When outdoorsmen talk about their dogs, they do so with great affection as they recount stories of a hunt with a favored retriever or trailmaster. Most folks outlive their faithful canine hunting partners, so many stories are in befitting posthumous tribute. I envy sportsmen with the time, money and patience to train a good bird dog or trailing hound, but if you're like me and don't possess all three of these qualities, I have a suggestion that still allows you to enjoy the presence of dog companionship when afield.     

     Other specialized dogs that can handle the elements and trials of the outdoors are working dogs of the northern variety. I grew up reading stories of the Alaskan and Yukon gold rushes by renowned authors such as Jack London and Robert Service. Throughout their stories and poetry they touted the tough northern breed dogs for their courage, brawn and a give-up-my-life-for-my-master dedication towards their two-legged wilderness comrade.

     I own an Alaskan Malamute, a seven year old aptly named Yukon. I prefer the dogs of the north such as the malamute, Siberian, Eskimo and spitz breeds. The wolflike appearance and that at-home-in-the-forest personality of these proud dogs, steeped in rich history, typifies the wilderness atmosphere of Maine's forested north.

     Northern breeds are an evolved species, not a human-designed mixture. From prehistoric times when early man controlled the first wolf for labor instead of for food or its pelt, this canine began the domestication process.

     This alignment with man came natural to the northern breeds who were already socially developed in packs, making them more inclined to join a human family. This attribute was not lost on the early trainers, who employed them in pulling sledges, or coursing caribou and bear as a team until the man hunter appeared with bow or gun. Some of the treatment and man-imposed evolution of these dogs may seem relatively cruel by today's standards.

     The jaw pressure of the northern breeds far surpasses that of the human engineered shepherds and Dobermans. The cross country voyageurs did not have time to cook, or have the space to pack prepared foods on sled dog journeys. If the dogs didn't have the bone-crushing power to rip frozen fish apart or crack open a moose leg bone for the life-sustaining marrow, they were not worthy of trace and left to die.

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     Our polar explorers decided which animals comprised a sled dog team by putting the intended four-legged laborers on a small island and bringing enough food to just feed a portion of them. I recall seeing a photo taken from a feeding boat of the hierarchy structure.
The dominant, most powerful dogs would line up at shoreline for the daily ration, the secondary caste would await their turn by the base of a cliff, with the outcasts being forced to keep their distance at the top of the rocks. This only-the-strongest-survive method of selection, similar to that in nature, allowed for these end-of-the-earth trailblazers to reach their goals by employing dogs of tested mettle.

     Cold means nothing to these thick-coated breeds, willing to accompany their human pack leader on snowshoe and skiing hikes, or on ice fishing outings. Their downy undercoat and protective guardhairs make them a great dog to live outdoors when having a dog in the house is not to your liking. In my outdoor kennel with an insulated doghouse situated out of the wind, I have to cajole Yukon with a meaty bone to come into the basement on those below-zero days.

     My loyal malamute sits quietly on the edge of the campfire's light on the shores of a wild Aroostook river. In the distance the coyotes start their nightly serenade. Prompted by this wild calling Yukon stares off into the darkness with an ancient stirring he doesn't understand. Finally, in answer to the latent wildness in him he lifts his muzzle to the heavens and howls back with the deep-throated reverberation that demands respect to his wild ancestry. He continues his lament, with all the other creatures in Yukon's dominion paying homage with their silence.

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Wayne Selfridge is a seasoned outdoorsman who has hunted and fished throughout the world as a military veteran. He works in law enforcement, is a member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association and serves as the Sporting Journal's Northern Sales Manager.