Bobbing from a vantage point about 100 yards from shore, I gazed at the horizon and surveyed combers rolling in, dismissing one after another for various reasons: Too small, too big, breaking too soon, bad angle, too close to the previous wave …

Finally, a well-defined, blue-green swell rose above the ocean surface and swept toward me. This could be the one. I shifted my position and faced the beach, then stole one final glance over my shoulder at an approaching wall of water.

Back in the Jan & Dean/Beachboys era, I would have been straddling my surfboard, but from the moment decades ago that I first dipped a kayak paddle into water I have virtually forsaken all other forms of aquatic recreation. I subsequently sold my small sailboat, loaned out my surfboard, mothballed my canoe and gave away my rowboat.

So there I was off Misquamicut Beach in Westerly earlier this week, perched aboard my newest toy, a short, stubby kayak that looks something like a floating Barcalounger.

Measuring a scant 8 feet long – barely more than a third the length of my tandem sea kayak – and with a 30 inch beam that is nearly twice as wide as my racing vessel, this boat is built more for stability and maneuverability than speed. What’s more, because it is a sit-on model, a paddler doesn’t have to execute an Eskimo roll if the boat flips, or risk getting trapped by a snug spray skirt covering the cockpit – he simply rights the kayak and climbs back aboard. You can’t have too many kayaks.

I’ve surfed whitewater kayaks in the past, but over the years they (and I) have taken quite a beating and I no longer trust their seaworthiness, particularly in pounding waves. In fact my favorite whitewater boat has a 3-foot gash in the hull from a previous surfing mishap that I haven’t gotten around to repairing.

A few weeks ago I tried taking my new kayak off Watch Hill the day before Tropical Storm Irene struck, but the waves were way too chaotic, and try as I might I couldn’t plow through the breaking surf in order to position myself for a ride back to shore.

Plus, truth be told, I was a little intimidated by the nasty seas, remembering a post-hurricane surfing episode a few years ago when my paddling companion suffered a dislocated shoulder that had to be put back in place right there on the beach.

So as the approaching storm continued to churn the surf I exited the water, frustrated but intact, and vowed to return.

With the surf-kayak season winding down – I don’t relish paddling in a wetsuit – I was determined to get in at least one good ride before the water temperature drops.

Misquamicut is perfect for surfing this time of season, when there’s no charge to park your car and crowds have disappeared. Only a handful of beachcombers strolled along the shore earlier this week, and two or three kids on boogie boards bounced around in the waves.

I kept my distance. A runaway kayak can be like a torpedo.

The waves rolled in and finally the perfect comber rose up. I began paddling furiously.

At the crest, the moment of truth, or more accurately the tipping point, I briefly teetered.

Had my timing been too slow the wave would have swept past me; had I started paddling too quickly it might have broken on top of me.

Whoosh!

I caught it just right, and began rocketing toward shore. My heart raced with exhilaration tinged by a trace of anxiety. No turning back; I was in the clutches of an unimaginably powerful force.

Now the biggest risk was burying the nose, and I leaned astern so that my back practically rested on the deck behind my seat. This kept the bow well out of the water.

Suddenly, the kayak began to broach, angling sideways, but I countered with a low brace, digging my paddle in like a rudder and steering the bow back on a straight course.

Halfway to shore the wave flattened slightly, and then rose angrily as it rolled over a sandbar. I could have bailed out but felt confident in my brace, and enjoyed a secondary surge. A bonus ride: two for the price of one!

Finally, the wave broke into froth and swept me up on the beach. The whole ride lasted about 30 seconds.

The retreating surf threatened to pull me back out, but I jumped off the kayak, clutched a grab loop and dragged the vessel safely onto terra firma.

I was tempted to paddle back out, but opted instead to take a break, sit in the sand and savor the experience. After all, I had finally caught the perfect wave. The memory may have to last until next summer.