Back Roads to Wellsboro: A Day of Detours and Discovery
I left Hollidaysburg, my hometown, around 8 a.m., heading north to another Harvest Host stay—this time near Wellsboro, PA. As always, I stuck to back roads, winding through Tyrone and past the old paper mill.
Tyrone
The town hasn’t changed much in 50 years. When we were kids, we’d roll up the windows and yell “Pee-yew!” driving past the paper mill on the way to State College. But today? No smell. Federal air regulations have done their job.
Tyrone has a scrappy history. After the American Paper Mill shut down in 1971 and 550 people lost their jobs, the town famously ran a full-page ad in The Wall Street Journal titled “Town for Hire.” It caught national attention—ABC World News even ran a piece on it. Years later, in 2003, the mill reopened as American Eagle Paper Mill, bringing jobs back to town. A full-circle moment for a community that refused to quit.
Bald Eagle
Farther north, I passed the site of what used to be Bald Eagle High School—now a sprawling middle/high school complex. I ran cross-country there decades ago, and the original building was maybe a third of the size. I couldn’t help but wonder if the expansion of Penn State had brought more families—and more funding—into the area. Whatever the reason, the change was dramatic.
Bald Eagle State Park
Just up the road, a foggy lake came into view. Ripples moved slowly toward the shore, with low-hanging clouds softening the scene. A mile later, I turned into Bald Eagle State Park and drove down to the marina. It was quiet and still—just me and the lake on a gray Friday morning. My photos didn’t quite capture it, but the moment felt like something out of a painting.
Lunch in Morris
Cross Roads Tavern - Morris, PA
I had planned to arrive at my Harvest Host spot by 11:30, but it was closer to 12:45 when I rolled into the tiny town of Morris. Just as I was about to pass through, a sign caught my eye: Crossroads Country Tavern. A quick check of the menu online confirmed it—Friday was fish day.
I pulled in and took a seat at the U-shaped bar. The bartender, in a gravelly smoker’s voice, didn’t bother with small talk. “Kitchen’s open. Fish comes with two sides. What ya want?” I ordered the haddock with a salad (blue cheese, of course) and scalloped potatoes.
The salad came out moments later, crisp and full of white onions—my favorite. The fish arrived with tartar sauce on the side, paired with creamy scallop potatoes. A man at the bar leaned over and grunted, “Fish is good here.” His voice was nearly gone, I assumed cancer from working with asbestos. He later confirmed he had worked in construction for years. His daughter mentioned the place had new owners, but they hadn’t changed much—a smart call judging by the steady crowd. Morris isn’t exactly a destination, but this little tavern made for a memorable detour. This was a study in rural America.
Rattlesnakes? Really?
Morris Rattlesnake Hunt
As I pulled out of town, another sign stopped me: Morris Rattlesnake Hunt. Turns out, every June, the local fire company hosts a conservation-focused snake hunt that draws people from across the region. Licensed hunters track down timber rattlers, which are measured, sexed, and released under the watch of the Fish & Game Commission. The event has grown into a festival, with food stands, crafts, music, and snake-handling demos. I didn’t stick around, but Morris clearly has more bite than you’d expect.
Rolling into Wellsboro
The drive to Wellsboro was all winding mountain roads until, suddenly, the town opened up—neat, tidy, and almost cinematic. Gas lamps lined a grassy median between two streets. The buildings were charming and intact. Not a single empty storefront in sight.
Tourism has kept Wellsboro vibrant. It’s the eastern gateway to the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon and draws hikers, campers, and curious travelers like me.
A Harvest Host Welcome
Just a mile outside of town was my Harvest Host location. A camper parked out front confirmed I was in the right place. Steve greeted me warmly and invited me in. It was around 2 p.m. when he asked, “Want a beer?” He pulled out a couple IPAs from Tröegs, and I laughed—I’d just visited the brewery.
We headed out to the backyard, which was huge, serene, and self-sufficient. Solar panels, rainwater collection, and scattered garden beds spoke to a life close to the land.
Tess, his wife, joined us with stories of their camping adventures across Canada—everywhere but the far north of Hudson Bay. We shared a love for the people of Newfoundland. Tess had me laughing with tales of their friendliness. I knew exactly what she meant.
Their daughter showed up to load soil into her truck, and the conversation ended. I thanked them for the beer and the stories and headed back to the van. Five minutes later, with a soft rain beginning to fall, I was out cold—totally relaxed for an afternoon nap.
Dinner was leftovers and a scoop of mango sherbet. Simple and satisfying.
Exploring Wellsboro
Later that evening, I drove back into Wellsboro. The courthouse square had open parking, so I grabbed a spot and wandered toward the park, known locally as The Green. A statue of Wynken, Blynken & Nod anchors the square—one of only two in the country (the other’s in Denver). It’s a beautiful space to stroll, reflect, or just sit.
Main Street (Route 6) glowed with gas lamps. I stopped into Nessmuk’s Sporting Goods, where one of the staff shared a bit of history. The store is named after George W. Sears, aka Nessmuk, a 19th-century outdoorsman and writer from Wellsboro. The name “Nessmuk” comes from the Narragansett tribe and means “wood drake” or “wood duck.” Sears was also a fly-fishing innovator, and they had flies in the shop inspired by one of his original designs (found all the way in Finland).
Most stores were closed—it was a Friday evening in the off season—but restaurants were buzzing. I snapped a photo of the Wellsboro Diner just as a woman with a stroller passed by. It felt like a scene from small-town America, circa 1965.
Further down the block, I found the Main Street Creamery and ordered a scoop of maple walnut and another of chocolate fudge brownie. The two teens behind the counter wore lime and lemon-colored shirts and couldn’t have been friendlier.
I ended the night trying to photograph the glowing streetlamps and light trails from passing cars. Nothing I shot felt quite right, but the vibe was perfect.
By 9:30, I was back at the van. Rain was falling again, steady and quiet. The air was crisp, the world was still, and I fell into the kind of deep, restful sleep you only get in places that feel just right.