My life is currently dedicated to rehab, but there is too much happening not to comment on, with my insight, sarcasm, and humor (for those readers who can't figure it out, that's what that's meant to be). The three Upper Wabash Flood-Control Reservoirs are distinctly different, and a potential user would be well advised to consult this blog when selecting one for a visit.
The Salamonie tailwaters are a one-day-per-year fish harvester's Paradise, as the "fishermen" line up in the water, rubbing up against each other, and the IDNR releases 400 mature Rainbow Trout into the tailwaters. The harvesters then snag the trout in any legal manner.
This is the same as Ringneck Pheasant "put-and-take", where the gun harvester pays the appropriate fee, then attempts to kick the pen-raised birds into the air to shoot them, rather than, say, just pick one up and slit its throat.
But the busiest spillway, by orders of magnitude, is at Mississinewa, with Peoria on the NW side, a private campground and public access to both the spillway and the pool downstream, and Peoria SRA on the SE side, with public access to the spillway, pool, and river for several miles downstream.
There is a nice paved road to the SRA tracking down the dam. Years ago I ran it, but Tuesday I was walking, and when the steepest length began to mellow, a fox walked into the road about seventy yards ahead and turned, watching us.
Coyotes, as much as I admire and love them, can look scruffy and almost mangy.
Foxes, on the other hand, are like healthy cats, always well-groomed and looking sleek and clean like they just came back from the groomer.
Someone claimed you just don't get to see them, except I've seen at least five foxes since I last saw a cottontail rabbit, and that should disturb you.
I saw at least six generations of bunnies in my yard, and can't remember the last. I drive mostly secondary roads, and can't recall the last bunny pancake.
Where the hell are they?

There are a lot of red tails hanging around, and I'm seeing them in different places. Big white breasts hanging in the trees.
Driving north on SR 13 past Oak Hill Schools, there was a red tail perched on a Speed Limit 55 sign on the right, and, left, a red tail was working so, so low over a field. Lazy as I am, I would choose low-altitude hunting to hanging off the edge of a 6-foot sign in traffic.
Walking (Finally!) I came on a bunch of bark-feeders. There was a red-headed woodpecker, bright red and plump and beautiful, and two smaller, one I think was a downy and the other a hairy woodpecker, but that is a guess. They could easily have been both or either. And there were a couple of nut-hatches, incredibly cool, and you can have them in your yard if you have a tree and pack some crunchy peanut butter in the bark.
A red tail surprised me coming up off the edge of a road with the sun back-lighting, and the unworldly copper red glow through that tail went straight to the heart.
There are about 720 birds on the continent, so ignore none, but save a place for the red tail hawk. You will be much rewarded, much entertained, for the merest effort.

This must not pass unnoticed: too-long-lived piece of life-sucking shit Oral Roberts has died at the ludicrous age of 91.
How can this human tick have been allowed to suck money from the most gullible to build a monument to his miserable, loathsome self in the Oklahoma nowhere?
He created tele-evangelism, where a few ass pilots worked a warped medium and bypassed the sweat-soaked tent and all that bothersome travel, to suck billions from the least self-reliant, most dependent, most vulnerable, most gullible people in TVLand.
And these beautiful, caring creatures bundled up their money and sent this festering drain on all well and good money that could have helped needy neighbors, only to build a testament to Oral Fucking Roberts.
If Oral Roberts doesn't make god puke, god needs a different job.
There's that thing in the bible about all the wonders of the earth being created for man's dominion.
Since nothing in god's creation is more abominable than war, maybe he could get off his ass long enough to address that giant fuck up, before we only have each other for food.