We’re approaching mid-winter, and snowmobiling, ice-fishing, rabbit-hunting and self-propelled options like skiing, snowshoeing and hiking boom. A few hardcore types even backpack with a tent or fish a handful of open-water rivers or streams that have year-round fishing regs.

Lots of us in the state’s bottom third seldom appreciate snowmobiling’s importance to the winter economy, but despite what self-propelled types like me think, sledding keeps northern hamlets prosperous in a time of year that once challenged rural businesses to the breaking limit.

In the dead of the cold season, some folks opt for more sedentary pastimes such as tying flies, building a fly rod or cleaning angling equipment for spring outings, and they daydream — and daydream a lot.

Before writing this column, I was absentmindedly watching the news in the dawn’s darkness and imagining a late May morning below 40-foot Grand Falls on the Dead River just upstream of Spencer Stream. My ponderings were so intense that I heard nothing the news casters said.

When this superb fishing hole pops to mind, I think of friend and outdoors writer, Bill Sheldon of Rhode Island, and of the magnificent days shared there.

And Grand Falls may measure 40 feet, but it looks twice as high to the naked eye. It’s awe-inspiring for sure.

Our first trip to Grand Falls sticks the stubbornly in mind. We arrived on a sun-splashed May morning, and soon, I hooked a 20-plus-inch salmon. I expected a brook trout, so the landlock half-shocked me.

Before I released the bright-silver beauty, Bill shot photos. One of those images is on my computer for easy access.

If nothing else struck my fly that day, the outing was still complete, but we both caught salmon and brookies. The day turned into a lifetime memory — despite the fact we didn’t catch one of this river’s wild rainbows.

Such winter thoughts always include promises to get to the spot that very spring, probably in late May or early June and again in September. That’s the way white-season promises work in Maine.

Anglers like me have a copy of The Maine Atlas and Gazetteer (DeLorme’s) by a reading chair for checking access details.

Another fishing honey hole has kept me awake this winter, and it lies in the mountains above Jackman — a small, gravel-bottomed brook that slides through a typical Maine swale meadow.

The beauty of this spot involves the arduous trek to get there, a spot I found during a deer hunt a dozen years ago:

It begins with an easy, uphill stroll along a narrow but open tote road to a tangled hilltop wetland that requires ducking, tiptoeing and occasional jumps from hummock to hummock to cross. (“Tangled” is no exaggeration.)

From there, it’s a fairly easy but long walk through mixed forests and a large conifer thicket to reach the meadow. The first time my eyes looked upon the flat-flowing current and gravel bottom, it was filthy with 6- to 10-inch brookies with the promise of an occasional larger one.

What a place to spend a late May or early June day in the sharp, crisp, mountain air, typical there that time of year, casting nymphs on my 6-foot, 4-weight fly rod. A little camp stove to cook a brace of 9- to 10-inch trout to eat with simple salt and pepper would make the day perfect.

DeLorme’s shows places like Grand Falls well, but this brook has no name on the map — not even those little marks showing meadows. It’s a place folks can only find by hoofing it.

Brooks in the North Country get little pressure, particularly ones near big-name lakes, ponds and rivers, so a brook angler can find un-fished spots with little effort, particularly by walking away from roads.

Large streams that folks might call rivers in much of Maine sometimes see few anglers, particularly if they flow near larger trout-and-salmon rivers or particularly ponds and lakes.

Spencer Stream at the confluence with the Dead River strikes me as one of those spots. Sure, people fish the mouth and near the mouth, but a walk quickly gets me into sections where human signs dwindle. But that assessment depends on the year. I promise myself to explore this spot more in future years.

I’d also like to plow down Pierce Pond Stream off the Bowtown Road and follow it to the Kennebec River, a 560-foot drop over roughly two miles.

This stream has crystal-clear water and slices between high, forested hills, and calendar-photo scenes line the stream at most turns. I’m sure many people have fallen in love with this spot over the last 100 years.

That’s where my winter daydreams have taken me lately, and I’m looking forward to the green season, even though plenty of joys wait between now and then.