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There isn’t one EV transition. There are two.

This has not been a good week for the electric-vehicle transition. On Wednesday, General Motors scrapped a self-imposed plan of building 400,000 electric vehicles by the middle of next year. Then it jettisoned plans with Honda to build a sub-$30,000 EV. On Thursday, Mercedes Benz announced that its profits had fallen in part due to turbulence in the EV market, and Hertz ditched a plan to have EVs make up 25% of its fleet by 2024.
Nor has the past month been much better. Ford has slowed down its EV factory build-out. Elon Musk announced that Tesla was taking a wait-and-see approach to opening its next plant, in Mexico, and The Wall Street Journal has reported that EV demand is proving weaker than once expected. Higher interest rates and, perhaps, a continued lack of public chargers now seem to be impairing the EV transition.
It’s an odd time, because while the day-to-day news is bad, the overall trend remains good — surprisingly good, even. More than 1 million EVs have been sold in America this year, and the country is likely to record 50% year-over-year EV market growth for two years in a row. That is not the usual sign of an industry in trouble. The industry is faltering, yes, but only compared to the rapid scale-up that companies once aimed for — and that the Paris Agreement’s climate targets demand. And at a global level, the news is better: The economics of batteries and trends in the Chinese and European markets leave little doubt that EVs will eventually win.
So how to make sense of this moment? Automakers, it seems, are not doubting whether the EV transition will happen; they are pausing to figure out how best to proceed. Journalists often talk about the “EV transition,” but this is something of a misnomer — there are really at least two different transitions, two different bridges to the EV future.
One of those transitions must be navigated by the legacy automakers, such as Ford and GM. The other must be completed by the new electric-only upstarts, such as Tesla and Rivian. Both transitions are, today, half-complete. What is notable about this moment is that both transitions are also in flux — and the companies and executives tasked with navigating them are struggling with their next steps.
The first bridge must be built by Ford, GM, Toyota, Volkswagen, and every other legacy automaker heavily invested in the U.S. market. You can think of it as a bridge made of cross-subsidies — subsidies not from the government, but from other cars in their product line.
Right now, many automakers earn their biggest profits by selling big, gas-burning vehicles: crossovers, SUVs, and pickup trucks. They lose money, meanwhile, on each EV that they sell. So over the next few years, these companies must take the huge profits from their SUV-and-truck business and reinvest them into scaling up their EV business.
You can see how difficult this will be by looking at Ford, which conveniently reports earnings from its internal combustion business separately from its electric vehicle business. During the first half of 2023, Ford’s global gas and hybrid sales earned $4.9 billion before interest or taxes. Ford’s EV business, meanwhile, lost $1.8 billion before interest or taxes.
During this same period, Ford sold nearly half a million trucks and SUVs in the U.S. alone, and roughly 25,000 electric vehicles. By one calculation, Ford lost $60,000 for every EV that it sold during the first quarter of this year.
This is the narrow bridge that Ford and its ilk must walk: They must remain mature businesses, delivering consistent profits to shareholders, even as they overhaul their entire product line and manufacturing system. And while these legacy automakers have certain advantages — brand cachet, a network of dealerships, and an understanding of how to make car bodies — they lack the deep familiarity with software or battery chemistries that underpin the EV business. What’s more, their current business rests on uneasy foundations: Because their profits are so heavily concentrated in just a few SUVs and trucks, a sudden shift in consumer tastes, fuel prices, or regulation could undercut their whole hustle.
We’ve already seen one consequence of this concentration in the United Autoworkers strike. By focusing its strikes on just a few factories at first, and then gradually expanding them to include each company’s most profitable facilities, the UAW was able to make its strike fund go further than outside commentators initially estimated. That strategy resulted in record high pay raises for workers in the UAW’s tentative deal with Ford; strikes continue at GM and Stellantis.
But this is, of course, only the first bridge to the EV future. Other companies — including Tesla, Rivian, and the early-stage EV startups Canoo and Fisker — have to build a different path across the river. You can think of this as the bridge of scaling up, although some auto-industry analysts give it a different name: crossing the EV valley of death.
These companies have to survive long enough to build up economies of scale. You can think of it this way: At the beginning of an EV company’s lifespan, it knows very little about how to mass-produce its EVs, but it has a lot of cash to burn. As it matures, it gets better at making EVs and grows its customer base, and it makes cars more frequently and more cheaply. Eventually, it reaches a point where it can sell lots of EVs for more money than they cost to make — that is, it can be a mature, profitable business.
But in the middle, it faces a hold-your-breath moment where its high costs can overwhelm its meager production. This is the valley of death, “the challenging period between developing a product and large-scale production, when a company isn’t earning much if any revenue, but operating and capital costs are high,” as the journalist Steve Levine puts it at The Information.
Nearly every EV company faces this problem to some extent right now. Elon Musk discussed it during a recent rambling Tesla earnings call. “People do not understand what is truly hard. That’s why I say prototypes are easy. Production is hard,” he said. “Going from a prototype to volume production is like 10,000% harder… than to make the prototype in the first place.”
Now, Tesla seems to have mostly cleared the valley of death with its Model 3 and Model Y this year, allowing it to undertake a campaign of aggressive price cuts that have increased demand while retaining some profitability.
But what Musk was talking about — and what Tesla is clearly struggling with — is the Cybertruck, which will debut next month after a multi-year delay. Musk warned that the company had “dug its own grave” by trying to build the Cybertruck and that there would be “enormous challenges” in producing it profitably and at scale.
But “this is simply normal,” he added. “When you've got a product with a lot of new technology or any brand-new vehicle program, but especially one that is as different and advanced as the Cybertruck, you will have problems proportionate to how many new things you're trying to solve at scale.”
Every other EV company finds itself on the same narrow bridge. Rivian, for instance, is somewhere further behind Tesla in general but is fast making up ground. It scaled up its production of its R1T and R1S models last quarter faster than analysts thought, but was at last report still losing money on each vehicle. Rivian’s CEO, R.J. Scaringe, told me that the company is focusing on making its next line of vehicles, the R2 series, easier and simpler to manufacture to avoid this problem.
Even further behind Rivian are Fisker, which claims to have delivered 5,000 of its Ocean SUVs, and Canoo, which is struggling to stay solvent.
What’s hard about this moment, then, is that the downsides and risks of each approach have never been clearer.
If a legacy company completes its EV transition too quickly, then it risks finding itself with a fleet of electric vehicles that the public isn’t ready to buy. Companies like Ford, GM, Volkswagen, and Toyota must scale up a profitable EV product line at the same time that they sell vehicles from their legacy business.
Worldwide, no historic automaker has transitioned fully to making battery-electric vehicles, although some have come very close: BYD, the Chinese automaker that has surpassed Tesla as the world’s biggest producer of EVs, opted to quit making internal-combustion vehicles last year, but it still sells plug-in hybrids. Volvo, too, is making an attempt: It has promised to stop selling internal-combustion cars by 2030. But Volvo is owned by the Chinese automaker Geely, meaning that both of these companies can sell their cars to a much larger and more EV-interested Chinese domestic market.
Yet the second transition is tough, too. Although it may seem that EV-only companies have a lot of freedom (by lacking a network of EV-skeptical dealerships, for instance), they also have no alternative revenue to cushion themselves through a period of soft demand — they can’t ever cross-subsidize. Although it sold buses and not private vehicles, the American EV-only vehicle maker Proterra is indicative here: It went bankrupt earlier this year after getting stuck halfway through the valley of death.
America is going to have a domestic EV industry. By the mid-2030s, most automakers will be integrated EV companies, building and selling electric vehicles that include some in-house hardware, software, and battery components. Consumers will think of their new vehicles more as technology than as a simple mode of transportation, and they will power them from ubiquitous charging stations, which will be as mundane and abundant as wall outlets are today.
That future is certain. But what kinds of cars will we be driving, and what companies will count themselves among the electric elect? I couldn’t tell you. It will all depend on what happens next — on who makes it across the narrow bridge.
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As costs rise, more proceeds from the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative are going to direct bill relief.
A carbon price can be a tough sell when electricity costs are rising.
That’s what governors up and down the eastern seaboard are facing as they decide what to do with revenues from the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative, an 11-state cap-and-trade program for the electricity sector that operates from Virginia to Maine.
In Virginia and New Jersey, two states where Democratic governors won last year amidst a maelstrom of concern about rising electricity prices, the program has been at least partially reoriented around putting dollars back into the pockets of ratepayers.
Virginia only recently rejoined the group this year after having left under the leadership of Republican Glenn Youngkin in 2023. When Virginia was last a member of RGGI, the proceeds from the auctions for emissions allowances largely went to an energy efficiency program for low-income households and a flood resilience fund. Today, having rejoined RGGI, some 45% of the revenue will be earmarked for rate relief, thanks to a budget amendment passed in June.
In New Jersey, meanwhile, Governor Mikie Sherrill has used money raised through to help fulfill the rate freeze pledge on which she centered her campaign for Drumthwacket by directly reducing bills.
Conservatives in RGGI states have for years tried to make a stink about the up-front costs it imposed on ratepayers. Now as electricity costs balloon, Democratic governors and state legislatures are looking to RGGI to help balance their emissions goals and efforts to keep electricity bills under control.
In New Hampshire, for instance, the most conservative state to be a consistent RGGI member, nearly all the state’s proceeds from the program now go to rate relief, compared to about three-quarters historically. In its latest report on how RGGI funds get used, the organization reported that in 2024, the last year for which comprehensive data is available, some 23% of RGGI proceeds went to direct bill assistance, compared to 16% over the 17-year lifetime of the system.
“The affordability narrative is the leading political narrative of 2026. And the albatross around the neck of carbon pricing has been that it’s going to raise energy prices,” Dallas Burtraw, a senior fellow at Resources for the Future, told me.
Seen holistically, Burtraw told me, “carbon pricing is built for affordability.” That’s because, one, economists generally consider carbon pricing the cheapest and most efficient way to hit a given emissions reduction goal (assuming, that is, that you want to reduce emissions in the first place), and secondly because the proceeds from the carbon price can be invested and distributed in ways that mitigate price hikes.
“Carbon pricing raises tremendous proceeds, and the question comes down to the distributional impacts of carbon pricing. It always comes down to how you use those carbon proceeds,” Burtraw told me.
The current pressure for rate relief comes as RGGI prices have risen as the same time electricity prices up and down the East Coast are at or near all-time highs. The clearing price in the latest quarterly auction for carbon dioxide allowances was $35 per ton, the highest price in the history of the program, bringing in some $642 billion to be distributed among the states. By contrast, the third quarter auction in 2025 had a clearing price of $19.63 and raised some $300 million.
At the same time, electricity bills have risen across the RGGI system, including an 18.5% rise in New Jersey by 12.5% rise in New Hampshire just over the past year, according to Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub.
Because every state in the RGGI system besides Virginia operates in a restructured wholesale electricity market, it’s hard to say exactly how much RGGI prices affect ratepayer bills. In Virginia, Dominion, the dominant utility, has requested permission for a rider on bills of $10 to $13 per month, compared to monthly added costs under $3 when Youngkin began the process of withdrawing Virginia from the system in 2022.
In a New Jersey regulatory filing, meanwhile, the state’s Board of Public Utilities recommended using RGGI proceeds to fund $150 million of rate relief for moderate- and low-income households that Sherrill announced in June, citing an update to the state’s three-year strategic plan for RGGI that directly the NJBPU “to provide direct bill credits on residential energy bills for NJ’s most vulnerable residents.” There is precedent for this in the Garden State: In 2025 Governor Phil Murphy helped deliver rate relief by shifting some RGGI money around.
The trend toward using RGGI funds for rate relief has caused disquiet among environmental groups that support carbon pricing and want to see the dollars largely go to energy efficiency programs, not ratepayers.
In 2025, a coalition of Virginia environmental groups that supported rejoining RGGI called for revenue to go to the “low-income energy efficiency fund and the Community Flood Preparedness Fund.” The Flood Preparedness Fund issues grants to local governments for flood mitigation and resiliency projects, while the energy efficiency programs fund things like home weatherization.
“The case we’ve made to our environmental advocates in Virginia is that we have taken 45% towards RGGI credits, but we’ve left 55% of the revenue. That leaves each of the programs with record levels of funding,” Josephus Allmond, Virginia’s chief energy officer, told me, referring to the flood and energy efficiency programs that have historically been funded by RGGI.
“We were able to take what could have been a pretty negative impact to residential customer bills and turn it into something we can basically hold customers harmless.”
While the Natural Resources Defense Council has said it supports temporary rate relief to low-income ratepayers, it also has also mounted a defense of using RGGI revenues “to fund energy and environmental programs.”
“Several states are using larger amounts of program proceeds to provide households with bill credits or rebates that immediately lower monthly electricity bills, which means less investment in programs that provide long-term benefits,” Jo Gardias and Dawone Robinson wrote for the NRDC.
To me, Gardias framed the debate between energy efficiency programs and bill credits as between up-front and long-term benefits.
“Energy efficiency programs not only save the households that are getting the upgrade money, but every other customer through avoided transmission and distribution and generation costs,” Gardias told me. “On the far end there’s energy efficiency where you’re getting lifetime savings, on the shorter or more immediate end there’s the bill credit on energy savings.”
RGGI itself has estimated that every $1 of investments funded by the auction results in a lifetime bill savings of just over $4. In 2024 alone, RGGI claims that investments “are associated with approximately $363.9 million in annual energy bill savings and $2.6 billion in lifetime bill savings.”
“The question of how you spend proceeds is a large question of tradeoffs,” Gardias said. “What we’re seeing now is that because we have price spikes that are happening from data centers and other factors, there’s more interest in spending money on bill credits that provide immediate relief.”
Of course, this is the dilemma with all climate policy. The costs are immediate and upfront, while the benefits accrue over time and are more difficult to attribute to any one program or investment.
“There’s a lot of priorities for ways that you should use carbon proceeds to address the challenges of climate change,” Burtraw said. “But in 2026, given the affordability narrative and the populist sentiment in politics today, it makes sense to use carbon proceeds to reduce electricity prices.”
While an economist could draw up a cost benefit analysis that shows any number of uses of the proceeds could be more efficient for the economy or the environment — using the money to reduce taxes on investment, say, or using the money to fund energy efficiency programs — any of those would assume certain baseline of support for carbon pricing in the first place.
“For 25 years we’ve argued about this with the expectation that carbon pricing was inevitable because it was so much more efficient than any other type of approach. But we’ve seen after 25 years that carbon pricing is not inevitable,” Burtraw said. “We have to face the realities of what it takes to make it possible to do carbon pricing.”
Misan Lychee is made with “some” carbon dioxide captured “directly from the air,” along with 14.6 grams of added sugar.
I believe life should be a little bit silly, which is why I’m a sucker for a gimmick. A hotel just for napping? Sign me up. A “convenience store” full of items made of felt? I now own a bag of inedible Fritos. Hot sauce packaged to look like dynamite? Cute, add to cart.
And when I found out that you can buy soda carbonated with CO2 obtained via direct air capture, I said, Take my sixteen American dollars and put it on ice.
Misan Lychee (which yes, only comes in lychee flavor “at the moment”) represents the distant hopes and dreams of DAC. Currently, there isn’t demand for carbon dioxide at direct air capture prices; it’s much, much cheaper just to buy the concentrated byproduct of, say, natural gas- and coal-fired ammonia plants to carbonate your soda than to go through the trouble of sucking the 0.04% of the air that is CO2 out of the atmosphere for a few bubbles. That’s why the carbon removal industry is propped up by offtake agreements and credits, at least until Brutalism comes back in a big way and dramatically increases the demand for concrete manufactured with stored CO2.
Still, that hasn’t stopped companies from trying. You can buy carbon-sequestered beer, DAC vodka, CO2-captured perfume, and recycled-emission yoga pants. But unlike other consumer products that are, in many cases, made from waste gas captured during industrial processes rather than from true atmospheric CO2, Misan claims on the can to be made from “some” carbon dioxide pulled “directly from the air using a technology called direct air capture.” The bottle sports the logo of Bay Area-based AirMyne, a DAC start-up, which, on further investigation, turns out to own Misan.
My order arrived rattling around in a cardboard box, with three of the cans having popped loose from the six-pack in transit. As someone with no impulse control (which, upon reflection, might be related to my love of gimmicks), I immediately opened a can. Over my laptop. We both got drenched by the resulting geyser. CO2’s presence: confirmed.
What happened next was, admittedly, also user error. I took a sip and immediately went, “Yuck, what?” That’s because after a summer of drinking my way through every Waterloo flavor, I was expecting Misan Lychee to be a seltzer, too. Despite its website describing it as a “climate-forward sparkling water,” it is not, and you can taste all 14.6 grams of its added sugar. It has a moderately cloying, perfumy flavor that my dad described as “strawberry, but disturbing?” when I asked him to do a blind taste test. I think it’s perhaps closer in taste to pear, and I remain optimistic that someone who has more free time than me could come up with a recipe to turn it into a “sustainable” spritz.
Actually, to that point — is it sustainable? It notably doesn’t claim to be, and it has its skeptics. Richard Waite of the World Resources Institute pointed out on Bluesky that carbon dioxide is only “sequestered” until it leaves our metabolic system the usual way, via exhalation or burps. Still, his questions about the energy source of AirMyne’s direct air capture — and thus the carbon-emitting or -removing properties of the soda — generated lots of good puns in the replies. “Run out of polar before we run out of Polar” comes to us courtesy of Costa Samaras.
The second Misan Lychee I cracked also soaked me, although I was prepared this time and at least opened it out of range of electronics. I also paid more attention to the can, which has an unusual but not unpleasant matte feel. The list of ingredients on the back seems surprisingly long for the supposed golden age of “gut sodas” that advertise such things as the inclusion of “plant fibers.” Rather than prebiotics, Misan contains “xanthan gum” and an ominous concoction identified as “cloudy agent.”
If Misan isn’t healthier for me or the planet, then what is it for, exactly? I returned to the six lines of all-caps text printed on the front of the can:
Some of the CO2 in this can was pulled directly from the air using a technology called direct air capture (DAC). If scaled, DAC could do more than just carbonate your water. It could remove millions of tons of CO2 from the atmosphere, fighting climate change.
Gimmicks are, ultimately, ways to sell you something. Water gets packaged to look more “manly;” you might buy a Coca-Cola instead of a Pepsi if it has your name on it. But Misan isn’t ultimately selling itself with the promise of bubbles brought to you by DAC. It’s the other way around: Misan is the marketing vehicle for AirMyne. They want you to drink the DAC Kool-Aid.
Will I buy Misan Lychee again? Not likely: I have De La Calle! Mango Chili Mexican sodas to drink, made from the fermented rind of pineapples — BYOCO2, if you will.
Then again, never say never. If I learn about the existence of Misan Chikoo or Misan Pistachio-Rosewater during a weak moment, I’ll probably be down another $16. But I’ll open it over the sink this time.
On transmission corridors, China’s Russian reactor, and long-duration energy storage
Current conditions: Tropical Storm Cristobal formed in the Atlantic yet poses no real threats to land, unlike another budding storm gathering strength in the southern Caribbean • Powerful storms spurred derecho winds that spawned tornadoes across the Midwest and left 800,000 without power yesterday morning • Britain’s Met Office issued an amber weather warning as temperatures across eastern England soared to nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

In the waning days of the Biden administration, the Department of Energy set about clearing one of the biggest bottlenecks to expanding America’s aging electrical grid: Literally expanding the grid. You don’t need to have read excellent books like Russell Gold’s Superpower or features like my colleague Robinson Meyer’s deep dive into the SunZia saga to know that building transmission lines is a huge challenge in the United States. To address this, the Biden-era agency proposed three National Interest Electric Transmission Corridors — essentially a series of projects in mostly red and purple states that could now enlist the federal government’s help to speed through the typical hurdles in getting approvals from so many jurisdictions and landowners across hundreds of miles of a power line’s route. Not anymore. On Wednesday evening, the Trump administration announced the cancellation of all three corridors, declaring projects that would likely have helped shore up the grid amid surging demand from data centers to be part of Democrats’ “Green New Scam.”
“Transmission policy must serve the American people — not special interests or a climate-alarmist agenda that drives up costs, worsens reliability, and disregards the concerns of local communities,” Secretary of Energy Chris Wright said in a statement. Still, his agency pointed to billions in loans it’s offered to utilities for grid upgrades and a study, released last month, highlighting what the Trump administration sees as the country’s future transmission needs. The rescission doesn’t necessarily mean the projects linked to the corridors are dead. When the Energy Department first announced the corridors in December 2024, the agency stressed that the designation didn’t guarantee federal approvals, merely speed projects on the pathway to getting answers. Those include NextEra Energy’s 73-mile Lake Erie Connector between Canada and Pennsylvania, two projects in the Southwestern Grid Connector Corridor, and the Transmission and Renewables Interstate Bulk Electric Supply Project in the Tribal Energy Access Corridor.
When Elon Musk announced plans last year to build out 100 gigawatts of solar manufacturing capacity, analysts and industry watchers scratched their heads. That’s more than double the amount of panels the U.S. installs each year at a time when photovoltaic factories face fierce competition from overseas competitors — namely China — and withering support domestically with the end of the federal tax credit designed to spur demand for American-made solar. Yet Musk is charging ahead with what Tesla has dubbed Project Crystal Sun. In a document submitted to Texas regulators, the company said it was “currently evaluating the feasibility of constructing its solar cell manufacturing facility at various locations across multiple U.S. states.” That includes the Lone Star State, to which Musk decamped from California. “Should Tesla make the decision to develop the proposed project in another state, Texas would miss the opportunity to attract billions of dollars in investment, help create thousands of full-time jobs for its residents, and become a hub for domestic solar cell manufacturing in the U.S.,” Tesla stated in the filing.
Things were also looking rosy for wind turbine manufacturers. Shares in Vestas closed nearly 20% higher on Wednesday after turbine orders bounced back, giving the company the liquidity to buy back its own stock. New orders for its turbines climbed from 2 gigawatts during the second quarter of 2025 to 3.35 gigawatts during the same period this year, the Financial Times reported.
The storms that barreled across the Midwest this week not only downed power for more than 800,000 people, they also left drivers without access to fuel. On Wednesday, the Northwest Indiana Times reported that gas stations in the region were running dry. “Today, we heard that this was open, and this is like the only thing that is open,” Mike Siedentopf, a resident of the Northwest Indiana town of Munster, told CBS News.
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The flagship reactors in China’s nuclear buildout are the Hualong One and the CAP1400, each of which borrows heavily from America’s Westinghouse AP1000. But it’s useful to remember that Beijing is diversifying its atomic fleet. One of the next reactors likely to enter into commercial operations is now Unit 7 at the Tianwan nuclear power station on China’s Yellow Sea coast. On Wednesday, NucNet and World Nuclear News reported that the plant had loaded its first fuel assembly into position in the core of the new reactor. This marks the first time fuel has been loaded into a next-generation Russian reactor in China. Like the AP1000 and China’s versions of it, Rosatom’s VVER-1200 is a third-generation pressurized water reactor, meaning it uses the standard technology for fission with state-of-the-art safety and cooling upgrades. CNNC, the plant’s operator, said it expects to begin commercial operation later this year.
With the battery market booming, the race to commercialize long-duration storage technologies has yielded plenty of attention-grabbing ideas. Form Energy’s approach is proving particularly magnetic for investors. The West Virginia-based startup is seeking to bring rust-powered batteries that last 100 hours to market. On Wednesday, the company unveiled a $750 million Series G financing round, bringing the total equity it’s raised so far to over $2 billion. Its iron-air batteries, which charge through a “reversible rusting” process, have already attracted deals with Google, utility Xcel Energy, and data center giant Crusoe.
Meanwhile, a company commercializing compressed air storage technology just raised another $230 million. Hydrostor uses electricity to compress air and store it in underground hard-rock caverns using water displacement. When the grid needs power, the stored air is reheated and expands, spinning a turbine that generates emissions-free electricity. The Canadian startup pulled in more funding from the Canadian government’s investment fund, Goldman Sachs, and Canada’s pension funds. Another backer in this round is the oilfield services giant Baker Hughes. “The grid needs bankable long-duration energy storage that can be deployed today to enable affordable and reliable electricity for all, and Hydrostor’s continued fundraising success is a testament to the potential of our A-CAES technology to get us there,” Hydrostor CEO Curtis VanWalleghem said in a statement.
A Dr. Phil-linked expedition to find oil in Greenland has been delayed as the island nation’s government rejects the consortium’s right to drill. On Wednesday, the United Kingdom’s 80 Mile exploration company announced the delay in its plans. “While we are disappointed that the timing of the Jameson drilling program has been impacted, the company remains fully committed to advancing this highly prospective project,” 80 Mile executive director Rod McIllree told the Financial Times.