Do your parents know where you are?

She asked the small toe-headed boy.

He was adorable with a toddler's chubby cheeks and determined brow.

He zoomed by with his blue suede sneakers fiercely pedaling. No time to answer. He was on a mission.

Dad was off to gather firewood for the campsite and would surely need his help.

The shiny red tricycle sped by 12-year-old Luellen Hanson.

Her eyes followed the boy up the dirt road and with a shrug and quiet laugh to herself she made her way back up to camp.

It was just past 1030 that morning. The campground was stirring with families cleaning up after pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

Round 2 of coffee was just coming to a brew over the fire, and the day's sun was just starting to burn off the heavy mist that lay over the two nearby ponds.

Though it was Labor Day weekend in 1975,

Natanus Point campground, small and remote, pass Rangeli, and set just five miles beneath the Quebec border in Chain of Ponds Township, is maybe just an hour too far for most Portlanders. The 58 campsites were reserved mostly by

families and friends, a good many from the area, all celebrating the end of

another classic New England summer.

And for the first few hours it seemed as though all was right.

The biggest concern of the day was who would catch the first trout. But that picture perfect

morning set in the deep green remote northwoods of Maine would soon become

two parents worst nightmare.

And 12 year old Lou Ellen would replay her encounter

with that little boy on the shiny red tricycle

pedaling by on the dirt road that morning, over and over again.

I'm Kylie Lowe, and together with researcher and writer Olivia Gunn, we're looking into

the 46-year-old North Woods mystery that would lead to one of the largest

...