Script

My Dark Path

S5 E72

The Disappearance of Olga Mauger

This is My Dark Path.

On a crisp autumn day in Wyoming in 1934, Olga Mauger vanished from a remote mountain pass, leaving behind a mystery that puzzled investigators, family, and locals for nearly a century. Was it murder? A daring escape? Or the work of the unforgiving wild? The state of Wyoming holds a special place in my heart – many of my ancestors immigrated from the British Isles to a tiny town at the base of the beautiful Teton mountains. And my dear mother's mortal remains are interred in a lovely cemetery that looks up at those peaks. The state's natural beauty and the tenacity of its citizens make it a unique place in all the world.

And so I’d like to share a unique story today about the disappearance of Olga Mauger, the oldest missing person’s case in the state of Wyoming 

Hi, I'm MF Thomas, and welcome to My Dark Path. In every episode, I explore the obscure corners of history, conspiracies, and the unexplained. Check us out on YouTube for full video episodes. We're also on X and Instagram. To share your thoughts, you can email me at explore@mydarkpath.com. I'd also like to thank our Patreon supporters. Subscribers can access exclusive full episodes starting with our special miniseries, a My Dark Path tour of history, science, and the paranormal in Cold War Moscow that we call "Secrets of the Soviets."  And if you'd like to buy one of my four novels, you can find them on Amazon or in the show notes.

And so, let’s get started with season 5, episode 72, The Day Olga Disappeared.

Olga Schultz entered the world in South Dakota on March 11, 1913, born to Russian immigrants who had arrived in 1905 seeking a new life. The early 20th century saw thousands of Russians settle in the Great Plains, drawn by promises of land and opportunity. For Olga's parents, life was a grind—harsh winters, backbreaking farm work, and the challenge of adapting to a new language and culture. Yet, they built a home, raising Olga and her sisters with the grit to survive on the frontier.

Olga was no ordinary child. While other girls might have been satisfied with learning domestic duties, Olga was out in the wild—fishing streams, hiking hills, and learning the land. She grew into a striking young woman, her raven hair flecked with auburn catching the light, her perfect porcelain skin contrasting her rugged spirit. But Olga wasn't just a beauty; but was a unique force. She hunted elk solo, tracked game through dense woods, and carried herself with the confidence of an experienced outdoorsman. In a time when frontier women were expected to toil alongside men—chopping wood, tending livestock—Olga stood out, her independence and skills honed by a love for nature that ran deep.

There's a fascinating thread in her story: Olga was tied, through marriage, to Beaver Dick Leigh, a legendary woodsman of Wyoming's Jackson Hole. Born Richard Leigh in 1831, he earned his nickname trapping beavers and guiding settlers through the Rockies. A larger-than-life figure, he married a Shoshone woman, Jenny, and their family became part of local lore—until tragedy struck in 1876 when Jenny and their children died of smallpox. Olga's connection to Leigh wasn't by blood, but it's tempting to imagine his legacy of wilderness mastery echoing in her adventurous soul.

Then there was Carl Mauger, who would change Olga's life. Carl was a carpenter, his hands rough from years of crafting wood into homes and structures. Some say he worked in Wyoming's booming oil industry, which might conjure images of wealth, but the reality was humbler. The 1930s oil boom in places like Casper and Glenrock relied on men like Carl—skilled laborers building rigs and refineries, not tycoons striking it rich. He earned a living, but it wasn't lavish, a fact that shaped his life and choices.

Carl had been with Ella for six years, a woman who loved him fiercely. She waited for a ring, but Carl stalled, blaming money troubles. And their relationship completely unraveled one night in 1934 at a dance hall. Olga was there too. And When Carl's eyes locked with Olga's, the air shifted. The attraction was electric and undeniable. Ella, there as Carl's date, saw it unfold—his gaze lingering, his attention stolen. Devastated, she fled in tears after meeting Olga, her dreams of a future with Carl crumbling. Sources later claimed Ella threatened suicide, her heartbreak raw and consuming. But Carl and Olga? They barely noticed. Two weeks later, in August 1934, they were married.  Their whirlwind romance was sealed with vows and set the stage for a honeymoon that would end in mystery.

Part 2

Picture this: the towering peaks of the Absaroka Mountains, their snow-dusted summits piercing a clear September sky. The air is sharp with pine and earth, the forest alive with the rustle of elk and the distant howl of wind through Togwotee Pass. It's September 11, 1934, and Carl and Olga, newlyweds at 21 and 28, set out on an elk-hunting honeymoon in this remote corner of Wyoming. They roamed the rugged terrain for six days, camping under starlit skies, chasing game through thick woods and steep slopes. It was their shared passion brought to life—until September 17, when everything changed.

They'd reached an overlook, a hunter's perch offering a sweeping view of the pass. Carl climbed a ridge for a better vantage point, leaving Olga behind. He later said she was too tired to join him, a detail that raised his eyebrows. Of course, Olga was no novice—fit, skilled, at home in the wild. Yet there she sat, on a rock near a road where cars occasionally rumbled past, dressed in tan breeches, a long-sleeve shirt, a cardigan, and hiking boots. A brown paper bag of sandwiches rested beside her, a small hatchet hung on her belt, and she had $30 in her pocket, the equivalent of over $650 today, an odd sum to have in your possession while hunting.

Carl claimed he was gone 20 to 30 minutes, glancing back at her until she faded from view. When he returned, the rock was empty. No Olga. No tracks. Just the bag—or maybe not, as accounts waver on that detail. He searched, shouting her name into the wind, but the wilderness swallowed his cries. Panicked, he raced to alert the authorities.

Ranger KC Allan took the call, informing him that a woman was missing in his park. Carl explained that their trip had been smooth and that their interactions were positive. No fights, no tension. He insisted Olga was a master outdoorswoman who'd never lose her way.

Allan immediately rallied a force: 300 strong, including Civilian Conservation Corps workers—young men of the Great Depression tasked with building trails and fighting fires—sheriff’s deputies, rangers, private citizens, and 20 Native American trackers.

They scoured Togwotee Pass, navigating cliffs, dense underbrush, and shifting weather. The CCC brought manpower and local know-how, their camps dotting the region from projects in nearby Yellowstone and Grand Teton. The trackers read the earth for signs—broken twigs, scuffed dirt—but found nothing. Days stretched on, snow loomed, and the search faltered. They found no shred of Olga's clothing, hatchet, or hint of her fate. The wild had claimed her, and the effort was called off, leaving a void filled with questions.

And the whole state of Wyoming buzzed with Olga’s story. A beautiful, capable woman vanishing without a trace? It defied logic. Suspicion zeroed in on Carl.

When the story came to County prosecutor Wilfred W. Nelson, he immediately saw red flags: a rushed marriage, a remote spot, and no witnesses. Carl was hauled in and grilled for months. He stuck to his tale—happy couple, sudden loss—swearing Olga's skills ruled out getting lost. But other facts haunted the investigators. First, the huge amount of cash that Olga had been carrying nagged at investigators. Why would she need so much? Then, Carl’s past with Ella—dumping her after six years for a two-week romance—painted him as impulsive, maybe volatile.

Yet, there was no evidence. No body, no blood, no struggle. After relentless questioning, Carl was released to his brother-in-law, Brad Schultz. He didn't vanish from the story—he returned to Togwotee Pass in later years, searching, or so he said. Some whispered he was covering tracks; others saw a grieving man chasing closure.

The 1930s Wyoming backdrop adds texture here. The Great Depression gripped the state—jobs were scarce, and families scraped by. With her stenography skills and outdoor prowess, women like Olga were rarities, admired, or judged depending on who you asked. Divorce was a scandal, a stain on a woman's name. Olga's disappearance rippled through this world, sparking rumors and theories that filled newspapers and fireside talks.

Part 3

What happened to Olga Mauger? Nearly a century later, the question lingers, and theories abound. Let’s unpack them here.

First, Olga staged her exit. Her sister Edith told Ranger Allan that Olga seemed unhappy packing for the honeymoon, even begging Edith to come along—a plea Edith declined, later regretting. Inviting your sister on your honeymoon still seems like an unusual request.

Olga was a stenographer, employable anywhere. In 1934, leaving a marriage wasn’t simple—divorce meant shame. Vanishing offered freedom without stigma. That $30 could've been her ticket out. Edith thought Olga could start anew elsewhere. But her sisters also said she'd never cut them off completely, and decades of silence argue against this escape.

Second, Carl killed her. And this was County Prosecutor Nelson’s suspicion from day one. Motive? Maybe regret over Ella or a hidden rift. The pass was isolated—perfect for foul play. Carl's quick remarriage to Ella years later fueled whispers. But there's no smoking gun—no body, no signs of violence. Carl cooperated, searched, and lived out his days with Ella until 1978. Seven years after Olga vanished, he divorced her legally and wed Ella, who lived until 1998. Suspicious timing, or two souls healing together?

Third: nature took her. Togwotee Pass teemed with threats—grizzlies, mountain lions, sheer drops. Olga could’ve wandered, fallen, or been attacked. Yet 300 searchers, including expert trackers, found nothing. Animal attacks leave traces—bones, fabric—none surfaced. Lost to the elements? Possible, but her skills and the search’s scope make it a stretch.

Other ideas float, too. A stranger in the wild? Unlikely in such a remote spot. Suicide? An alleged letter to Ella hinted at guilt over stealing Carl, but its existence is unproven, and her sisters dismissed it—she'd have reached out. Each theory tantalizes, but none satisfies fully. Olga's fate is a locked box, a key long lost.

Today, Olga Mauger's case sits open with the Fremont County Sheriff's Office, Wyoming's oldest unsolved mystery. Hunters still scan Togwotee Pass, hoping for a clue—a scrap of cloth, a glint of metal—but the wild keeps silent. Her story haunts the state, a spectral thread in its tapestry.

Reflecting on this, I feel Wyoming's pull—the land that cradled my family, where beauty and danger dance. Olga's tale mirrors that duality: a woman of strength and grace swallowed by the vastness. Did she flee a life she couldn't bear? Did Carl hide a dark truth? Or did the mountains claim her as their own? We may never know, but exploring these shadows keeps her memory alive.

What do you think happened to Olga? Murder, escape, or the wild’s embrace? Share your theories in the comments—I’d love to hear them.

I'm MF Thomas, the creator and host. Thank you for walking the dark paths of the world with me. Until next time, my friends, good night.