September 2024

When I moved to Europe almost nine years ago, I had a short list of delusions that fed the decision. One of them was that I would fly to Venice Lido airport on a barrier island outside of Venice, as though it was easy. Having just flown hundreds of hours over mind- and arse-numbing expanses, the prospect of a relatively short flight from Germany at the time didn’t seem that outlandish.

The fact that it took a better airplane, a relocation out of the Fatherland, and almost a decade is illuminating regarding the magnitude of my ignorance.

In theory, Venice isn’t far from Switzerland. When one compares some of the other little jaunts I have engaged in, such as photographing every glacier in the Alps, or flying to the top of Europe, it seems inconceivable that there is any pause at the notion of taking a 258-statute mile flight. It could be done without stopping for fuel if I was sufficiently determined, so what is the big deal? Aren’t planes for flying and getting somewhere?

Like my musings on the creeping and surprising complexity of flying to St. Moritz, a distance half as much, reality proved to be similar. Just because one flies in the Alps doesn’t mean that crossing them is uncomplicated.

The weather had been a long run of north and northeast flow, with clouds bunched up against the north side of the Alps and regular precipitation. On what was supposed to be a partly cloudy day, I escaped the cloud layer by finding a hole over Lenk, Switzerland, corkscrewing up, and then wedging over the Gemmipass at over 10,000 feet. I was hoping to slither over Simplonpass before enjoying sunshine over the lower parts of Italy.

The reality in front of my face presented other options. Clouds were solidly blocking the pass and most of the Alps, though I found a hole on the leeside of Weissmies, after having climbed to 14,000 feet to surmount the cloud deck. It was an abrupt dive down to 9,500 feet to get under the clouds, then some snaking around thundershowers, before landing in the sun at Locarno for outbound customs.

The rest of the flight to Venice Lido was straightforward, though I had to wedge between alpine clouds building in the foothills of Italy (with large thunderstorms up in the mountains) and Class A, C, and D airspaces to the south. I can’t really complain, as it forced me over the horrors that the Lake District has to offer, such as Lake Como, Lake Garda, and so forth.

The rest of the flight was over pleasant farmland and vineyards, though it is somewhat deceptive. In summer, it is an inferno. In winter, it is fogged over with pollutants trapped below and vile air quality. I lucked out with a good day for views.

Venice Lido is a little grass strip near the water, about a 1km stop from the water taxi into the old city of Venice. I had a hotel not far from the water taxi stop, though I had a good hour before the airport closed at 7pm. “You’re here. Why not?” I said to myself and hopped in for a local flight. Raising Venezia Tower and then Venezia Approach on the radio, I asked for permission to enter the restricted area over the city. I was told to hold at the southwest part of the barrier island, which, as the clock ticked, I pulled the plug at 6:45PM so I could land. While I didn’t get what I was hoping for, it was a nice evening stroll on the Adriatic by air, and I learned to give more time with controllers the next day.

The next day arrived, and I was wondering what I should do with myself. I had gone into Venice the evening before, and had dinner plans the next evening. I contemplated a flight to Croatia, though by the time I read up on all the nonsense with flight plans and all the rest, I lost my nerve and decided just to fly over Venice itself. After 20 minutes in the air, I finally negotiated permission to overfly in orbits at 3,000 feet above the city, which was a bit complicated owing to airline traffic coming into Venice’s mainland commercial airport. I orbited for probably 30 minutes, at times having to head to the ocean to avoid IFR traffic, then allowed to resume. I thought to myself that something about the fact I even got permission seemed rare, and that I might never get to do it this way again, so I decided to go bonkers with photos, particularly the zoom lens.

I hadn’t fully comprehended exactly how exuberant I was until the buffer on the camera filled. Noting in the viewfinder…I watched as the camera laboriously was attempting to transfer….256 images….out of the buffer onto the SD card. When it was all said and done, I had taken about 1,800 photographs, down to incredible granular detail of the city.

After landing, I moseyed back to the hotel to get some lunch. I thought about flying again and said to myself “you know, Venice is enough. Nothing else around here will match that experience.” Then I thought about checking a few work emails, like the good American that I am, and then something about the languid Adriatic air seeped into the recesses of my mind. “I am in Italy. It is Sunday. I am taking a nap.” After that, it was a water taxi ride, some aimless strolling in Venice trying to avoid other Americans, and then my dinner engagement.

The next day was time to return to Switzerland. Crossing the Alps was even more dubious than the trip down. Nothing had changed about the weather: same flow, same clouds, same thunderstorms. My crossing of the Lake District was mildly problematic, though scud running in the alpine foothills meant enjoying some Italian Mary shrines closer than normal. Partly cloudy in Locarno…and then the crossing.

Simplon Pass was only doable by surfacing the overcast layer at 11,000 feet, with towering cumulonimbus to my left. I hoped for a crossing at one of the passes, and it wasn’t happening. I also hoped to cross the Bernese Alps over the clouds, and that wasn’t possible without climbing to FL170 or higher. I dove under the cloud deck and followed the Rhône River west, exploring every pass, all of which were not passable. I rounded the bend at Martigny for the moment of truth…and was met with doubt. Layers of clouds were above, below, and ahead, though I managed to keep it VFR while giving the plane a bath, then emerged out of the rain near Lake Geneva.

I thought “surely you can cross Col de Jaman.” Nope. Out to the Swiss Plateau, now fully out of the Alps and to the north, and back in at Gruyeres (yes, the cheese place), down the valley, and wedged down under 4,500’MSL, under the rain again and around the bend, with the Pays-d’Enhaut and Saanenland in view. My flight plan literally intended an arrival from the east, and I had to make a “270” and come all the way around from the north and west.

That is something of an explanation why I haven’t done this sort of thing before, though it was definitely worth it.

10,000 feet…after corkscrewing above the clouds.