Fred Noble

When I first heard the name Fred Noble, helicopter skier and windsurfing god, I had a vision of a bronzed, blond, muscle-bound, 6' tall Adonis with a long string of female groupies from Hookipa to the Himalayas. After all, Fred had been heli-skiing and windsurfing since..... well, since they were invented.

He didn't start out that way. In fact, if ever there was an unlikely start to a life of exotic adventure, it was handed to Fred. Born in San Francisco in 1937 to a Filipino father and Italian mother, Alfredo Arboledo Noble was off to a very rocky start. His father left before he was born and his young mother was unable to care for another child so by the time Fred was four he was shipped off to an orphanage. A classic harsh, unsympathetic 1940's orphanage filled with unwanted or abandoned kids.

Since tiny, shy Fred was at the end of the food chain, he was relegated to dregs on everything from meals to baths. Weekly bath time consisted of one tub of water. The oldest girls went first, the older boys next, then finally, when the water was cold and dingy, it was Fred's turn.

He became a survivor. With his big brown eyes and eager grin, he was adopted several times during the next few years, but his lack of family or social skills prevented any of his prospective parents from getting close to him. Sadly he didn't last more than a few months with any family since he seemed incorrigible. In and out of several orphanages, by the time Fred was 14 he had had enough abuse and he ran away for good.

He landed in Portland, Oregon, where he rented a room in a boarding house for $50 a month, going to school and working nights sweeping the schoolroom floors for $65/month. No one ever discovered that he didn't have any parents - they just thought he was a very industrious kid. He signed his own report cards, made up lies about his family, scrounged for food when he didn't have any money, and even joined the Boy Scouts where he got his first taste of the outdoors. He loved it.

After graduating from high school in 1956 he did odd jobs, working on and off as a life guard, a waiter, a caddie, and a ski lift operator. The job market was tough in the 50's and Fred had to scratch hard for every penny. When he heard about a construction job in The Dalles, Oregon, he hitch-hiked the 80 miles from Portland only to be turned down. When a friend heard about his failure he berated Fred: get creative, go back and try harder, he roared. So a few days later Fred tried again, this time telling the job foreman that he would work a week for free just so the boss could see what a hard worker he was.

It worked. Fred busted butt digging ditches and pounding nails and at the end of the week he had a job - a real paying job. He worked construction for two years and gained a reputation as someone who would do whatever it took to get the job done. A year later, when he got an offer to help build huge metal frame broadcast towers for the burgeoning TV, radio and microwave industry, he jumped at it. At first hanging like a monkey several hundred feet in the air while tightening huge bolts was frightening, but the pay was good and the opportunity for steady employment made it attractive.

For his 70th birthday a couple years ago, Fred invited seventy of his good friends to join him for a week of helicopter skiing in Canada. "I like to treat every day as if it's my last," he says. "Every day that I can go out and do something fun and survive is a great day. Each night I go to bed and can't believe that each day is SOOO good. I can't wait to wake up again in the morning and go windsurfing (or skiing in the winter).

"Some people think that you need lots of 'stuff' to be happy. You don't. Everyone has their own particular way of living but some people think there's some kind of key to being happy. There is no key; the door is always unlocked. Just open the door and go through it."