Historic Rattlesnake, Unionville & Julian Pikes

By Michael Hermann; written in 1999, never submitted for publication.

The Rattlesnake Pike connects Philipsburg and Unionville in the northwestern edge of Centre County. In between is a beautiful stretch of topography that includes State Game Lands No. 103 and the Moshannon State Forest. Also known as Rt. 504, the Rattlesnake Pike is a twisty mountain road that traverses valleys and ridgetops offering excellent views of Central Pennsylvania landscapes.

Not far from the University Park Airport I find the Fillmore Road which leads to Purdue Mountain Road. Some folks refer to this stretch as the Unionville Pike, but the county doesn’t recognize that name so you won’t find it on any signs. They have labeled it route 3008, which is less informative, and certainly less romantic, than the Unionville Pike. It meets the Rattlesnake Pike which winds back to the Julian Pike.
These are well traveled and historic paths. Their geographic triumphs seem trivial today, as my internal combustion vehicle handles the road with ease. A glance off the roadway makes me understand how significant such a road was, when folks traveled by foot or horse. The sharp switchbacks are dictated by the lay of the land, the road fights for a path of least resistance from a time when that mattered more. I assume somewhere in the past lies a good rattlesnake tale, good enough to become a basic road name. But from my truck, on a twenty foot wide piece of asphalt, I see, nor worry about, any rattlers.

The fog is thick on the ridgetops this morning and visibility drops to less than 50 feet. I turn on the headlights and adjust my heater vents. Cautiously I slow down, pull over and stop. The silence is deafening.

My thoughts take me back to what it must have been like last century for travelers on this road, in this place, in this fog. The roadway would be thick with mud and the horses footsteps would make a sloppy sound. The wagon wheels would creak in argument. Breath would be visible from horse and man, as the ridgetops still hold snow and ice. They would hear approaching travelers before they saw them, another wagon materializes from the fog, words exchanged - greetings, information about the conditions ahead. Then the travelers would continue their respective journeys.

I pull to the right as a truck barrels towards me, its headlights my only warning, driven fast by a man who knows the road better than I. My flashback to the past is rudely interrupted.

Bridges and culverts span what must have been a difficult crossing through water, mud and rock. When a broken wagon wheel meant a day, or more, lost to repairs. Traversing the landscape by any other route was near impossible; the smart traveler sticks to the pike. That fact remains true today.

I pass a rushing spring and see an old man and woman struggle to fill their water jugs. They are loading them into a new minivan, but the human movement is the same as loading onto a wooden wagon. People still need water to live. For me, something instinctive is triggered when I fill my water jug from a spring, something that is not felt when I open the twist top on commercially bottled water. Our genetic code responds to basic elements favorably, when given the chance.

Old farms and interesting barns fill the countryside. Would the owners welcome a weary traveler for the night as they might have last century? I like to think they would, but basic human trust has eroded those bonds in this century.

I look out across valleys and into forests and wonder what lies in there. I know the mountain lion and coyote have their dens within my view, but I’ll never find them. I think we both like it that way.