No Axe To Grind (Terry Christenson, Steve MacDowall 2014)

In the late summer of 2013 I found myself alone in a fairly wrecked portaledge hanging off the edge of a first of a kind ice breaker oil platform in the Russian Arctic. It was about 11pm and earlier that day the all girl punk rock band Pussy Riot had been given a two year sentence for slandering Putin and church. At 4am that morning our two teams of three climbers, plus drivers and photojournalists had left the Arctic Sunrise in three ribs (rubber inflatable boats)and headed into the exclusion zone, past the coast guard and finally after months of studying photos and speculating there we were at the base of the rig. An hour or so later before security could react we had two ropes up and both teams were out of reach and rigging for the long haul. We were lucky the element of surprise had worked for us because it took the workers another couple hours to get the fire hoses working and by then all six of us were huddled inside the ledges in our dry suits waiting for the inevitable. Twelve hours later we were cutting holes in the floor to try and get the water out as the extra weight was bending the ledge and everyone was starting to get hypothermic from the cold and the inability to move much.

Eventually my partner Basil and I became concerned about Kumi who was South African and even though he was the Executive Directer of Greenpeace International and all tenacity he had very little experience on rope and was starting to turn blue. Somehow the coms people on the Sunrise had talked the rigs captain into shutting the water off so we could evacuate Kumi. As the big rib carrying him disappeared in the direction of the Sunrise apparently the captain got pissed off that someone had escaped and ordered the water on two fold and twenty minutes later when it was Basils turn to repel down to a waiting rib he disappeared in a wall of white salt water.

It now seemed like a very long wait for me while I pondered whether or not I should stay. After all I was Canadian and although I was cold I still wasn't hypothermic. Ego being what it is I found myself entertaining the thought of seeing how long I could hold out but then it dawned on me that I'd be betraying my partners. We had all agreed that we'd retreat together and in all honesty a half an hour later when the rib pulled in under me I was feeling pretty beat up. After seeing Basil trying to exit slowly into the white squall I decided to pull slack and jump in hopes of gaining a little more distance from the impact zone. The ends of the fire hoses were just ten, maybe fifteen feet above me and I knew it would hurt. But what I didn't expect was when the water hit me it started me spinning counter clockwise which was totally disorientating and it took me a few seconds to get my shit together while they had their way with me. Seconds later my feet touched down. My brothers in arms cut the rope above me and now I'm flat on my back looking up at eight or so guys on the walkway who had been having fun abusing us. Three of them were giving me the finger and for some reason it struck me funny.

Although I was totally exhausted I remember smiling and waving to them at which point the guys that weren't giving me the finger waved back. Then the guys giving me the finger glared at the guys waving and they immediately dropped their hands as if caught in the act of being a human being. In retrospect I can honestly say that I had no axe to grind. Cheers. t

My friend Arron Lycett not only produced 'No Axe To Grind' and 'Cliche' but played all the instruments and sang backup. I sang the lead vocals and wrote 'Cliche'.