Of course there is the challenge of figuring it out. The beauty of the fly dancing out to that perfect spot, the strike when you thought you missed it, the thrill of measuring out the line while keeping a smooth and silky tension allowing no slack to disrupt the music you and the fish are making. Then comes that flash of silver and you see him bull back down deep for his final run. A laugh of delight rings out over the water. Your friend might give you the thumbs up shouting back encouragement. A hundred casts, five hundred cast, a thousand casts? Who is to say what number fills a day on the water?
The sun finally drops down behind the horizon and a day on the water comes to an end. Weariness is on your face as you step out of your waders and even then with painful muscles aching, you know it was good. A mental tension that was there is now gone, and a good tired has now permeated you.It could now be a drive home or maybe sitting around a fire with a blistering hot cup of coffee with that friend who makes no demands. Sure he will jab and mock that you only have fish stories and you will prod back but the smile and the bantering seals a bond and a memory of another day on the water.
By the way Homer rarely gets invited fishing.