How the Husky Got Its Mask
AN ALASKA TALL TALE
LEVI HOMSTAD
When you think about Alaska huskies, what’s the first thing that springs to mind? Is it their playfulness? Their strength and speed? Their love of snow?
Or, is it the white fur on their face, shaped like a mask—nature’s own face paint?
But do you want to know a secret?
In the old days, huskies didn’t have masks at all. The fur on their faces was all one color.
The first to wear a white mask was a brave little husky named Sitka. But she wasn’t born that way. No, she earned her mask through one very heroic deed . . . .
Sitka and Sam lived in the Alaska wilderness, the bush, far from any towns or people. Life wasn’t easy out there, but as long as Sitka and Sam stuck together, they always got by. They were the best of friends.
On long summer days, when the air smelled of spruce and juniper, they picked blueberries on Mt. Orion and caught gleaming salmon in the river.
In the fall, they dried their harvest and stored it away. And when the winter snow arrived, and food was scarce, they lived on what they’d saved. It was always enough to last until spring.
At least that’s how it usually went.
Then came the longest winter they’d ever seen. That year, the snow came early and stayed late. At first, they weren’t worried. But as they waited and waited for spring to arrive, their food ran out.
As Sitka nibbled the last bit of fish, Sam pored over their maps. There was only one place left to go: through the wooded valley, and over the mountain pass, lay a frozen lake teeming with fish.
Mt. Orion slept all winter beneath a blanket of snow, and they were afraid of waking him, but their stomachs growled.
“Well, Sitka,” Sam sighed, “looks like we’ll just have to risk it.”
In the early morning darkness, Sam packed the dogsled and triple-checked the ropes, and Sitka slipped into her harness, the cold leather snug against her fur.
In the hour before sunrise, they gathered their courage.
As the sun crawled over the horizon, they set off!
The route through the forest was tricky, but Sam trusted Sitka to guide them. The snow crunched beneath her paws, and icicles hung heavy from the tree branches.
Only Sitka could navigate the maze of forest and find a safe path across the treacherous ravine. Her nose twitched, catching the scent of rabbit and fox, but she left them alone—they’d be just as hungry as she was.
They tiptoed through the pass under Mt. Orion’s slumbering shadow, silent as mice, listening for sounds of stirring. All they heard was the gentle whistling of the wind through the trees.
And the mountain slept.
At last, with a sigh of relief, they felt firm ice underfoot.
“Well done, girl,” said Sam as Sitka bounded out onto the lake, her paws unsteady on the slick surface.
