Woman at a Crossroads: When Polly Melton Vanished From a Hiking Trail

At 58, with a two-pack-a-day smoking habit and high blood pressure, Polly Melton wasn’t much of a sprinter. But on September 25, 1981, while hiking with two friends on the North Carolina side of the Great Smoky Mountains, Melton suddenly began powerwalking ahead of her companions.

“I wouldn’t want to be in a foot race with you, Polly!” one called out.

Melton turned, laughed, and kept her quick pace. Soon she disappeared over a crest in the gravel hiking trail that wound through part of the mountains. When her friends came down the other side, they expected to see Melton catching her breath on one of the public benches.

There was no sign of her. Nor was there back at the campground where they had started from. In the coming days, Polly Melton’s sudden acceleration and subsequent disappearance would confound authorities and family alike. On a public path populated by visitors—and one she had hiked countless times over the years—Melton had managed to vanish without a trace.

1. A Smoky Mountain Mystery
2. Puzzled
3. Thin Air Theories

A Smoky Mountain Mystery

Thelma Pauline “Polly” Melton was never one to idle in place. A retired schoolteacher, she and her third husband, Robert Melton, lived most of the year in Jacksonville, Florida. They spent from late spring to late fall parked at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains in Swain County, North Carolina. Their Airstream had all the amenities they needed, and the base camp itself had plenty of company. The campground was leased to a small cluster of 10 families and admitted new members only after careful vetting—a kind of camper homeowner’s association.

There was plenty to do outdoors, but Melton kept busy in other ways, too. Most weekdays, she volunteered in town at Bryson City Presbyterian Church Nutrition Center, where she handed out meals to seniors. She was also a caretaker for Robert, who at 78 was 20 years Melton’s senior and in poor health. The two had gotten married in 1975, after they met while Melton was living at her father’s trailer park property in Swain County. Robert was a co-owner.

Due to his condition, Robert stayed behind in the Airstream when Melton accompanied friends Trula Gudger and Pauline Cannon for a hike on Deep Creek Trail. The 4-mile roundtrip trek was too much for Robert, but Melton had done it plenty of times before. After preparing some spaghetti sauce for dinner later, she headed out. Gudger and Cannon would later be asked often about Melton’s mood or frame of mind, but both recalled she was in good spirits.

The three walked and joked, as they often did, with the two friends needling Melton about a man who appeared to be smitten by her at the Nutrition Center. Melton brushed it aside.

At 4 p.m., roughly an hour in, they arrived at the halfway point of the hike and started to turn back. On one side of the gravel path was Deep Creek, a body of water that was shallow at the time due to drought. On the other was a steep ridge. The friends walked for approximately half a mile before Melton began to quicken her stride, speeding ahead and out of sight.

Gudger and Cannon found it puzzling but not overly concerning. They assumed Melton was either joking around or might have wanted to get back to the campground to check on Robert. But when they returned to the campground a short time later, Melton wasn’t there.

Feeling ill at ease, they went to the Airstream and asked Robert if she had returned. He hadn’t seen her. They performed a cursory search of the immediate area. When that failed to turn her up, they notified a park ranger. They hurriedly provided a description: Melton was about 5 feet, 11 inches and 180 pounds, with brownish-reddish hair, a white and pink blouse, tan slacks, and glasses. To the best of their knowledge, she was carrying no cash or identification.

By around 7 p.m. that evening, a formal search was underway for Polly Melton.

Puzzled

There had been a handful of disappearances in the Great Smoky Mountains over the years, including 6-year-old Dennis Martin in 1969 and 16-year-old Trenny Gibson in 1978. But it was rare. Deep Creek Trail was well-traveled and populated, and most visitors stuck to the graveled walking path. Melton wandering off into the dense woods seemed unfathomable. According to her family, she was extremely afraid of snakes.

Melton disappeared on a Friday. The search party grew over the weekend to include volunteers, park rangers, and bloodhounds. The dogs arrived at the spot where Melton’s friends had lost sight of her and began trotting in circles and howling, as though she had simply ceased to exist.

Both the dogs and the search party went a long way in convincing authorities that dead or alive, Melton was no longer in the park.

“We are just puzzled at this point,” park ranger Chuck Harris told a reporter. “The trail she was on is well traveled and she apparently knew it well.”

While rangers and others searched for any sign of Melton, police began combing through her personal affairs. Robert told them there was no issue in their marriage that could have prompted her disappearance. (He was so distraught over the event he had to be admitted to a hospital that night for health issues.) Nor could Gudger or Cannon point to any inciting incident or problem.

The Nutrition Center was a different story. Speaking with Melton’s supervisor, authorities learned of a few irregularities. For one thing, Melton hadn’t signed up to work on Friday as she normally did. She was a volunteer, and really had no obligation to be there, but usually called or informed the Center when she was unable to come in.

Her supervisor also recalled something odd about the Thursday before Melton vanished. She asked to use the phone multiple times, something she had never done before. When questioned, none of Melton’s family members or friends could recall receiving a call from her on that day. Whomever she spoke to was either unknown to them or unwilling to admit the conversations took place.

A conversation with a pastor at Melton’s church, Tom Harris, revealed that Melton had been somewhat depressed but not in a way that caused him any great concern. He added that Melton had previously taken Valium, an anti-anxiety medication, and that years ago she had made a vague statement that he interpreted as her admitting she’d cheated on Robert. Police also noted that Robert told them his own prescription bottle for Valium was missing, implying Melton might have taken it.

The information did little to advance the investigation. The same was true of the ground search. After about a week, officials called it off. Their conclusion: There was no evidence Melton had gotten lost or forcibly removed from the trail. Her exit seemed to be the result of free will. But not everyone was convinced.

Thin Air Theories

Melton’s family and friends didn’t believe Melton would simply leave Robert, who was eventually housed in a nursing home. Nor would she have simply cut them off without notice. It was, they offered, too out of character. Their suspicions leaned toward foul play. On the day of the hike, Melton was wearing a number of diamond-studded pieces of jewelry. They theorized someone on the trail might have spotted Melton walking alone and accosted her in a robbery attempt. There was an area infamous for drug deals known as Poke Patch; perhaps Melton had crossed the wrong person.

But Poke Patch was miles away from where Melton disappeared. And the general area where Melton was walking didn’t afford a great deal of privacy. If someone had assaulted Melton or even tried to drag her away, it was likely the struggle would be observed or heard by another hiker.

The environment wasn’t a factor, either. The temperature was in the mid-80s, warm but not stifling. Nor did it drop overnight. The chances of Melton suffering either heat stroke or a bad chill were low. And while the park did play host to animals, rangers insisted none were large enough to pull Melton out of sight.

Once leaves had fallen from trees and improved visibility, the park was able to dispatch a helicopter for an overhead survey of the area. Peering through newly-bare branches, there was no sign of Melton’s body, adding to the notion that she left voluntarily.

A theory emerged that perhaps Melton had grown tired of caring for Robert and decided to simply up and leave. The trail permitted cars up to a certain point, and a parking lot wasn’t far from where Melton was last seen. Farther along, she could have arranged to be picked up at a crossroads and driven right out of her old life into a new one—possibly with the unnamed person she had spoken to several times on the phone the day before. But if anyone knew that for a fact, they stayed silent, even as North Carolina governor James Hunt offered a $5000 reward for information at the behest of her family.

In April 1982, some six months following her disappearance, a check was cashed in Birmingham, Alabama. It was a check for bank certificate interest made out to Polly Melton. The bank teller couldn’t recall the physical description of the person who brought it in. Given limited local resources, authorities were unable to hire a handwriting expert to compare their signature to Melton’s. It was never established who cashed a check in her name.

Melton wasn’t formally laid to rest until 1991. Her sister, Kit, had waited until their father had passed, since he was adamant Melton was still alive. Though Melton was declared legally dead in 1988, the National Park Service still lists her as missing. No one has ever established whether Melton left the park or somehow disappeared inside of it. But there may have been something on her mind that day that made her aware she was about to drop out of sight.

Just before Melton disappeared over the hill, her friends said, she paused briefly and waved.

Additional Sources: Unsolved Disappearances in the Great Smoky Mountains