Four years ago, I read Roberto José Andrade Franco’s ESPN story about Tess Mata, one of the students killed in the Robb Elementary School shooting in Uvalde, and I’ve never forgotten an image in it: a determined Tess outside in the Texas heat, aiming her softball pitches at a target on a tree in her family’s yard. That’s what Franco does so well. He creates moments that linger—about sports, Texas, loss, and identity and in-betweenness—and makes me care about the people he puts on the page.
Franco grew up on the El Paso-Juárez border. In a 2020 National Magazine Award-nominated essay that he wrote one year after the El Paso massacre, he reflects on the lifelong pull to this paradox of a place: “It’s where things make the most sense. Where it’s easy to love, even if it’s difficult to live.” I love that he writes from this borderland even when he’s somewhere else. During Mexico’s first World Cup match earlier this summer, he was in Woodburn, Oregon, a small town where Latinos make up more than 60 percent of the population and own nearly every business downtown. Residents had been shaken by last fall’s ICE raids, but they showed up to watch and celebrate. There, thousands of miles from El Paso, Franco found something familiar: a hardworking, resilient community with deep Latino roots and a fierce sense of pride.
I also credit Franco with piquing my interest in wrestling stories, including his piece on WWW star Eddie Guerrero, which also explores family and legacy. Whether he’s writing about sports heroes or ordinary people, or tracing the history of Texas or his own, Franco never fails to move me.
Below, he explains why enrolling in community college at 28 was the most meaningful journey he’s taken, tells us his favorite meal (and the ideal season to eat it), and recognizes a fellow sports writer who inspires him. When asked to name three publications he enjoys reading, he gives a shout-out to Texas Highways, a magazine we love—and it just so happens that he’s the guest editor of its October 2026 issue, focused on El Paso. After spending time with Franco here, read his feature on the city’s historic Smelter Cemetery, and then explore the rest of the magazine.
Several places, but mostly on the El Paso-Juárez border.
I was born in Chicago, but we lived in Juárez, Mexico, until I was about 6. Then we moved across the border to El Paso, Texas, before my father joined the Army. That’s when we lived in Chicago for a short time, then Colorado and Germany before we briefly returned to Juárez. I was about 13 when we moved to El Paso again.
Anywhere I hear the Spanish of the US-Mexico border. These areas are often ignored and underserved so it’s a working-class Spanish. Because of its location, some words are a mix of English and Spanish that other parts of Mexico don’t use.
The decade between graduating high school and enrolling at El Paso Community College. I spent most of it working in construction and bouncing around between El Paso and Phoenix, along with a few bad months in Tucson.
The early morning when everyone is asleep and the sun’s yet to rise. And it’s so quiet that, almost always at the exact same time, I can hear my neighbor’s footsteps as they walk out of their home, open and close their car door, start it, and then drive away, presumably on their way to work.
Building things. I find it almost therapeutic to do some sort of work with my hands as I sweat and listen to music. I also enjoy the feeling of seeing something finished within a few hours.
I don’t remember who I got the idea from, but years ago I heard or read a suggestion to interview your children during different phases of their lives. Just take out the voice recorder and ask them basic questions. When they’re younger, you can ask about their favorite animal, color, movie, etc. As they get older, the questions can be more about their friends, hobbies, and aspirations.
I’ve been doing this every few months with my now 9-year-old daughter. Occasionally, I’ll listen to the first recordings from when she was 3, and I can hear how much she’s changed—from her voice and interests to the clarity of her words and thoughts. It’s like a short visit with a different version of who your child once was.
That suggestion to interview your children has been the best gift.
My mom’s pozole. It’s a Mexican pork and hominy stew accompanied with radishes, cabbage, and bolillo bread. She’ll sometimes make it in late October, on the Saturday closest to my birthday. The weather will be colder by then and a college football game will be on in the background—both of those make it even better. Then a good cigar afterwards.
It’s become silence. I used to write with music in the background. It almost didn’t matter what kind, and sometimes it’d be the same song on repeat for hours. That was also when I’d do most of my writing during the day and into the early evening. But now, I’ve fallen into a routine where I do most of my writing early. Sometimes I’ll wake up naturally as early as three in the morning. With that change, I now write in silence.
But maybe it’ll change back to music one day.
It just happens so there’s no specific place. And so long as I’m not on deadline, whenever I feel like I can’t think anymore I just try to do something else for that day.
I’ve gotten ideas while driving, listening to podcasts and music, or in the middle of watching a movie. I’ve even woken up during the middle of night with a thought that helps unlock something that I had been stuck on.
Earning an associate degree.
I was a nontraditional student who first enrolled at El Paso Community College at 28 years old. It had been about a decade since I was in school. I was full of self-doubt and worry that I was too old or not a good enough student to be there. With that, I also worried that I might be wasting my time.
But I quickly realized I was a much better student in college than I’d ever been in high school. I was motivated, disciplined, and having worked in construction for the decade before then, I had a different perspective of what college could be. Whenever I felt like complaining, I’d remind myself (as I’ll still occasionally do) that reading and writing is a lot easier than doing manual labor outdoors, especially during the summers.
I ultimately transferred and graduated from a four-year university, and later even finished a PhD program. But that associate degree was the most meaningful because it’s where I started to find outlets for my intellectual curiosities and people who encouraged me.
I don’t have any specific place. At home it’s usually in my office, bed, or on the couch. Away from there, I’ll read while waiting. I’m an anxious flyer, so I’ve also recently found myself saving longer reads for when I’m at the airport or on a plane. It lets me focus on something else while also helping pass the time.
The World Cup.
Texas Highways to read about the parts of Texas that aren’t chaotic or depressive. De Los to keep up with some of what’s happening with Latinos outside of where I live. The Good Fight to stay current with boxing.
Michael Paterniti’s “The House that Thurman Munson Built.” It’s got everything that interests me as a reader and writer: tragedy, memory, and examining what athletes mean to us at different ages.
Divided Soul: The Life of Marvin Gaye. It’s an excellent book.
I don’t know if “proud” is the right word for it since it’s such a heartbreaking story. But “‘She made us happy’: The all-star dreams of Uvalde’s biggest José Altuve fan” is the first thing that comes to mind.
Go for a walk or drive. Either of those help me get away from what I’m doing without completely separating me from it.
Wright Thompson, who I’m fortunate to call a colleague.
I’ll sometimes listen to a chapter or two from The Cost of These Dreams on audiobook before I start writing a story. Wright is among the best sports writers ever, but the story of his that I’ll most often return to is the one he wrote for The Atlantic, “His Name Was Emmett Till.” The small part where one of the main characters says he doesn’t think of the past but has a dog named Dixie is perfect.
“Practically,” “essentially,” “actual(ly),” “that,” “even.”
And in first drafts, I start too many sentences with “so,” “because,” and “since.”
Watching mindless, and at times dumb, dating shows with my wife.
The ability to not get distracted by my phone.
Stray dogs who largely mind their own business and hang out in the same general area without terrorizing it.
If it’s early in the day, I’ll take a nap.
My phone full of photos and videos, a drawing from my daughter, my box full of sports cards, my voice recorder, and a Dallas Cowboys Super Bowl XXX champions hat because I increasingly fear that’ll be the last one they’ll win.
I’ve turned a room in our house into my office. It has a wall-to-wall bookcase. On the opposite side of it is my desk. It has plenty of space, a filing cabinet attached to it, and a shelf for my speaker and printer. Yes, a printer. It’s nothing fancy, but practical.
On the wall above the desk is a dry-erase board where I’ll write reminders and a few words that are story ideas. Once those ideas become a story, I have a corkboard, on the wall to the left of where I sit, for the three-by-five cards I use to outline and organize sections. Above the corkboard are reminders of what I need to focus on when I write. Below it is a calendar for deadlines and travel dates. To the right of where I sit is a small couch. The walls have framed boxing fight posters, work of local artists, photos of my wife and daughter, and random things that mean something to me, like mini football helmets from the University of Texas-El Paso.
Roberto José Andrade Franco is a feature writer with ESPN and a Writer-at-Large with Texas Highways. His work has been anthologized four times in The Year’s Best Sports Writing and nominated for the National Magazine Award. He’s also a four-time finalist for the Dan Jenkins Medal for Excellence in Sportswriting.
A new drone collaboration by Cessna owner Textron and autonomy provider Merlin Labs aims to offer the U.S. military a hot production line and a familiar platform for uncrewed aerial logistics, including in contested environments.
The product is SkyCourier UX, a drone version of the Cessna 408 SkyCourier that has flown for FedEx, foreign special operations forces and small remote commercial airlines during its six years of active service. TWZ previously covered how the SkyCourier would likely end up taking on military applications when it was first announced, which you can read here.
A partial full-size model on the show floor at the Air & Space Forces Association’s Air, Space & Cyber Conference in Washington, D.C., this week showed a nose that opened with hydraulics to a cargo bay in lieu of a cockpit. We have seen this same front door conversion concept for uncrewed cargo-carrying helicopters as of late. This allows for easy loading of outsized cargoes without specialized equipment, according to the company, though it does not increase the payload. Like the original SkyCourier, it’s good for about 6,000 pounds, or three standard containers.
The form factor of the uncrewed SkyCourier variant is otherwise identical to its crewed counterpart, with twin turboprops, a high-wing configuration and an aluminum body.
As with the base SkyCourier, a major advantage of the aircraft is its optimization for loading and carrying standard pallets. This means that cargoes don’t necessarily have to be downloaded, broken up and repackaged for movement to forward positions. This is a big logistical advantage and can speed the flow of critical supplies to where they are needed most.
The aircraft’s range is about 900 nautical miles, which the makers say suits it well for Pacific island-hopping, allowing for refueling stops on austere runways. It can take off on runways as short as 3,300 feet and land in just 2,500 feet, according to a spec sheet.
The Textron/Merlin collaboration aims to differentiate itself with proven capability in the missions it intends to fulfill, along with the ability to roll out a new drone variant fast and one it can sustain consistently. Bob Gibbs, Textron’s vice president of special missions sales, told reporters in a Monday briefing that the conventional SkyCourier was now fulfilling new orders, not previously announced, to deliver modified aircraft to foreign nations for medical evacuation, casualty evacuation and environmental protection.
“The aircraft’s being operated literally from the Arctic to the Amazon,” Gibbs said. “There are three different island nations in the Pacific that have airline fleets of them. We support our aircraft in 170 countries around the world. So, just like a Cessna Caravan or a Beechcraft King Air, they’re ubiquitous. You find them anywhere, and we support them anywhere in the world.”
While the 900-mile range can’t take the loaded-up aircraft the nearly 2,000-mile stretch between the first and second island chains, Merlin and Textron executives said they don’t need to accomplish that to make it effective.
“This is the ability to disperse the forces among the second island chain … to do the island-hopping to be able to get to, whether it’s Palau, Tinian, Saipan, pick your various islands there,” Kyle Kremer, a retired Air Force major general who now advises Merlin, said. “With the range that it has, it has the ability to agilely move through there” and connect logistics pipelines.
The autonomy package, Merlin Pilot, is already in use under a $105 million U.S. Special Operations Command contract to develop autonomy for the C-130J Super Hercules transport aircraft. It’s been flown aboard four different single and multi-engine airframes, the company says. A promotional web page for Merlin Pilot shows tanker-class and commercial cargo applications with developing and future capabilities.
Merlin has also teamed with the Air Force to develop an AI copilot for KC-135 tankers that can decrease crew workload and even possibly fly the aircraft on its own in the future. TWZ reported on planned tests for these autonomy-enabled tankers in 2024, with the flights set to begin the following year.
However, the Air Force has not confirmed the completion of any flight tests for the effort since. And on Wednesday, Lt. Gen. Daniel Tulley, commander of Air Force Mobility Command, appeared to confirm that the tests had never taken place.
“There’s some companies out there who have offered to develop things where they can bring a carry-on kit onto old KC-135s and other aircraft, but we haven’t seen them test those successfully,” he said.
He added that autonomy technology may lack the maturity needed for tanker missions.
“An optionally manned or an unmanned tanker at range, [at] the ranges we needed to operate at. It’s a very large aircraft, and we’re not yet to where we’re employing fully autonomous large aircraft. But the technology, I would say, is there and rapidly getting there,” he said.
Tulley did stress that the Air Force saw a need for unmanned aircraft in the last-tactical-leg delivery.
“I’m wrestling with that as we develop an AMC strategy,” he said. “There is absolutely room for some sort of autonomous or other small light lift capability, and that’s just one domain in the air, right? This could be by sea, could be by land, but there is absolutely some requirement for distribution from those major points of debarkation.”
In addition to autonomous takeoff, landing and navigation, and protection of the flight envelope, Merlin Pilot, the company says, has digital copilot human-machine teaming characteristics that include pilot health monitoring, gaze tracking and fatigue detection; pilot incapacitation and contingency response; and flight monitoring and assistance.
Some of Textron’s new features are making light steps toward autonomy already. Gibbs pointed out that the company’s Cessna Citation Gen3 business jets now include standard Garmin auto-land technology.
“Obviously, it’s a different scale than what Merlin’s doing as far as automation,” he said. “But … as we develop new products, we try to future-proof them, and so that’s where you get this nice transition between us.”
The SkyCourier can cost up to $8.5 million, depending on modifications, and while the SkyCourier UX sports GPS-denied navigation and the ability to seek different flight paths to avoid danger, it doesn’t have other built-in defenses. For contested logistics missions, it’s not clear how much risk the services are willing to tolerate for a relatively small logistics payload capability. Kremer maintained, though, that a drone of this size could be a mission-saving capability when dispatched to austere locations. And, in a Pacific conflict, it may reduce demand on already-stretched C-130 transports, now the smallest platform capable of carrying standard containers and long overtasked.
“If you can’t get the spare tire, if you can’t get the component, that small thing where you need it in these dispersed operations, they don’t keep the big logistic supply chain built up in these locations,” Kremer said. “You have to be able to get it where you need it, when you need it, and that’s what this provides.”
Nonetheless, the Air Force has a clear appetite for a capability like this. Last year, it signed a $17.5 million contract to put a Reliable Robotics autonomy package on a Cessna 208B Caravan.
On Monday, Air Force Chief of Staff Gen. Ken Wilsbach reiterated the Air Force’s interest in unmanned aerial logistics platforms.
“We’re doing testing on them,” he said in response to an audience question. “We believe that there’s some value in that as well. It certainly could be valuable in the Pacific with the ranges that we’re talking about, and so we’re looking at several different options and evaluating them. But I would say nothing, no program of records just yet, but [we’re] certainly taking a look at some demonstrators and the like to see what’s available to us.”
Notably, China has made significant advancements in developing logistic drone capabilities, with reported successful flight tests of massive heavy-lift uncrewed aircraft, including a 7-ton cargo plane that’s currently the world’s largest uncrewed freighter to take flight. Among them is China’s CH-YH1000, a medium-altitude cargo drone developed by the China Academy of Aerospace Aerodynamics that boasts, like SkyCourier UX, a hatch in lieu of a cockpit for ease of flat-pallet loading up to a weight of 1.2 tons. These are just some of an increasing number of similar systems being developed in China that aim to take the crew out of lower-end logistical missions over short, medium and long distances.
Though Textron and Merlin have yet to build a SkyCourier UX prototype, Merlin CEO Matt George emphasized that the company had chosen to partner with Textron because they could start delivering aircraft fast.
“You’ll see over the course of the show a lot of concept aircraft. You’ll see a lot of renders. You’ll see a lot of people who have big empty factories all around the country,” he said. “But I also want to be very clear about the fact that none of this matters without production … There’s 14,000 Americans working in Wichita, Kansas, on a production line where these aircraft, at least in the crewed configuration, are coming off the production line. So when we talk about capability, we’re talking about that capability and bringing that capability to bear soon, rather than in the future.”
Next in the development process, executives say, will be an optionally piloted version of SkyCourier that will allow users to develop comfort with the platform and open the door to further iteration.
The Textron/Merlin team is also leaving its options open in terms of which U.S. military customer might find its platform most useful.
“I hope [the Army and Air Force] fight over it,” Gibbs said.
Contact the editor: Tyler@twz.com
The post Cessna Cuts Cockpit Out Of SkyCourier Cargo Hauler For Uncrewed Logistics appeared first on TWZ.
The U.S. Air Force has been taking a new look at the feasibility of restarting production of the C-17 Globemaster III cargo plane as part of its still-evolving next-generation airlift plans. The service also continues to explore a wide range of next-generation aerial refueling concepts, including new stealthy and/or uncrewed tankers, but a firm vision for the way forward there has yet to emerge.
Air Force Lt. Gen. Daniel Tulley, head of Air Mobility Command (AMC), shared new details about future airlift and aerial refueling efforts, with TWZ and other outlets at a roundtable at the Air & Space Forces Association’s (AFA) 2026 Air, Space & Cyber Conference.
On the airlift side, the Air Force’s stated plan to date is to replace both the C-17A and C-5M Galaxy with a single Next-Generation Airlift (NGAL) platform, starting in the mid-2040s. Separately, the service is pursuing what could be a family of future aerial refueling capabilities under what is now called the Advanced Tanker Systems (ATS) program. Very broadly speaking, ATS presents a path toward what might come after the retirement of the aging KC-135 tanker fleet, though those aircraft are still expected to keep flying for years to come. The Air Force is also moving to further expand its fleet of newer KC-46A tankers in the interim, but persistent technical and other issues with that design continue to present hurdles.
At the roundtable today, Lt. Gen. Tulley was asked explicitly about restarting C-17 production. The manufacturer of those aircraft, Boeing, shuttered that line in 2015. The company also just marked the 35th anniversary of the design’s first flight yesterday.
“Heck yeah, but with a caveat, right?” Tulley said in response. “So we were just asking this question over the course of last week, and it’s in the context of next-generation airlift. So we are about to embark on the Analysis of Alternatives to replace the C-17 and replace the C-5. All options are on the table.”
“There’s always the option to service life extend the C-17, but the [production restart] question came up,” he continued. “I’ve heard this my entire career. Once we terminate an assembly line, can we ever bring it back? Does somebody store all the machinery and the dies and whatnot, and can you bring that out? So we’re asking that question.”
“But then whatever that answer is from the vendors, what will be the price tag associated with that?” he added. “You have to ask yourself, okay, is rebuilding a C-17 even if you make improvements – and there’s a loose analogy with the C-130J, [a] much more modern, capable variant of the C-130E [author’s note: the C-130J evolved more directly from the C-130H variant] I first learned to fly – if you do that with the C-17, is that the best move? Or are there new technologies that we can incorporate into it so that it can defend itself, so that it’s connected, it’s networked, it does all the things that maybe the current C-17 doesn’t do?”
“We’re looking into it as part of the Analysis of Alternatives. I’m hopeful that we’ll get to answer that question.”
In June, the House Armed Services Committee also directed the U.S. Air Force to prepare a formal briefing on the matter of new C-17 production in a report accompanying a draft of the annual defense policy bill, or National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA), for Fiscal Year 2027.
The RAND Corporation did conduct a detailed, independent analysis more than a decade ago that assessed the costs and complexities that could come from Boeing building more C-17As, as well as other variants and derivatives of the design. RAND’s conclusion was that any of the courses of action would require billions of dollars of new investment and entail risks, as you can read more about in more detail here.
Foreign participation in a new C-17 production run could help at least defray costs. Australia, Canada, India, Kuwait, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, and the United Kingdom all currently fly Globemaster IIIs. The Strategic Airlift Capability (SAC) initiative, a multinational arrangement with several European members, as well as the United States, also operates three of these aircraft.
Boeing told TWZ directly in June that unnamed C-17 operators had been reaching out about the prospect of restarting the production line, and that the company was “encouraged” by those discussions.
As Lt. Gen. Tulley stressed, there are significant questions about whether buying new-production C-17s, even with substantial improvements, is not only feasible, but a good use of resources. The Air Force’s Globemaster III fleet today continues to prove itself to be critical to the U.S. military’s ability to project power globally, and is in very high demand right now, especially amid the ongoing conflict with Iran.
The Air Force’s desire to replace both the C-17 and C-5, which are very different aircraft in form and function, could still easily lead the service down a different route. Boeing is not the only one looking at future NGAL opportunities. Another company, Radia, has been very actively pitching a clean-sheet design that is physically bigger than either the C-17 and the C-5, and that is geared toward greater operational flexibility, at the Air Force. Radia is targeting a first flight of its aircraft, called Windrunner, by the end of the decade, but it is still in a very aspirational stage at present.
Many questions also still remain about how the Air Force will ultimately proceed on the next-generation aerial refueling front.
“So thinking beyond the current KC-46 buy and the program extension, whatever that next tanker looks like, our Advanced Tanker System, it’s got to be connected. It’s got to be able to defend itself,” Lt. Gen. Tulley said at the roundtable. “But it begs the question: does it need to be manned? Could it be optionally manned? Could it be autonomous? Or is there a family of solutions maybe that would answer that question? So I do not believe that it has to be manned.”
The AMC head was responding to a specific question about how autonomy could play into the Air Force’s future aerial refueling plans, which included a reference ot the U.S. Navy’s MQ-25 Stingray tanker drone. The Navy just announced its first low-rate initial production contract for MQ-25s on Monday.
“I think you’re seeing that with the MQ-25 and the Navy’s work, but then, how do we, the U.S. Air Force, bring that to bear in scope, scale, and range?” Tulley continued. “An optionally manned or an unmanned tanker, at range, the ranges we need to operate at, it’s a very large aircraft. And we’re not yet to where we’re employing fully autonomous large aircraft, but the technology, I would say, is there and rapidly getting there if it’s not.”
The MQ-25 is another Boeing product, and that company has shown a rendering of a larger, land-based derivative in the past. Lockheed Martin’s Skunk Works has also put forward several advanced tanker concepts in the past, including stealthy and potentially uncrewed designs.
“We will be going after how to make the tanker survive,” William Bailey, the Air Force official currently performing the duties of the Assistant Secretary of the Air Force for Acquisition, Technology and Logistics, had also told TWZ and other outlets at a separate roundtable at the Air, Space & Cyber Conference yesterday. Bailey was responding to a direct question about whether the service was moving away from the idea of a stealthy tanker as part of the ATS plan.
“So, lots of work around what do we do in the future for our tankers, and we spent a pretty dedicated effort to go through and look at what do we think those design solutions could look like,” Bailey also said. “We looked internally. We went out to industry, had those guys come back with their thoughts on how to provide a more survivable aircraft.”
“The stuff that was coming in for me might have been an incremental improvement, but [it was] not clear that that represented the next step, the next phase,” he added. “What you’ll see is we’ll take our efforts, and we’ll look at, hey, if the real question is tanker access, then let’s not constrain ourselves to just the aircraft itself and trying to make a stealthy tanker. We need a tanker to have access, so we’ll talk about all those systems that it would take to protect that tanker.”
Bailey said the question of operational “access” applied to next-generation discussions, as well.
As is the case with the Air Force’s airlift fleets, the service tankers are in high demand due to the conflict with Iran and other current operational requirements. Stress on the existing tanker force, compounded by the ever-advancing age of the KC-135s, has been a steadily growing point of concern for years now. U.S. military officials have long been drawing attention to the limits of available aerial refueling capacity to meet even routine peacetime demands. The Air Force, as well as the U.S. Navy, have also expanded their use of contractor-owned and operated tankers to perform certain non-combat aerial refueling missions to help ease this strain.
In the meantime, the Air Force is still pursuing upgrades for its existing airlift and tanker fleets, with heavy focus on increased network connectivity and improved self-protection capabilities.
Greater connectivity “can be a game changer, and it has been a game changer in Operation Epic Fury [against Iran],” Lt. Gen. Tulley said at today’s roundtable. “The ability for air crews to communicate, to coordinate tanker orbits and rendezvous, to pass threat information, to save lives and save aircraft has been everything we expected it to be and more.”
“We have MAF NEXUS that we’re pursuing. The goal is to have this on all mobility aircraft, whether they’re future-built and it’s incorporated, or it’s an add-on capability to existing aircraft,” he continued. “It brings edge compute, the ability to then employ AI [artificial intelligence] and much more computing core power forward on the aircraft, and it does network with the rest of the joint force and the Air Force’s battle management system.”
When it comes to new options for protecting existing tankers, “nothing’s off the table,” the AMC boss added. “Whether it’s [in the] electromagnetic spectrum, whether it’s kinetic self-defense, a layered approach, we’re looking at everything to come up with what might be the best system. But it’s got to be a system that we can afford, and it’s got to be one that we can put on all the aircraft we have and the ones we’re about to build.”
Using Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA) or other types of drones to help provide localized defense for airlifters and tankers could be another option. The Air Force has already experimented with this, at least to a degree.
The Air Force is otherwise still clearly continuing to shape its future airlift and aerial fueling visions. As part of that work, the service is now at least considering the possibility of rebooting C-17 production.
Contact the author: joe@twz.com
The post USAF Assessing Feasibility Of Restarting C-17 Production As Part Of Its Future Airlift Vision appeared first on TWZ.
Trade Commissioner Maroš Šefčovič and MEP Dirk Gotink (EPP, Netherlands) Photographer: Mathieu Cugnot © European Union
The European Parliament has approved a major overhaul of the EU’s customs system, tightening requirements on e-commerce platforms, introducing a new handling fee for goods ordered from outside the bloc and creating a central EU customs authority.
“This is the biggest reform of European customs since 1968, supporting trade and the enforcement of EU rules,” said MEP Dirk Gotink, (EPP, Netherlands) who steered the legislation through Parliament. Gotink said European customs authorities had been overwhelmed by a “tsunami of Chinese parcels” and that the reform would give customs officers stronger tools to enforce EU standards.
Under the new rules, e-commerce platforms and sellers shipping goods directly from non-EU countries to European consumers will be treated as importers. That will make them responsible for providing customs data, handling applicable charges and ensuring products comply with EU law.
The reform also introduces an EU-wide handling fee on goods ordered directly from non-EU countries, with member states required to begin collecting it no later than 1 November, 2026. The European Commission will determine the amount and review it every two years.
Companies that repeatedly breach EU customs rules could face fines ranging from at least 1% to as much as 6% of the value of goods they imported into the EU during the previous 12 months.
The overhaul will also establish an EU Customs Data Hub, designed to replace at least 111 existing customs IT systems. A new EU Customs Authority, based in Lille, France, will manage the hub and coordinate customs cooperation and risk management across the EU.
The Council has already given the reform its final formal approval, making Parliament’s vote the final step in the legislative procedure.
This story originally appeared in Truthdig on Sep. 15, 2026, and is shared with permission.
During the national anthem of the first three 2016 NFL preseason games, San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick sat down on his team’s bench between two Gatorade coolers. Few noticed, and nobody made mention of the gesture until a Black reporter for NFL Network named Steve Wyche asked him about it following the third exhibition tilt, a home game against the Green Bay Packers. Wyche’s interview with Kaepernick put the quiet protest on newsfeeds across the country. Then, shortly after police shot and killed Alton Sterling and Philando Castile within a 48-hour period — Kaepernick and a teammate, safety Eric Reid, went a step further before the final preseason game on Sept. 1. Instead of sitting on the bench during the anthem, they took a knee. The rest is civil rights and sports history.
The story of Kaepernick’s life before and after that fateful stand is the subject of his new memoir, “The Perilous Fight,” co-written with Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and author Nick Chiles. Kaepernick’s journey from a shy adoptee of color to white parents uninterested in exploring his Black experience, to a boldfaced protest icon is a singular American story, whose hinge moment came at the cusp of the Trump era. The book, which comes out tomorrow, will be available at most places where books are sold — but not Target. Kaepernick is boycotting the retailer over the company’s anti-diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives. I spoke with the author in late August. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Truthdig: Beginning where the book begins, have you thought about what it means to be a public face for adopted children?
Colin Kaepernick: It’s interesting, I didn’t actually hear much about adoption prior to the 2016 protest, which is when I got a surprising amount of letters and feedback from adoptees. It wasn’t immediately on my radar because being adopted is just life for me; like a regular Tuesday, right? But as more and more people reached out over the years, I’ve become mindful and intentional about showing the positive elements of it, but also the realities, and what it requires to work through all of it. Looking back, it’s natural this position came into my realm. I try to represent our community appropriately.
How were you able to grow as a person at the University of Nevada-Reno?
I was fortunate to find the right relationships early on. Some I stumbled into, like the one with my roommate-teammate Virgil Green. He invited me to attend Second Baptist Church, which became a second home for me because Reno wasn’t overly welcoming to its small Black population either. The town’s historical nickname is “The Mississippi of the West.” Later on in college, another teammate, future Super Bowl champion Brandon Marshall, introduced me to the Kappas, an esteemed Divine Nine Black fraternity, which I didn’t even know we had because the campus population was so small.
One of the funniest moments in the book is your dad getting all worked up and questioning you because he thinks it’s an “Animal House” situation.
Yeah, Dad. Not the same thing at all. The Kappas gave me a great sense of community, and I’ll add one more to the mix. The Center is a multicultural campus spot where if you weren’t white, you could go hang out and relax. I made a lot of friends there as well. I had these three safe spaces where I could have conversations I never had [growing up] back in Turlock [California]. I explored ideas and concepts I hadn’t been exposed to previously, so even with the demands of football, college allowed me to grow and develop in important ways.
I revisited your NFL highlight reels and will confess to forgetting how ahead of your time you were. Lamar Jackson and Josh Allen were certainly watching. Do you hope to reclaim yourself as a quarterback, because in many ways it’s been overshadowed and even memory-holed?
I became the 49ers’ starter in 2012, which is when you start to see a broader shift in the style of quarterback play towards what we see today. Mobile with a lot of movement, beat defenses with your arm and your legs. I’m proud of what I accomplished, but the league’s response to the protest itself is the reason my career isn’t remembered in the way it should be. The NFL did significant work to delegitimize the on-field performances to justify blackballing me.
Delegitimizing is an evenhanded way of describing it.
Yes, it’s a very kind word. There was a lot of work done on that front by the NFL, but what gets missed in all of it is that if I wasn’t the caliber of quarterback that I was, nobody would’ve cared. I know how good I was because a backup QB would’ve just been shuffled off the sidelines and it would’ve been the end of it. My success as a quarterback is precisely why the protest drove the NFL crazy.
To me, the biggest surprise in “The Perilous Fight” is that your first protest in Houston was impromptu. What was it that hit you when the national anthem played?
“We’re consistently seeing Black men killed by multiple cameras.”
At that point in time, there’d been a wave of police killings, year after year on a regular basis. By then, we’re also in a different era with social media. Historically, you look at the L.A. riots, which erupted only because someone happened to shoot video of Rodney King being beaten by LAPD. One person with a VHS camera. Today, we’re consistently seeing Black men killed by multiple cameras everyone carries around. These killings coincided with the reading and research I’d been doing to understand the historical context of police brutality. Walking onto the field for that 2016 game, playing “The Star-Spangled Banner” hadn’t crossed my mind. When I heard it I asked myself, what does this actually mean to you?
Having a better understanding of the historical systems of oppression, as opposed to ‘one-off’ incidents, gave me a realization in that moment. What the United States purports to represent doesn’t represent me or a significant portion of the population. Why am I supposed to show pride in this? Steve Wyche caught me sitting in a third game, inquired, and I told him why. By the next day, the story had blown up well beyond sports media.
I joked at the time that you should offer to stand for “The Star-Spangled Banner” in exchange for playing the never-mentioned third verse.
Right, dig a little deeper and the question becomes: What is the actual intention of the national anthem? Why would I ever stand up for that? Absurd. To your point though, sure, if we’re going to ring it out in stadiums, play the full thing. Get it all out there.
There’s a major public misconception about when you changed tactics in the final preseason game and decided to take a knee. The oft-told tale is that former Green Beret and NFL preseason player Nate Boyer convinced you and teammate Eric Reid to do so, but that isn’t what happened at all. How did Boyer become part of the narrative?
The story came out that way because Nate Boyer positioned it that way. It obviously wasn’t the case, it was Eric and I. As I note in the book, I was a Black guy in a national firestorm and, supposedly, I reached out to a white guy I didn’t know to come and advise me on what to do during the national anthem? Laughable. It was Reid’s idea. The really telling part is that nobody in the media questioned Boyer’s version of events. Why? Well, if it’s Boyer’s idea, it’s a more palpable narrative to make a lot of football fans nominally comfortable.
“He was supposed to take a knee with us and then at the last minute decided not to.”
Eric and I had spoken to Nate beforehand, and he was supposed to take a knee with us and then at the last minute decided not to, which is its own situation altogether. It became a big decision for Eric and I. Should we combat this bogus story in real time, or do we stay with the protest message we’re trying to send? If the thing with Boyer becomes the focal point, then we’ve lost the impact we’re trying to achieve. We didn’t love seeing that narrative run rampant, but Eric and I decided it wasn’t the battle worth fighting.
It’s a no-win situation, but Boyer’s story did steer the conversation in public circles to one of free speech, rather than police brutality, which are two very different topics.
Very different, indeed. How the protest is talked about through those two lenses was revealing then and remains so today. People who recognize what Eric and I were doing, see it as a protest against police killing Black people, the serious need to address that and systemic oppression more broadly. The free speech piece of it was always a deflection from the core issues at hand.
Do you feel there’s a connective tissue from taking a knee to the mass public protests over the last decade, both the righteous ones following George Floyd’s murder, and opposite ones like Jan. 6?
I’ve never thought about it that way. I mainly look at the anthem protest in terms of the wins we’ve had and the progress we’ve made, but also how much more work there is to do, especially given all the resistance to creating a fair and equitable society. How loud and vocal the other side of it has gotten over the last 10 years is both surprising and not at the same time. We’ve taken major steps back, but I’d rather have it all out in the open so we know what we’re up against. It’s valuable to know where it lies.
Have you found the last decade disheartening?
At times for sure, but my hope is that the awful politics are part of a last-ditch effort. As far as where we’re at as a society, there’s a strong growing undercurrent of people saying “enough’s enough.” We’re heading in the right direction, but you have to weather the hard times. Keep playing offense in the storm.
One savvy author’s move on your part is mentioning President Donald Trump as little as possible. I thought there would be more pronounced score-settling and was sincerely hoping you’d “motherfuck” the big man once or twice. Did you go back and forth at all about your impressive restraint?
Look, that man had a direct impact, working with NFL owners to blackball me. That exists, that’s real, so there is plenty I could say about him personally—
Wouldn’t it feel good just saying it out loud?
Maybe, but I know in many ways that’s what they want. They want to be the center of the story and have relevance and influence in that way. Him in particular. There’s obviously a level of power and influence that comes with his position, but I don’t have to lean into that or accept it. I’m trying to stay focused on what’s most important. He doesn’t fit the bill.
Given the nightmare CTE report that came out this week combined with distance from your playing days, does your brain thank you for missing out on a decade of head shots, even if your heart says otherwise?
It’s a both/and answer. There’s my love of playing football, nothing else like it, with its competitive nature, the camaraderie of a group of guys coming together to win. You put yourself through so much it makes success incredibly rewarding in ways you can’t find anywhere else. And yet, there are serious consequences. I haven’t even read this week’s report yet, but I remember the one where they had more than a hundred players and every single one of them had CTE except for one, a kicker I think. If you want to play, be a kicker.
“In football, CTE is not an if, it’s a when.”
The physical consequences of football are real. My wife, Nessa Diab, and I have asked the question so many families are asking. If we have a son, will we let him play football? As a parent who knows the undeniable impact, I would like him to play other sports. In football, CTE is not an if, it’s a when. You don’t want to put your child in that situation.
On a personal level, I played football for 20-plus years, so time will tell the damage done, but am I glad I saved myself some hits? Yes. Would I love to get back out on the field? Absolutely.
You write about Jay-Z, who supported you on “Saturday Night Live,” then ignored you, later tried to co-opt you after Roc Nation partnered with the NFL, and then last summer, after the book was finished, called you out at Yankee Stadium. Do you think these will be the tabloid headlines to emerge out of “The Perilous Fight?”
I’m not sure, because there are so many different topical pieces in the book. Like the Nate Boyer story isn’t known, hasn’t been talked or written about, so I think there will be a good amount there. On the Jay-Z side, this is repetitive behavior that there’s been conversations about for quite a while. There may be some surprise around specific details, but Jay-Z’s overall actions won’t be shocking to anyone who has paid attention.
As noted in “The Perilous Fight,” you do not watch the NFL at all, but I’m curious if you’ve seen clips of Eminem taking a knee during the halftime show of Super Bowl LVI?
I had friends text me about it, but I’ve never seen it because I don’t engage. I hope solidarity is the case. And if so, while I don’t love anyone who is now doing the Super Bowl show because of the Jay-Z deal, I appreciate the sentiment.
Finally, looking back, can you believe how the last 10 years have played out? How you became a monumental public figure — and all of the fallout that came along with it — for a generally mild act of protest against an ongoing life-and-death problem for communities of color? It’s mind-blowing, no?
It really speaks to the fragility of a certain portion of society. In basic form, I’m protesting police killing Black people. The flip side of resistance to this simple human concept is — what? Police should be killing Black people? Yes, I’ve been in the center spotlight, but I’m also part of a larger movement of people publicly screaming, “Hey, you shouldn’t be killing us!”
It’s the lowest of bars to get over.
“I don’t understand enjoying something without caring about it,” Andre Agassi tells Lizzy Goodman midway through her thoughtful character study. Goodman shadows the former tennis great as he tries to get comfortable in his pickleball years, detailing the dynamic interplay of Agassi’s moods: Fun Andre, Philosopher Andre, Dark Andre. Many of the best athlete profiles extend the narrative of a legend beyond the court, making more complicated human meaning once a subject has set the game aside. Here, Goodman and Agassi achieve a gratifying volley, the journalist turning over the athlete’s challenging interiority and sending it back to him to consider.
The made-for-TV version of the Andre 2.0 story might go something like this: A retired, middle-aged tennis great takes up a goofily named, hugely popular new sport and is finally able to exorcise the demons that haunted him throughout his tennis career. This seemed to be the story Agassi was beginning to tell after the watch event, as he sat on an ottoman at the bar of his hotel, holding a dry Belvedere martini with extra olives. He talked about his love of pickle, how it challenged him mentally, how suited his body felt to its movements. He shifted around in his seat, trying to keep his perpetually embattled back from seizing up. “I was on a tennis court today,” he said. “What the [expletive] was I doing on a tennis court?”
But it became apparent, over the months that followed, that it would take more than a new sport to resolve the central question that all three of Agassi’s personas have been wrestling with for a long, long time. He summarized it, wryly, as he ordered another cocktail: “Why do I end up doing so many things that I actually don’t want to do?”
VENRAY and Pleenbergen, Netherlands, 4-6 September 2026 – The World Championship for Akhal-Teke Horses brought together breeders, scientists, equestrian professionals, cultural figures and international media in the Netherlands for a celebration of one of the world’s oldest and most renowned horse breeds. The event attracted worldwide attention, with extensive coverage by international media and the participation of delegations from numerous countries.
A day before the official championship events, on 4 September, the International Scientific and Practical Conference "The Akhal-Teke Horse: Turkmen Art of Universal Horse Breeding" was held at the Asteria Hotel in Venray. The conference brought together leading experts, researchers and equestrian specialists from Europe, North America and Turkmenistan to discuss the historical significance, breeding traditions and future preservation of the Akhal-Teke horse.
The conference was opened by Kakamyrat Rejebov, Editor-in-Chief of the newspaper Türkmenistan. Among the distinguished speakers were Chynar Rustemova, Executive Secretary of the National Commission of Turkmenistan for UNESCO; Antonio Jariola, head of the Italian cultural and show company Proeventi; Neda Berger, head of the Austrian-Turkmen Association; Alexandre Gro, national technical expert of the French Equestrian Federation; Jean-Philippe Camboulives, Director of the FEI Solidarity Department; Patricia Johnson, President of the Akhal-Teke Horse Foundation of the United States; Julio Bendezu-Sarmiento, senior researcher at the French National Centre for Scientific Research (CNRS) and the National Museum of Natural History; and Saragt Babayev, senior lecturer at the State Academy of Arts of Turkmenistan and a distinguished representative of Turkmen culture.
Participants discussed the unique genetic characteristics of the Akhal-Teke horse, its historical role in the civilizations of Central Asia, and the importance of safeguarding a breed often described as a living symbol of Turkmen heritage. The conference highlighted growing international cooperation in breeding, research and cultural promotion of the breed.
The following day, attention turned to the World Championship itself, which was attended by National Leader of the Turkmen People Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov. The championship showcased some of the finest Akhal-Teke horses from around the world, reflecting decades of international efforts to preserve and promote the breed.
Often referred to as the "golden horse" because of its distinctive metallic sheen, the Akhal-Teke is widely regarded as one of the oldest purebred horse breeds in existence. Originating in the Akhal Oasis at the foot of the Kopet Dag Mountains, the breed has been preserved for centuries by the Turkmen people and remains one of Turkmenistan's most cherished national symbols.
The championship formed part of a broader programme dedicated to the international promotion of Turkmen equestrian traditions and cultural heritage. Throughout the event, participants attended exhibitions, cultural presentations and meetings devoted to the history and development of the breed.
The celebrations concluded with a spectacular gala dinner and fireworks display featuring horse-themed visual motifs and the Turkmen national flag. The finale carried particular symbolism as Turkmenistan prepares to mark the 35th anniversary of its independence, underlining the close connection between national identity and the legendary Akhal-Teke horse.
The successful organization of both the international scientific conference and the world championship demonstrated the growing global interest in the Akhal-Teke horse and reinforced its status as a unique cultural treasure whose legacy continues to captivate horse enthusiasts around the world.
Test captain Babar Azam fell five places to 15th in the Test batting rankings.
The post Pakistan’s Test ranking woes continue after Lord’s defeat appeared first on BOL News.
The move makes Fernandez the first player to be sold for more than £100 million twice in his career.
The post Manchester city sparks transfer frenzy with midfielder Fernandez’s £125 million move appeared first on BOL News.
ISLAMABAD: Pakistan is set to sign long-delayed agreements with five oil refineries, unlocking more than $6 billion in planned upgrades to modernize aging plants and cut reliance on fuel imports, officials said. But industry warnings that changes to the financial framework could derail the projects overshadowed the announcement. The agreements with Pak-Arab Refinery Ltd., Pakistan ... Read more
The post Pakistan to sign long-delayed refinery deals unlocking more than $6 billion in planned upgrades appeared first on BOL News.
Germany has now formally accused Russia of directing an attempted explosive-drone attack against Ukrainian cargo aircraft at Leipzig/Halle Airport, a story we previously reported on. At the same time, authorities are separately investigating a sophisticated sabotage attack against a critical power-grid node in Brandenburg, underscoring Germany’s growing concern over hybrid threats to its critical infrastructure.
The two incidents, occurring against the backdrop of growing German and European warnings about Russian hybrid warfare, underscore the expanding range of vulnerabilities facing critical infrastructure across the country.
We now know that Russia is responsible for the attempted explosive attack at Leipzig airport. Russia's repeated hybrid attacks on Germany and Europe are unacceptable. (1/4) pic.twitter.com/o3vBjgpeb1
— German Embassy Washington (@GermanyinUSA) September 1, 2026
German Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt and Foreign Minister Johann Wadephul said Tuesday that the Russian state had apparently provided the equipment and technical know-how for the Leipzig operation, with locally recruited “low-level agents” allegedly tasked with carrying it out.
The drone, discovered inside the secured area of Leipzig/Halle Airport during the night of August 4-5, was carrying approximately 1.3 pounds of explosives and was found close to a Ukrainian-operated Antonov An-124 heavy cargo aircraft used to transport weapons to Ukraine.
New footage of yet another act of Russian terrorism on EU soil, showing the drone loaded with explosives on the tarmac at Leipzig/Halle Airport, just meters from a Ukrainian Antonov An-124 cargo aircraft.
— SPRAVDI — Stratcom Centre (@StratcomCentre) August 5, 2026
According to German authorities, the drone was carrying an improvised… https://t.co/eCZaLfz9yx pic.twitter.com/DbRz87wgIv
The detonator on the device apparently failed, preventing what German officials said could have been a catastrophe.
The incident appears to have combined several characteristics of the emerging European hybrid threat: a relatively inexpensive drone, military-grade explosives, a strategically significant target, and the alleged use of local operatives to provide distance between the attack and its suspected state sponsor.
As we discussed at the time, the choice of target at Leipzig/Halle is particularly significant. The airport is an important cargo hub, and Ukrainian Antonov aircraft operating there have been used to move weapons to Ukraine. At the very least, an explosive device detonating near one of those aircraft could have disrupted a logistics link supporting Kyiv while simultaneously creating a major aviation safety incident.
A successful attack on one of Antonov’s cargo aircraft could have caused casualties, damaged or even destroyed the aircraft, and disrupted airport operations. The presence of explosive material inside a secured airport area also demonstrates the potential for covert actors to penetrate or exploit security around critical aviation infrastructure. But above all else, the loss of an Antonov Airlines An-124 would have been highly symbolic as the huge aircraft are a global symbol of Ukraine and its resilience.
Investigators later found traces of hexogen, or RDX, a military explosive near the airport on August 14, together with another drone.
Authorities initially believed the second drone could have been part of the planned attack, although investigators have since expressed doubts about that assessment. Nevertheless, German officials now say there is sufficient evidence to attribute the attempted operation to Russia, an accusation that Moscow rejects.
The Leipzig incident was not the only major security concern confronting Germany on Tuesday.
In the eastern state of Brandenburg, authorities said the power grid was deliberately targeted with specially prepared incendiary devices and rockets carrying conductive material. The attack targeted the Turnow-Preilack substation, a critical high-voltage node connecting the Jänschwalde power plant to the 50Hertz transmission network.
According to Brandenburg Interior Minister Jan Redmann, rockets carrying conductive material were fired into extra-high-voltage transmission lines, producing two short circuits. Authorities recovered more than a dozen devices at the site, with the number still increasing as the search continued. Redmann said the design and deployment of the devices required substantial preparation.
The attack caused a brief power interruption, but 50Hertz said all affected lines had returned to operation and that the general electricity supply was never disrupted.
At the Jänschwalde power plant, the incident triggered an automatic shutdown of one generating unit. The unit was expected to return to service Tuesday evening.
A substation and Germany’s Jänschwalde coal-fired power plant were attacked today, knocking a generating unit offline.
— OSINTtechnical (@Osinttechnical) September 1, 2026
Local authorities report that the attackers launched rockets carrying payloads of "conductive material," causing short circuits. pic.twitter.com/dxPNmi2i9W
While the physical damage was limited, the nature of the attack is likely to attract significant attention from German security officials. Unlike Leipzig, German authorities are not currently attributing the Brandenburg sabotage to Russia. Redmann said authorities could not rule out the involvement of a foreign power, while also declining to exclude domestic extremist or activist groups. Left-wing activists have previously attacked German electricity infrastructure.
But the incident demonstrates the same underlying vulnerability Berlin is increasingly concerned about. In an age of hybrid warfare, relatively small-scale acts of sabotage exploiting weaknesses in infrastructure can have outsized consequences. Redmann described Germany’s critical infrastructure as excessively vulnerable.
“When it comes to our critical infrastructure, we in Germany are far too vulnerable,” he said, adding that the vulnerability extended to airports.
Taken together, the incidents illustrate the breadth of the threat German officials are attempting to address.
Germany’s assessment of the Leipzig operation also points to an increasingly familiar model of suspected Russian covert activity. German officials say Russian state actors supplied the expertise and equipment but relied on local agents to conduct the physical operation. That type of operation could provide Moscow with additional deniability while allowing sabotage to be conducted by individuals already inside the target country. It also complicates the security challenge for European governments.
German intelligence sources cited by German media have reportedly identified possible links between drone, explosive, and weapons incidents in Germany and other European countries, including Bulgaria, Italy, Poland, Romania, and the United Kingdom. Investigators are understood to be examining the incidents in parallel.
If those links are confirmed, the Leipzig operation could represent one element of a broader campaign involving recruited personnel, explosives, and uncrewed systems operating across multiple European countries. Europe has spent much of the past several years strengthening conventional military deterrence while simultaneously confronting an expanding gray zone of cyberattacks, espionage, sabotage, and influence operations. Critical infrastructure is an especially attractive target in that environment. Power grids, airports, railways, telecommunications networks, ports, undersea cables, and industrial facilities are typically dispersed, difficult to protect comprehensively, and often interconnected.
An attacker does not necessarily need to destroy infrastructure to achieve an effect. A temporary shutdown, disruption to logistics or forced security response can itself create economic and operational costs, and help generate a climate of fear and mistrust. This has already been seen in the mass drone incursions over sensitive locations across NATO countries, and especially in Germany.
There has been a growing acknowledgement of a new kind of threat, in which state-backed or state-directed actors could potentially use inexpensive systems, local recruits, and covert methods to create disruption without crossing the threshold of an overt military attack, for years now. Germany is now preparing measures aimed at increasing the costs of executing these kinds of operations for Moscow. The Russian consulate in Bonn is scheduled to close later this month. Berlin also intends to remove Russian House, a cultural and scientific organization in the German capital that German authorities have associated with alleged Russian intelligence activity.
Berlin is also preparing additional measures against Russia’s so-called shadow fleet, vessels used to transport Russian oil and other commodities while circumventing Western restrictions.
Germany also plans additional sanctions and tighter border controls for Russian nationals entering the country.
At the European level, Berlin is supporting the European Commission’s proposed 22nd sanctions package against Russia, reportedly covering approximately 1,600 additional companies and organizations linked to Russia. Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova said Russia would respond to what she called Berlin’s “anti-Russian action.”
NATO and EU officials have backed Germany following the Leipzig attribution. NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte said Berlin had presented clear evidence supporting its assessment of Russian involvement. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen likewise pledged European solidarity.
I just spoke with @Bundeskanzler Friedrich Merz. NATO stands in full solidarity with Germany after the Russian hybrid attack in Leipzig on 4 August.
— Mark Rutte (@SecGenNATO) September 1, 2026
The evidence is clear. And I welcome the measures announced by Germany in response. NATO will continue to strengthen our ability…
This morning I spoke with Chancellor Merz to discuss the hybrid attack at Leipzig airport.
— Ursula von der Leyen (@vonderleyen) September 1, 2026
I assured him that the EU stands in full solidarity with Germany in the face of this attack by Russia.
We will keep the EU united despite these escalating and serious acts. The German…
The incidents at Leipzig/Halle Airport and in Brandenburg underscore Germany’s growing concern over hybrid threats to its critical infrastructure. Both demonstrate how an adversary could potentially impose costs on a NATO country while operating below the threshold of open warfare.
At the same time, these actions come as concerns grow that Russia could openly and directly challenge NATO’s resolve militarily.
Regardless, for Germany and its European allies, the biggest question that needs to be answered may now be how many apparently isolated incidents could actually be pieces of a larger campaign?
Contact the author: thomas@thewarzone.com
The post Germany Formally Accuses Russia Of Attempted Drone Strike On Ukrainian An-124 Cargo Jet appeared first on TWZ.
Record was set in Dera Ismail Khan on March 19, 2026, according to certificate.
The post Pakistani martial artist Irfan Mehsud sets another Guinness World Record appeared first on BOL News.
The 39-year-old helped Argentina win the 2022 World Cup in Qatar.
The post Lionel Messi legacy will ‘live forever’, says Beckham appeared first on BOL News.
Brian Laidlaw | Longreads | September 1, 2026 | 6,411 words (27 minutes)
From Erratica: On Climbing, Language, and Touching Stone by Brian Laidlaw, published on September 8, 2026. Excerpted by permission of Milkweed Editions.
When I was little I had a ritual with my parents where, as they tucked me into bed, they’d tell me a few reasons why they loved me (yes, I know how lucky I am to have been raised in an environment like this). As part of their list, I always asked them to say I was careful, and dutifully they’d repeat, “Yes, of course, we love you because you’re so careful.” I needed my parents’ words to ward against a recurring-day-mare-type vision I had in those years, in which I climbed onto our roof and then, while recklessly peering over the edge, toppled off the eave and cracked open my skull. I would never have put myself in that situation in waking life; I was so cautious that even an imagined scenario in which I endangered myself was enough to terrify me. But being reassured of my carefulness night after night made me feel safer.
My prudent youth did involve a handful of responsibly chaperoned birthday parties at Northern California climbing gyms, and a handful of climbing excursions in the Sierras with my grandfather, but ironically the flatland of Minnesota is where I got serious about the sport. During those unrelentingly brutal winters I seized upon climbing for exercise and entertainment—in the gym, since it was colder than the dark side of Mars outside—as a way to stave off cabin fever in the long months of permafrost. On a recent visit back to the Twin Cities at the close of one such winter, right after a session at the gym where I first cut my teeth, I posted up on the patio of an organic café to bask in the abrupt warmth of springtime. A guy sitting at the table next to me asked if I was a climber—our veiny forearms signal us to one another like Harley-Davidson jackets do for bikers—and I said yes. We started chatting.
This guy had just moved to town to save his own life. He was a paraglider, parachutist, kite-surfer, and wingsuiter, and he said that in the last year a dozen members of his inner circle “went in,” including his best friend and his brother, all in accidents related to their gravity-skirting pursuits. At first I couldn’t figure out what he meant by “went in,” but as I listened to him enumerate their various methods of “going in,” I eventually realized he was telling me they had all died. I could hardly comprehend the reality he described: being at the heart of a community where loved ones blink out in droves, like candles in a gale. He knew if he stayed in the game as a professional extreme athlete, pressured by peers and sponsors alike to remain at the cutting edge, he himself wouldn’t be around much longer. So, sight-unseen, he moved to the flattest and boringest place he’d ever heard of: Minnesota. He came specifically because there weren’t any cliffs for him to throw himself off. Only a few months into his new life as a Minnesotan, he was still in the jittery, cold turkey phase of his thrill detox.
“You done much free soloing?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said. A truer answer would have been HELL NO I’M A WIMP, MY PARENTS LOVE ME BECAUSE I’M CAREFUL.
“Amazing feeling,” he said. “Being certain if you fuck up you’ll die, and being equally certain you won’t fuck up.”
We listened to the birds, sipped our coffees. I picked at the remains of my huevos rancheros. The juncos twittering around us sounded gladder than usual to be alive. I asked, “Is it really that much less fun to have a rope on? Like, clip a few draws? Place some cams along the way?”
He shook his head. “Once you been hucking yourself off the high dive, it’s no fun jumping off the edge of the pool.”
This at least rang true. Even I find it boring to jump off the edge of the pool.
“Glad you got out when you did,” I said.
He nodded grimly, seeming less glad than I was. Then I asked what he was getting up to instead. Of course, it was the most extreme thing you can do on flat ground.
“Ultramarathons,” he said.
He didn’t seem interested in probing his own psychology or rationales. He unapologetically liked the feeling of being adrenalized, and he wanted to feel that feeling as much as possible without killing himself. Why turn it into some elaborate trolley problem? For those living on the outer edges of risk, I suspect confidence is the key to survival: the confidence in one’s ability to assess a risk and then the confidence to execute the necessary action once a risk is deemed acceptable. Extreme athletes don’t seem to think too hard, at least on an abstract philosophical level, about the dangers they face. Their engagement is logistical, methodical. Far more productive to test the snowpack, visualize the beta, read the weather report, double-check the way the parachute is folded, determine what direction the wind blows down the talus field.
Rather than focusing on what we stand to lose, what riches does risk put us in position to gain?
But risk has been on my mind of late, because, much to my own surprise, my relationship to it has been changing. Recently I was on a very tall boulder called the Kraken, and it felt like I spent a hundred years with the sand in its penultimate pocket rolling grittily under my fingertips while I searched the rounded top of the block for a hold I could trust. A part of me is there still, suspended in that epoch of hold hunting, gearing up for the final move. This is one of risk’s most obvious gifts, the chance to experience that rare, thin-slicing acuity where each separate millisecond stands out like an image etched in stone. The present dilates to activate the past and future, too, as though we’re living our whole life all at once. With a cognitive rapacity available only during a fight-or-flight response, we cast our gaze forward, asking what grim future will bloom if we fall. And simultaneously cast it back, asking what errors in our past have brought us to this crossroads. Have I survived a situation like this before? Will I get lucky and survive again?
In a film, that’s where the music would come up, dissonant strings, ringing ears, the drums increasing tempo. It’s odd that the times of our deepest dumbstruck not-knowingness should be called “moments of truth.” I found a shallow, sandy divot for my right hand, threw my left heel high over the lip, and rolled onto the top of the boulder. A friend took photos, but it makes me uncomfortable to look at them.
From the back seat of a lifted pickup, deep house oozing out of a handmade portable stereo that Owen built into an antique suitcase, I look over the truck bed at the contrail of dust we send into the Eastern Sierra evening. Our pilot expertly navigates a kaleidoscope of dirt roads to deliver us at the Crab Cooker. Tumbling out of the truck we grab towels, water bottles, and puffy jackets, and walk a raised wooden path to the area’s hottest hot spring. An eggy, algal cloud envelops us before the spring itself comes into view. Then we see the rock-rimmed pool, a steam plume ascending from a dark crater. The water here, when it first comes to the surface, hovers around 150 degrees Fahrenheit—hot enough to cook crabs, no exaggeration in the name—so people cut it with cold water from a surface stream until it comes down to around 110. The pool is still hotter than any man-made tub I’ve ever sunk myself into, and its scalding sting feels spectacular on the aches we’ve accrued from several consecutive climbing days at the Buttermilks and in Owens River Gorge. We keep our hands lifted above the surface of the water so our hard-earned calluses don’t melt off.
Parallel to us climbers, there runs an entire subculture of hot springs enthusiasts who travel the country to find the loveliest, toastiest, unlikeliest geothermal pools that tectonics has to offer. Connecting with this odd population of wanderers is one of the surprise pleasures of our annual Bishop trip. The Crab Cooker must rank high on their list. Wild sage and scrubby junipers riddle the sand, boulders punctuate the foothills and draws, and the impressive ridgelines of the Sierra Eastside tower over it all, seemingly close enough to splash with the flick of a finger. At sunset the land gets saturated with glory and import and impeccable desert light, and we in our good fortune get to gaze at this panorama while the guts of the planet warm us to temperatures well in excess of our own hearts’ heat.
When, to our surprise, two bodies coalesce out of the steam, we apologize for our loudness and promptly shut down the stereo. The strangers don’t mind, they say, they’ve been enjoying the ruckus. The new arrivals are a pair of Germans, a father and his grown son, who have been touring America together. Before long our separate conversations become enmeshed in the small pool. We learn that the younger soaker, the son, used to be an accomplished extreme athlete. He somberly explains that he found himself a lonelier and lonelier survivor as his BASE-jumping and wingsuiting friends went in. Hearing the phrase now for the second time, I’m struck by the gentleness of the euphemism, far softer than the verb to crater, as in “their parachute didn’t deploy and they cratered,” which I’d heard in gruffer conversations with BASE jumpers. I picture these lost friends “going in” to a collective reserve of matter and spirit, the heavenly welter where all unmade is remade. Although, with the image of a crater in mind, I suppose “going in” could refer not to the eternally cyclical return to one’s mysterious origin but rather to a body “going in” to the ground at terminal velocity. Needless to say, I don’t ask the German.
He explains to a rapt audience that last year, upon successfully landing a jump, his still-open parachute caught a fierce gust of wind that slammed him into a cliff and dragged him across a talus field. Multiple impacts against the rocks shattered innumerable bones, including several in his back. By coincidence, the guy’s best friend was flying the emergency helicopter that came to collect his ragdoll body. To those on board it looked like a hopeless case, a certain fatality, but in the end the guy survived. Hearing the story, I look to my own best friend soaking by my side. We make eye contact and discreetly drop our jaws a fraction of a centimeter, a silent exchange of Jesus fucking Christ.
“Jesus Christ,” I say aloud to the German.
“It’s no problem,” the guy says, gesturing grandly at the mountain-rimmed basin that surrounds us. “Happy I am living.”
He’s still in the middle of a years-long rehabilitation process, he explains. He points to a neck brace he’d removed before his soak, whose plastic struts I now see glowing in the moonlight, a safe distance back from the water where it won’t get splashed. “It’s no problem to wear that sometimes.”
“Just like when he was a baby,” the dad says cheerfully. “I help him eat, then I help him shit!”
We typically view risk in relation to death—inviting its possibility, skirting its tentacles—but I’ve lately been exploring a philosophy that views risk, instead, in relation to life. Rather than focusing on what we stand to lose, what riches does risk put us in position to gain? This question came by way of a book called Éloge du risque by French philosopher Anne Dufourmantelle. It hadn’t yet been translated into English, but with undergrad French memories and a Larousse dictionary in hand, I bought a copy and dove in. I worked on my translations of Éloge du risque while riding the Flatiron Flyer bus between Boulder and Denver. During this commute the Flatirons themselves rise to the west like a fleet of ships tacking in formation, their huge reddish triangular faces making a tidy row of sails afloat on a choppy sea of pine.
A route called Freeway ascends the Second Flatiron (they’re numbered sequentially from north to south), and locals tell me it’s a fun, dead-easy romp for the entire thousand feet of the eastern face. Nobody bothers to use the melodramatic phrase free solo; they just call it a scramble. The route has seen barefoot ascents, no-hands ascents, and, the clearest indicator of its difficulty, an ascent by a climber wearing roller skates. For some reason I never wonder whether I’m going to climb it, I just know, innately, that I’m going to. It’s an indicator that my relationship to risk is changing. Even still, as I prepare to solo—sorry, scramble—the Second, I approach it with a solemnity bordering on gloom. I warm up at home, stretch, fuel and hydrate, tidy the basement so that if I die I won’t leave an unsightly mess for my landlady to deal with. Ridiculous. The short drive across town feels haunted, with the Flatirons leering in the windshield as I pilot my way westward. I park and take a deep breath before exiting the vehicle. Walk up the trail, a well-beaten one that sees countless tourists and toddlers safely along the base of the range, taking every rock-hopping step with exaggerated care, testing the infallibility of my balance. And then I sit at the base of the Second for ages, meditative and serious, while a string of a half-dozen stoned teenagers fire the route, unroped, not even pausing their giggling conversation as they step off the trail and onto the rock.
Supposedly there’s a crux around fifty feet off the ground, but for me it turned out the crux was just deciding to do it. When I finally put on my climbing shoes, tuck my sneakers into my backpack, and lay my hands on the crystalline stone, hard moves are absolutely nowhere to be found. The climbing feels easier than walking, in fact, since I get to use my hands in addition to my feet. From a hundred feet up, and again at three hundred and again at five hundred, I glance down at the sandstone ramp the foot of the mountain makes, observe how the trail gets thinner and the trees get smaller as I rise, and experience a wave of giddiness. I sip that sensation like champagne, peering, bubbling, then I turn my face to the wall and continue the scramble. At the summit I sit a long time and look east at a flat expanse of town and plain that appears to extend all the way to the Atlantic. I’ve wagered my life, and have been repaid tenfold.
A week later, I take an incremental step up in difficulty and try the Third Flatiron. Locals, I notice, do tend to refer to this one as a solo, not a scramble. I’m exiting the kiddie pool. Again I follow the trail through Chautauqua Park with a measure of unease in my gut, hiking through grassy open fields up into the pine sea, and then across a stretch of loose talus to the base of the route. A thousand angling, rippling feet of sandstone thrust westward, the summit hidden from view. I bring my chalk bag this time and coat my palms with a layer of white dust to keep them from slickening with sweat. Unlike the Second, the Third is a legitimate, if moderate, climb. I make careful progress, never moving more than one limb at a time, testing each handhold for soundness, testing each surface for slipperiness, before entrusting my weight to it. Focus, rather than rhapsody, rules the experience. The crux comes at the top. Until that point I’d been hanging on bucket-like holds, generous craters, but the rock comprising the last twenty feet below the peak has been worn smooth by the elements. Though the terrain is low angle, it’s holdless as an asphalt road. This section, I knew from my research beforehand, would require a few moves of open-hand slab climbing. In the absence of tangible features on the cliff, you just paste your hands and feet onto the surface and rely on friction to hold you in place.
Slab is an unnerving, faith-based style of climbing, and those few moves—a thousand feet off the ground, knowing a fall would be fatal—demand a degree of meticulousness I’ve never before needed to summon. To summon it that afternoon is like flexing a new muscle for the very first time. I feel each grain of the gritty matrix as it deforms the skin of my fingertips, fitting the ridges of my fingerprint to match the ridges of the Flatiron’s surface. I attune to the gumminess of my shoe, the pressure of the ball of my foot compressing its rubber sole, filling completely the negative space of the rock’s surface. Death isn’t on my mind. It’s a million miles away. I know I will be perfect, and this perfection will make me invincible. If I fall, my last thought will be I never saw this coming. But I wager; I scurry. I summit. From the top I stare down at the backs of raptors, at the pine and the prairie, and again my spirit prospers.
The next morning from the bus I cast a lingering glance over the Flatirons. I look at the granulated ripples of the cliffs and superimpose my antlike image onto them, watching memories of myself crawl up the faces as if in footage captured by a drone. I’m still up there, forever taking those calm breaths, forever palming those grainy domes. Fellow commuters catch me wearing a moony smile. Now, pen gripped in my teeth, Éloge du risque open in my lap, my gaze drifts a click northward. My newfound muscle twitches. In the notebook for my scraps and outlines I write FOR RISK ESSAY: SOLO THE FIRST? After spending the day on campus I get back on the bus for my evening commute, and that scribbled notion digs into me uncomfortably. The wobble on the highway made my script look manic. It is manic. The idea stands squarely outside of what I consider to be an acceptable level of climbing risk. From the bus window the First dominates the ridgeline as the Flatirons fall into shadow. Morning and evening light seem to fashion two different ranges out of the same rock space. When I try on the idea of soloing the First, it feels like a too-small sweater pulled over my head, grabbing my skull. I know I should rip it off and discard it. But I could also push my way inside. I recall a strong, confident climber-friend whose trip report after soloing the First was simply, “I’m never going to do that again.” I wondered what had happened to turn his face so ashen, but he didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t pry.
These accident reports save lives more directly, more demonstrably, than poetry or scripture.
Climbing culture has a storytelling idiom I call “Close Calls.” They’re an inversion of just-so stories; instead of tales of creation like “How the Zebra Got Its Stripes” or “How the Giraffe’s Neck Got So Long,” Close Calls focus on tales of destruction like “How Rebecca Lost Her Leg” or “How Johnny Lost His Partner.” Years ago at the base of the Incredible Hulk, a gorgeous granite outcrop in the Sierras, Owen and I were preparing to climb the classic Red Dihedral. We’d undertaken the steep approach hike in the evening, stove heated some expired and deeply disappointing beef stew, and established our bivvy beside a picturesque rivulet riffling through a boulder field. Two young women camped at another minimeadow a few hundred feet downstream, and when the stars came up, they invited us down for a sip of whiskey. We splashed a bit of warmish bourbon into our unwashed bowls, resulting in a cocktail like a hot Sazerac with a beef-grease rinse instead of an absinthe one. During that night’s edition of Close Calls, we hear of a time an inexperienced leader led a pitch and built an anchor, and one of the women (now sipping her whiskey between plot points) followed him up, arriving at a worthless nest of protection that, had she fallen, would have sputtered from the wall and killed them both. Next my buddy describes watching a climber follow an outdoor route on top-rope, unclipping each draw along the way, and then, at the top, unclipping the two draws that held the rope, and then, the height of outrageousness, untying his rope and dropping it to the ground, meaning he was now clinging to holds a hundred feet off the deck with nothing else to hold him in place. By some miracle a professional climber was on a route next door and, seeing the disaster unfold, climbed to the stranded kid in minutes with a spare rope to reattach him to the world.
As with any public storytelling genre, there’s a ritual to it. One teller shares the scariest climbing story they’ve heard or experienced, a story of someone’s closest call. The fireside audience takes in the punchline—a survival unscathed, a rescue, an injury, a fatality—in solemn contemplation. After a respectful interval and perhaps another sip of whiskey, the next teller narrates an even closer call. For listeners familiar enough with safety systems to fully appreciate the danger, miscommunication, unpreparedness or negligence in these stories, the tales provide riveting entertainment, in their own grim way. But they serve a deeper purpose, too, in that they circulate these scenarios as a risk-prevention measure. The same could be said of the more formal narratives published by the American Alpine Club. Their style is unadorned, a blow-by-blow sequence of errors that led up to an injury or death on the wall, but safety-oriented climbers read these annual accident reports with biblical devotion. Instead of re-living old traumas, these prudent folks pre-live them, learning to deal with such catastrophes should they arise or, better yet, learning to avoid such catastrophes altogether. These accident reports save lives more directly, more demonstrably, than poetry or scripture.
We could easily swap Close Calls all night, but both teams are planning to start our ascents of the Hulk at dawn, so we force ourselves to break up the party before it gets too late. I brush my teeth, taking a gamble on unfiltered river water, and tuck myself into bed. In the sleeping bag, staring up at the densest panorama of stars I’ve seen in months, I wonder what moment, in my life so far, was the moment I was nearest to death. My own closest call, in a statistical sense, when my odds of survival were lowest. At first I think it would land among the instances when I was most afraid. There was a hike to a ghost town called Lundy when I was dead certain I was being stalked by a mountain lion. Or a time at an outdoor concert in Denver when gunshots broke out and the whole crowd stampeded in panic away from the brutal sound. Then I wonder if my closest call fell among the times I sustained an injury: a spinout on the highway from a blown tire, a fainting spell in the Rockies brought on by dehydration and exhaustion, a split forehead from an ice cave collapse that let me see my own skull through the hole in my skin. But in all likelihood, I bet the moment passed by me altogether unnoticed. One of my countless midnights on a two-lane country road, maybe, when the approaching headlights belonged to a drunk driver, or a trucker on the cusp of sleep, or a heartsick teenager composing a text to an ex. So long as they keep their car on the proper side of the yellow line, I never know the peril I’m in.
This evening in Boulder the sky is not its usual bluebird. From the egress window of my cheap-ass basement rental I see bulbous clouds gathering overhead. A handful of months have passed and by now the Second Flatiron scramble has become my go-to after-work workout. I lap it a couple times a week, not bothering with climbing shoes anymore, just using the same busted sneakers I wear for the approach hike. But when it rains, the rock slickens, the lichen sucks up moisture and magically transforms from a crust to a lubricant. Given the inclement weather, it’s shaping up to be a work night. So instead of soloing—sorry, scrambling—at sunset, I’m at my desk with a mug of mint tea, bringing Dufourmantelle into English word by word. Risk, she writes and I translate, “inaugurates an other time, as though traumatic. But a positive trauma.”
“An other time” makes me think, to my discredit, of the movie Donnie Darko. The premise of that film, as I interpret it, is that one night in a freak accident an airplane engine fell through the roof of the protagonist Donnie’s house, and should have crushed him, except that he was somnambulantly chasing a giant nightmare rabbit onto a golf course at the time, and thereby avoided his fate. This sets in motion an alternate universe—the one where Donnie lives—that runs alongside the one in which he rightfully dies. I think this is what Dufourmantelle means: When we take a risk, knowing we’ll either experience a near-miss like the Donnie who lives or a direct hit like the Donnie who dies, we create a narrative fork in the road. I’ve long wondered what wingsuiters, free soloists, and skydivers gain through their constant navigation of risk, and tonight I start to sense it. When carefully and responsibly considered, these dangerous activities let adventurers inhabit innumerable parallel universes. We get to live infinite lives and die infinite deaths as, in preparation, we imagine the outcomes and contingencies of each climb, each jump, each flight. The potential plotlines proliferate and the density of our life experience increases. Time dilates to accommodate not only the life we’ve lived and the life we will lead, but also all the lives we might have lived, and might yet lead.
I turn my attention to trauma positif. It’s an uncomfortable phrase. The language carries a reminder that many people experience risk and precarity only under duress. As far as I’m concerned, the privilege inherent in elective risk is alpinism’s original sin, and a key reason that, despite the vast increase in diversity and gender parity in climbing in the last decade, the sport has been slow to shake its aura of patriarchy and whiteness. But Dufourmantelle’s claims sound right to me. Just as negative trauma has the power to reshape the stories that people tell themselves about themselves and about the worlds they inhabit, so too can a trauma positif rewrite a person’s history, even as it rewrites their future. As a result of the risks I’ve taken, and the trauma positif of surviving them, I’m phasing out the story that I’m a meek person. Now, with demonstrable evidence, I must tell myself I’m capable of being brave. Maybe every time you risk your life, you lose it: You lose the life you had before taking the risk, and supplant that life with a new one. A solo of the First Flatiron feels this way for me. Ever since moving to town I’ve told myself I couldn’t solo it. So if I solo it, the version of me too frightened to try it will die.
Days later I see the headline in the local paper: “17-Year-Old Falls to His Death While Climbing Boulder’s First Flatiron.” There’s a photograph of the formation I’ve spent my daily commute mulling over, and the article below:
Equipped with camping and outdoor survival gear—but no climbing-specific equipment—a 17-year-old died after climbing alone and falling up to 100 feet or more from Boulder’s First Flatiron on Sunday evening.
Climber rescues, and non-fatal falls, are common every summer across the iconic rock formations above Chautauqua Park. But this appears to be the first accidental climbing death on the Flatirons in nine years.
The teenager—whose identity has not yet been released, and who officials initially said was 18—was found by a hiker near the base of the First Flatiron, above the Blue Bell Shelter in Chautauqua Park, according to Boulder County sheriff’s officials.
Sheriff’s Cmdr. Mike Wagner said the teen was free-soloing—climbing alone, without the use of ropes or gear—on the First Flatiron when he fell possibly more than 100 feet and suffered “massive traumatic injuries.”
Sources report that the climber took a selfie and posted it to Instagram shortly before the fall. There follow, in the next few days, admonishments from the climbing community, the oft-repeated self-assurances that this kid was unprepared but we know better, and more than a few references to a phenomenon known as “Kodak Courage,” where the possibility of taking an impressive photograph pushes a climber past their typical margin of safety. The next time I walk up to the foot of the First Flatiron, a sober memorial sits at the base of a pine tree. Cards, flowers, offerings. A printout of the photo the climber snapped and posted minutes before his death.
Toward the tail end of the same season the paper runs another headline: “Climber Dies After Falling from Boulder’s First Flatiron.” This time there’s a different stock photo of the mountain, now caked with snow. The article reads:
A man climbing on the First Flatiron on Thursday afternoon fell to his death, the second person to die following an accidental plummet off of the iconic Boulder landmark since August but only the second in nearly a decade.
Boulder County Sheriff’s Office Cmdr. Kevin Parker said that the man—who has not been publicly identified—did not appear to be using any kind of climbing gear, but rescuers were searching the area for any signs of a backpack or gear on Thursday afternoon.
By the time a Denver Post article comes out about the incident later that night, investigators have located and interviewed an eyewitness, so the article is able to provide a bit of additional detail: “The witness believed the climber fell about 1,000 feet from the top of the First Flatiron.”
With that, this essay gets shelved for a spell. It’s not just because the weather has shifted, although the snow on the Front Range makes the Flatirons unclimbable through the winter, intermittent warm days sending rivers of melt down the faces, cold storms stacking new layers of powder over the slush. But more acutely, I realize I’ve been lulled into thinking a solo of the First Flatiron would be a casual endeavor, one that wouldn’t really bring me into proximity of any grave risk. The two deaths, in rapid succession, on the route I’ve planned to climb in the same style abruptly extinguish this confidence, leave me not only shaken but also self-admonishing for having been so cocksure in the first place. I take winter walks through Chautauqua. The snow crunches under my feet, sifts from trailside pine boughs. The Flatirons stand above, their features outlined in icy white. Below, the town of Boulder enjoys its bubble of dreamy calm, a hush of distant traffic in the air, interrupted by an occasional siren belting down Baseline or Table Mesa. During these walking meditations my notebook starts to feel suspiciously similar to the luckless young climber’s selfie camera. Moleskine Courage.
What do we stand to win when our ante is ourselves? The chance to make our finite time feel infinite? The chance to make our finite self feel infinite?
The crux of the First comes in its first hundred feet, where the climbing is particularly thin, slabby and insecure. I stand in the snow at the base—where a second memorial is now tucked in the pines—and visualize the climb. My counterfactual imagination invents a worst-case scenario: I’m not far up the route, approaching the gnarled tree that marks the top of the first pitch where a roped party would typically belay. Immediately below this point there’s a delicate section of friction-dependent slab; the first time I climbed the pitch on rope, this stretch clarified for me that I’d never, ever attempt the route as a solo. There aren’t proper holds, just shallow dishes for the hands and feet. I imagine extending my left foot and placing it in one such divot. I reach farther left with my left hand, where a small diagonal rail supports my left fingertips, stacked in a row. My right hand is similarly stacked in a higher-up dish, and as I go to move my right foot toward my body’s centerline, the left foot slips off. My knees strike the rock first, my elbows a moment after. The angle is low, so I don’t go into full vertical freefall. I bounce down the face. After twenty feet a heel catches and I invert, delivering a rolling blow to my shoulder and an impact to the back of my skull. In my chest a depth charge, a low moan as I land in the talus beside the twin shrines. After my death, my writer-friends will wonder what I was working on in my last days. I’ve kept my preparations for the solo secret, but now they will look in my notebook and see I’ve been planning it for months, getting ready to sacrifice myself for no greater purpose than a literal thought exercise.
I shift my weight in the snow, shake the spectacle out of my head. I return to the trail, the car, the comforts of home.
The winter months pass, long nights, a bomb cyclone that buries my basement windows in snow and leaves me to lurk in the dark like a slumbering bear, and then spring arrives abrupt and clanging and golden. Overnight the Flatirons slough off their snowy coats. Still ambivalent about soloing the First, I go to Chautauqua with two friends, planning to rope up and climb with them as a party of three. This will give me a chance, I figure, to scope the route once more and make a final call. Reassess those dishes and divots, determine whether I can trust my life to them. We spend a long time at the base, not rushing, just racking up and rearranging our packs, sipping water and snacking, enjoying the gorgeous day. The sun dips behind the ridge and the temperature gets perfect, just on the cooler edge of pleasant. The rock won’t be greasy, there’ll be plenty of friction, but it won’t be so cold I’ll get chilly and misinterpret my shivers as fear. Plenty of daylight, light spirits, and for once in my life, I don’t overthink. I know deep in my soul that I don’t need the rope today. So I don’t tie in. I just climb alongside my friends. It’s easier than walking because I get to use my hands, and everything goes perfectly, which means in the end there’s no story at all.
I won’t solo the First again, but not because I hated it. I won’t solo it again because I loved it too much. Since then, I haven’t exactly become a soloist, but I’ve heard the bell-clear siren song from routes a number of times, Johnny Vegas in Red Rocks, the Capstan on Flagstaff Mountain, a few choice cracks in the Sierra, a handful of highballs like Airwolf and High Plains Drifter in various deserts of the West. I am measured and studious, with my books and dictionaries and writing routine and mint tea. I also, when called, enjoy something categorically deadly. Soloing puts me in touch with the multitudes I contain. On insomniac nights I relive the memories of these ropeless ascents, with every detail of every hold seared in my mind in everlasting high resolution, and the perfection of my movements lulls me to sleep. It must sound counterintuitive, but nothing in this world makes me calmer.
The phrase “to risk one’s life” conjures in my mind’s eye a kind of scale, like the one Anubis uses to weigh a heart against a feather. On one of its golden dishes sits your wager, your life; on the other there must be something of equal or greater value in order for the risk to seem worthwhile. What do we stand to win when our ante is ourselves? The chance to make our finite time feel infinite? The chance to make our finite self feel infinite? The satisfaction of saving our own life? Is that payoff enough?
I discovered Anne Dufourmantelle’s work on the university library search engine, under keywords “philosophy” and “risk.” At the time I didn’t look into her biography, just went straight to the primary text. But I’m curious to see what she’s working on now, so I check the regular internet instead of the university database. The first hit is an article from the New York Times, headlined “Philosopher Who Praised Risk Died Trying to Save Children from Drowning.” It reads:
PARIS—A French philosopher and psychoanalyst, known for her work that praised living a life that embraced risk, died last week as a result of following her own bold philosophy.
The philosopher, Anne Dufourmantelle, 53, drowned on Friday as she tried to save two children who were struggling to swim off the coast of Pampelonne beach, near St.-Tropez, France, according to a report from French public television.
Ms. Dufourmantelle was on the beach when the weather began to change and the previously safe swimming area became treacherous. She saw two children who were in danger and leapt into the sea to help, according to France 3, before being caught in the rough surf.
She was pulled unresponsive from the water by two other swimmers, and attempts to resuscitate her failed.
Both children survived.
I’m stunned by how recent the news is: Dufourmantelle died days before the first soloist fell from the First Flatiron. Another search result, an obituary, quotes an English-language lecture she’d once given: “Being completely alive is a task, it’s not at all a given thing. It’s not just about being present to the world, it’s being present to yourself, reaching an intensity that is in itself a way of being reborn.” Having only experienced her work, up until this point, through the veil of translation, there’s something uncannily intimate about reading her words in my own language for the first time. The clarity of it is painful, the poetry self-evident, breaking out of human time and into the mythic. She saw the children, the danger. She saw the swift water. She went in.
From Erratica: On Climbing, Language, and Touching Stone by Brian Laidlaw, published on September 8, 2026. Excerpted by permission of Milkweed Editions.
Brian Laidlaw is an author of the two collections of poetry, The Mirrormaker and The Stuntman. A songwriter and musician, he has released several albums, most recently This Aster. He writes for outdoor magazines including Outside, Climbing, Alpinist, and Orion. Based out of Moab, Utah, he moonlights—often by literal moonlight—as a rock climber.
LAHORE: Former Pakistan captain Misbah-ul-Haq has decided to resign from the Pakistan Cricket Board’s selection committee, sources close to the former cricketer said Tuesday. The sources said Misbah has informed the PCB of his decision and will serve a notice period before formally stepping down from the role. The development comes a day after the ... Read more
The post Misbah-ul-Haq resigns from Pakistan selection committee appeared first on BOL News.
Login