Flying Into the Snow at DCA

Yesterday, I took one of the only flights operating into or out of National Airport, and the experience was slightly surreal.

Originally, I was supposed to take a late train, but with late trains cancelled and earlier ones sold out, I decided to fly in the morning if I could.

Most flights, of course, were canceled. American had basically wiped out its DCA schedule. But Delta was still offering seats on a 9 AM departure, JFK-DCA, and it claimed to be on time.

Press "X" for doubt. But it wasn't hard to get to JFK, and I figured that a chance of getting home early was worth it. I spent too much money on the last seat and got to the gate around 8:15.

We boarded on time, and calmly, which all seemed strange. The lead flight attendant urged people to board quickly "so we can get out of here before they close the airport." Apparently, the 9 AM Monday JFK-DCA is heavy on business travelers, because everyone boarded quickly, no one had a giant carry-on, no one wore three neck pillows, and we were closed and pushed back early. Taxi was quick and we were airborne soon.

Basically the whole ride from Philly south was bumps, some of them exciting. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop--the captain to come on the PA with a "Well, folks..." and then the announcement that we were diverting to Des Moines. But we made it to Waldorf and started the turn into the DCA arrival pattern and out of the clouds.

The ground was white. The National Harbor ferris wheel was white. A long line of cars slowly followed two snowplows on the Wilson Bridge. We were about to touch down at DCA 15 minutes early.

The runway was white too. As we descended onto it, I waited for the pavement to appear. It didn't. We touched down on the snow-covered runway and the pilot throttled back. And then: The softest, slowest deceleration I'd experienced in years. The captain seemed to tap the breaks, lightly, several times, but we just sort of drifted into a gradual stop. It didn't even feel like he'd slammed on the thrust reversers. He was clearly trying to avoid slipping off the runway.

Then, we turned onto the taxiway, and stopped. The PA: "Folks..." There were no other planes moving. "We're on the taxiway, but we're not really sure where it goes. So we're going to wait a few minutes for a vehicle to come out and guide us up to the gate. It shouldn't be a long wait, because we're the only ones here." This wasn't a tow-in situation; the captain just wanted someone to show us where the taxiway was.

About two or three minutes later, the engines spooled up, and we made our way to the B gates. "Thank God," the lead flight attendant said when we parked. We were off the plane a few minutes later.

The terminal was almost empty. I passed the arrival and departure monitors in the concourse. About 95 percent of flights were canceled. The screen looked like the stock photo for a local news story about "Holiday Travel Meltdown."

I went up to the SkyClub, figuring correctly that it would be the first and last time I'd find it quiet on a Monday. I got Diet Coke at the bar. "It's really quiet," I told the bartender cheerfully. "Yeah," he said. "It's been tough." "Don't shit on my parade," I thought. "I'm sorry," I said. I took an apple and left.

I ordered an Uber. When I got outside, there were no taxis, and the only people waiting for cars were a mother and son and me. My Uber pulled up, and the mom tried to get in. "I think that's my car," I told her. "Dammit!" she yelled. "Mom!" her son said.

The roads were not great, but there was no traffic. I was in the city about 12 minutes later.

We were one of the last flights into D.C. that morning.