The morning fog rolled across the airport like a vast cotton blanket, smothering runways, parked airplanes and the airport terminal. Within minutes, it pushed up against the tower windows, trying to seal us inside like something out of Stephen King’s The Mist. We quickly flipped on the airport beacon and cut a new ATIS reflecting the obvious: The airport had gone IMC.
With our VFR traffic stuck on the ground or going elsewhere, the tower frequencies fell strangely silent. Soon, however, we started getting other calls. An inbound Delta airliner reached out from 100 miles away. “Hey, Tower. How’s it lookin’?” The landline phone rang. “This is American Airlines dispatch. We’ve got two flights inbound right now. What’s the latest?” A Gulfstream IV on the GA ramp reached out to Ground. “We’re just firing up. Any improvement?”
