After my back started giving me issues a few months ago—and especially after dealing with the pain following one of my attempts to go fishing—I had pretty much decided that my fishing days were coming to an end.

I just couldn’t sit in a kayak for more than a couple of hours before my back reminded me I was no longer 25.

Apparently, my back has a better memory than I do.

After spending some time with my therapist, we talked about some possible solutions. One of those was trying a different type of fishing seat that might provide more support for my lower back.

That sounded like a great idea, except for one small problem: finding a seat that would actually fit my kayak.

After more than a month of research, I finally purchased one that I thought would work. I was hoping it would give my back the support it needed and, perhaps, give me a few more fishing hours before my body decided it had enough.

I received the seat about two weeks ago, but between my wife and my doctor’s appointments and my daughter being in the hospital, I hadn’t had a chance to take it out on its maiden voyage.

There was another problem, too.

If I was going to try it out, I needed to go by myself.

Normally, I would invite my fishing buddy to go with me. But I had no idea how long I would actually be able to stay on the water. The last thing I wanted was for him to drive all the way out there, get comfortable, unpack everything, and start fishing, only for me to announce an hour later, “Well, boys and girls, my back has spoken. We’re going home.”

I knew if he went with me, he would want to spend the day on the water. And honestly, I couldn’t promise him that I could make it through the day.

So, I went by myself.

I didn’t leave nearly as early as I would have if my buddy had gone with me. Normally, we’re on the road around 5:30 in the morning. This time, it was nearly 7:00 when I finally hit the road.

I figured if my back was going to ruin my fishing trip, I might as well let it sleep a little later first.

I arrived at the creek around 7:45 and was at my first fishing hole by about 8:30.

I knew almost immediately that the new seat was going to give me more support. The real question was whether it would give me enough support to actually stay out there for a few hours.

I fished for several hours and, while I did start to feel a little fatigued, it was nothing I couldn’t handle. That alone felt like a pretty big victory.

I finally left my fishing spot around 11:30 and made it back to the launch a little after noon.

My back was a little stiff, but that was about it.

And that was a whole lot better than it had been a few weeks earlier.

In fact, I consider the trip a success. I didn’t have to call anybody to come rescue me, I didn’t have to paddle back using only my arms because my back had gone on strike, and I actually got to fish for several hours.

That’s a win in my book.

I also finished my last session of an eight-week round of physical therapy on Monday. The therapy definitely helped, but now I have to wonder: Was I able to stay out fishing longer because of the therapy, because of the new seat, or because of both?

Truth be known, it was probably a combination of the two.

And I’ll take it as a win either way.

Now, before anyone gets excited and thinks I’m going back to spending all day on the water, let me stop you right there.

I’m not.

I’ve learned that I need to listen to what my back is telling me. Ignoring it usually ends with me regretting my life choices somewhere between the kayak and the truck.

So, I’ve decided that 11:30 will be my new fishing curfew.

If my buddy wants to stay longer, that’s perfectly fine.

He can stay.

He can fish until dark if he wants.

He can catch all the fish.

He can even catch the big one that I would have caught if I had stayed.

I’m going home at 11:30.

Because apparently, I’ve reached the age where my fishing buddy isn’t the one who decides when we leave.

My back does.

And believe me, that thing has no problem telling me when it’s time to go.

So maybe my fishing days aren’t over after all.

I just have a new fishing partner.

His name is Lower Back.

He’s not very good company; he complains constantly, and he never helps paddle.

But he always knows when it’s time to go home.