a speedy return.
In the distant landscape of Portland, you'll find some of the best turkey hunting in the West, hands down. It's a two-hour drive from my house to the area I wanted to hunt. Klickitat county has a good abundance of birds and vertical hills and canyons, carved at around the same time as the Columbia River Gorge.
One of the most scenic places to hunt with the Arrowleaf Balsamroot. I had found an area on my map app that looked promising. In addition, whenever I drove by here during the season, I always saw hunters, a good sign. In Klickitat County, a hunter can bag two birds in a day so, it can be quite the adventure.
With darkness still concealing my entry, I worked my way up to an area I had picked on the map. It looked like an excellent place for birds to stay away from danger, assemble, and then move on. It would take me about 30 minutes of a vertical climb to get to the elevation I had picked.
After that, I could "Run and Gun" with a long ridge and get a first look at the area before me. Once I arrived at the location, the toms were waking up, and there was no shortage of sounds.
I gave a couple of soft tree yelps and immediately had a response. Setting up quickly, I faced the direction of the Tom and strained to see what was happening through the soft light of late April. It was roughly 5:30 am, and things were off to a good start. The distinct deep gobble of a Merriam Tom was getting closer, and he was HOT. Eventually, he was on top of me, and as he went behind a tree, I pointed my gun to where he would emerge and securely anchored my third bird in three states.
As the shot rang out, more Toms were advancing to my location. Spinning around the opposite side of the tree, I let out a series of exciting cuts and clucks to mask the BOOM. Two Rio Toms poked their heads up at 25 yards two minutes later. I was tagged out for Washington with a load of #5's sent downrange.
Neither of us had been, and we were going in blind to an area that someone had mentioned. So at 6:30 pm, we left Vancouver and drove until 3 am. In a wide spot of the road, we threw out cots and slept for two hours. Little did we know that the random area we chose to sleep in would be the hot spot for hunting. I had two tags and Armone one in his pocket. Immediately we found ourselves in action. The mountainous location that looked to house more elk than turkeys turned out to be ideal for turkeys.
We set up on a Tom down this small canyon, and in my wildest dreams of anything that could happen in the turkey woods, I never imagined having my set up busted by a MOOSE! As the lovesick Tom inched closer, I heard a loud crash and running. Perplexed, I stood up to see Bullwinkle herself looking right at me - no more than 100 yards away. This would be the first of three moose encounters for the following days.
Leaving this area, we ventured towards the roadside sleep shack and struck a bird. Armone motioned for me to move up as he kept him talking. I snuck into a small clearing off the side of a clear-cut logging area and set up, and he was coming. The next gobble seemed close, and as he stepped clear, we checked off the fourth state on the list. We spent the rest of the day chasing toms with close calls. The following day, I was able to fill my second tag and work a Tom and hen up through a clear-cut for Armone to pull the trigger for the first time of the trip.
This area is loaded with turkeys, and I knew it wouldn't be long as I had spent a day here before the previous year when they lifted the no hunting mandate on May 5th.
At 1:30 pm of day two, Armone killed a beautiful Merriam that couldn't handle to sweet yelps and putts of the slate call I provided. One state left to wrap up the five-state Slam, so we headed to Oregon.
I honestly believe that Oregon is one of the best states to hunt turkeys. There are thousands of birds, plenty of public lands, and various terrain to pursue them. Success is good for those who put in the effort, and the adventure is endless.
I'll spare the details of the first couple of days, but I had an issue with my shotgun. This gun has been my go-to since 2004, and its barrel has seen the last breath of over 100 turkeys. Frustration was setting in, and I was at a loss for what was happening, but I stuck with the gun.
On the third morning of the hunt, I connected (luckily) with my season finishing Tom. We checked state number 5 off the list, and I felt bitter-sweet. Sad it was over, but glad I could spend some time to figure out my gun situation.
Long story short, I had lost a shim while cleaning it, and the once deadly gun was about as useful as a water bucket with a hole in the bottom. At the end of the season, I spent numerous hours fine-tuning the shotgun again.
Western turkey guys, in my opinion, are at a disadvantage of hunting culture, and I hope I can try to provide a little more clarity of the misconceptions made by hunters out here.
Most of our knowledge comes from the east because of the availability of chasing the eastern birds. So by default, most of the content is about those turkeys and not the western versions.
]]>At least, to an extent, and I've hunted countless Merriam, Eastern, Rio, and a few Osceola. Each is unique and offers challenges in its discriminate way.
Success in the turkey woods will always be about having a good foundation in the basics, knowing your tools, and understanding turkey behavior. Western turkey guys, in my opinion, are at a disadvantage of hunting culture, and I hope I can try to provide a little more clarity of the misconceptions made by hunters out here.
Most of our knowledge comes from the east because of the availability of chasing the eastern birds. So by default, most of the content is about those turkeys and not the western versions.
There are 6 million turkey hunters, and the west is a tiny percentage of the tags sold. As a result, we don't get the volume of encounters to dial in our skill sets, and we hunt vast swaths of public land compared to the eastern world. In contrast, the east consists of tiny plots of property. Even 10,000 acres back east would be considered huge by eastern standards, but for us, out west, we can smoke through 10,000 acres in a day looking for birds.
Turkey hunting is a true art back east, and it's in the skill of calling, learning patience, and knowing their area and tactics. Unfortunately, making it art is one area western guys lack.
There are seven primary turkey vocalizations, and every guy should know how to use them. It matters knowing what to say and how to say it, OR more importantly, what NOT to say. It's a small gap between a cluck and an alarm putt, the main difference being the volume.
Knowing the difference between saying "everything is all good" to "hey, maybe we need to haul ass" is of value to hunters.
Then do your best to practice them. There's so much on Youtube nowadays that there's no excuse not to know them. The NWTF world-calling competition is a good one to look up to start with. The NWTF website, Turkey Call magazine, and Turkey Hunter offer incredible amounts of knowledge.
To shoot a turkey, you have to find one first, and out west, I think being successful is more about finding them. Locating birds covers two topics, general hangouts and shock calls.
First, you need to be where they are, it seems simple, but it's not always. Since this has a western theme, it starts by knowing where the turkeys winter, usually at the mouth of canyons at lower elevation out of the winter snow, and then they feed up those same drainages in the springtime.
I often first find turkeys at ranches feeding with the livestock in January. Or, in the fall, where you find turkeys, you can bet in the spring they are headed back in that general direction. They stay close to the snow lines. Feeding on the soft, tender shoots of grass coming up that's high in protein and the acorn crop from the prior year. Focus on the southern face of the slopes where the snow first melts. Using snowshoes and ATV snow tracks is not uncommon, and access is critical to finding birds.
Most birds we kill are in and at the snow line, but some birds will stay low in their winter grounds. I consider these resident birds, but most you'll find move upcountry.
I talked to DOW employees here who have had turkeys walk from Colorado to Utah in a few months. Like their Eastern brethren, they will use the same roost trees and nesting areas, but it'll cover a much, much larger area. Every place will have little nuances, I found myself in the middle of nowhere in Nevada once finding more antelope than turkeys, but by the end of the hunt, we found the turkeys there were roosting of all places on power lines in a desert and hung out with cattle (I heard two gobbles and called in 3 hens in 50 mph winds in a week of hunting and came home empty-handed, lol).
Shock calling has some crossover, but I'll add a few things we use out west. First, get in the habit of going here before your turkey call of choice, giving yourself a better chance to prepare. It helps, if you can, to find them and get set up before hitting a turkey call. IF, and when you pull out your box call while trying to locate a bird, make SURE you have a tree picked out to set up by. Better yet, be next to one, to begin with. I've screwed up here more than once by having turkeys run at me or being right on top of them.
So I'll cite two examples that I see ALL the time that are critical mistakes, and it's simply not knowing the biology. I'm not asking you to go to college, but take a few minutes to look at the NWTF website on turkey behavior and get some basic information.
The first mistake I see is guys only hunting birds off morning roost times and coming out of the woods too early at 10:00 in the morning. I secretly love you guys for this because you are leaving me more turkeys to shoot. The deal here getting missed is this, hens are in a breeding mode, which means the morning activities by and large revolve around mating, then around 10-11 a.m., the hens start the process of nest building and leave the Toms alone to search out more hens to watch Netflix and chill.
I kill most of my turkeys between 10:00 and 2:00, not off the roost. So the bird that walked off ignoring your efforts earlier will often work for you later in the day.
Another little nugget of info is if you can watch birds go to roost and see where they fly up from, you'll find that they will fly down in the same spot the following morning. So you could theoretically set up the next day under cover of darkness and have your turkey in the morning. If you do a little digging, there are many of these little tidbits out there. A little book, "Tom Foolery 2000," by Earl Groves, has many short stories teaching lots of little pointers that I recommend. I met Earl years ago at a turkey hunting school we hosted at Vermejo Park Ranch. Earl, I found, was soft spoken, quiet, and unassuming but a real master assassin of turkeys.
Make sure to pattern it out to 50 yards and with different loads, and then make sure it has a good camo job on it and isn't shiny. I see first hand time and time again guys screw in a fancy 100.00 choke and don't pattern it, resulting in missed birds.
Turkey see significantly better than we do. Cover every inch of yourself and your gun. They see 270-300 degrees and have 3X better vision than a person with 20/20. It's like hunting a beady-eyed periscope with 8x10 binoculars attached to their head. If you see them, they can dang well see you.
Decoying birds is a common topic. So here's my take on it. I've had success with decoys, minus the exceptions of the Merriam's bird. Merriam's don't seem to be near as aggressive as the other three species. However, I have seen the exception in New Mexico, where decoys worked well in large flock numbers like 100-200. But, at home in Colorado, where the numbers are much smaller in almost every hunting instance, they tend to shy away from decoys. So I don't carry one often.
Preparing for the worst and hoping for the best is my motto. Mornings in early April are often below 20 degrees, layer up, keep some quality down, and waterproof gear. I live in a base layer of a merino 250 zip-off bottom paired with King's Camo lone peak pants and gaiters that seems pretty bombproof for early spring with the extra side vent they offer.
With a down top and rain jacket, I can go through almost any condition the spring has to offer with layering. Conditions swing wildly in April from full sun to blizzards, so good gear is a serious part of not dying in the west as far in as we go hunting turkeys.
Gearing up and weathering out a short April blizzard makes a difference as the turkeys always seem to fire up as soon as it blows through.
More hunters are accidentally shot turkey hunting than in any other season. That said should be enough, but every year, I hear of near misses and the death of hunters. Don't wear visible turkey head colors. Red, Blue, White, Black.
If you see another hunter get their attention, so they know you are there. Know what you are aiming at! No one cares if you kill a turkey so much that you make bad decisions. It happens far more than it should. We recently had a kid shot in the chest who died because the t-shirt logo colors were similar to a turkey's head. I also remember as a kid when a gentleman was shot in the face while smoking a cigarette. The white of the cigarette was mistaken for the white on a turkey's head.
Speaking something in turkey and getting an answer back is an enriching connection to the hunt. One that I'm keenly aware of and appreciate.
Great calls are coveted by avid turkey hunters and often become worth passing down to their children. I have my eyes set on my father's poplar box with a heart pine lid that is his favorite, calling in many a turkey. I'll cherish it one day for the sounds it makes as much as his fondness for it.
Although I make calls myself, I have a deep collection and can't walk away from a good call no matter who makes it. I appreciate them and respect them all.
At this point, calls have developed into three categories:
You get what you pay for, so keep that in mind as you start out making those choices. However, I'd at least go midline here because there is a significant difference in quality from a Wally world call or one found at an actual hunting store. I don't care if you buy my brand or not. Just get something good.
Much success to you this year,
Marc Carlton
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]]>Anything that we can't put an immediate finger on as a cause should make us ask, "Why?"
The question "Why?" in all things elk leads to figuring out how to be more successful come fall season. For me, calling with the how/why they respond is my personal and essential WHY question.
One common thing I hear is how a hunter will have an active bugling bull elk that suddenly runs off when using cow calls.
This is the oldest story I hear
More often than not, I hear the excuse that the bull is call shy. Or that he's been pressured by too many hunters.
Certainly, these factors can be an issue. But, in my experiences, there's a bit deeper reason at play here. The reality is that the bull doesn't just "run off."
The reality is - the cows in the herd pack their bags and head out in the face of what they consider to be competing cows that are also ready to breed. It's the cows that run away from that pressure, and they take your target bull with them.
"If you're calling from a distance and the bull answers like crazy, only to haul-butt when you get close, it may NOT be because he's call shy."
Since this is a blog post, and apparently it's not supposed to be a long, drawn-out dissertation, there is ONE key thing to focus on regarding your cow calling. When you're in close, trying to seal the deal, and trying to get a shot - don't call like you're a mature, lead cow. Call like you're an early season cow or calf.
In the herd, calves get away with murder on the mountain. Lead cows don't seem to pay much attention to obnoxious teenagers. But, there's still a lot of energy they generate within the bulls without creating a lot of pressure on the cows that are ready to breed.
That word, pressure, is the second word you need to start applying in your thought process. Everything about calling in any species is 100% about why they respond - or why they don't. When you say something, it's ALL about the pressure it creates.
Ask why.
Ask how.
And remember that it all creates pressure.
Look no further than Native's own Green Weenie to take your cow calling to the next level.
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