November 2024

A few years ago, I spent the afternoon flying to Münster, Switzerland, an airport that is open only in the summer and located in the Obergoms, in an impressively tight and high-altitude valley. After wandering around Zermatt, I transferred 5 gallons of fuel that I had toted in a jerry can in the back seat and took off to return to Saanen.

The only problem was unexpected wind over Grimselpass, slowing my forward speed. Clouds on the north side of the Alps forced an odd path, and between the two, it was clear over Grindelwald that I would not make it back by 8PM closing time. I was previously aware that Zweisimmen was open to civil twilight, with a maximum of 10PM, though it had a permission requirement. Since landing at a closed airport is similar to committing an act of mass terrorism in Switzerland, landing without permission was the smarter choice, which I did.

I made a note that I should “do a sunset flight sometime” and largely forgot about it, as I was head down in my glacier jihad in the Alps. That lead to summers away in Scandinavia, until one time in May of last year, I returned from the Netherlands, too late to land in Saanen, so I texted the folks at Zweisimmen for permission to land. Verboten! (or something like that in German). “The airport is closed at 7PM.”

Checking the AIP, I was dismayed to learn that the new closing time was now 7PM, and I had missed my sunset opportunities. Perhaps I found them more acutely desirable after having spent the previous summer in Norway, and then it struck me what I missed.

In any case, for some random reason, I happened to check the AIP again in 2024. Why? Who knows! What kind of loser reads AIPs at random? In any case, the closing time of a maximum of 10PM had gloriously returned, so I contacted airport management to arrange for some sunset flights and overnight parking outside, to which they pleasantly agreed.

The arrangement called for a lot of back and forth, moving the plane for a series of sunny days, then back to Saanen on rainy periods, with portable tie down screws and using my custom airplane covers to entomb the aircraft, protecting it mostly from sun, hail, and secondarily from rain. My wife was eternally patient, involved in the flights and car trips getting the plane over (or back).

The season for this kind of thing starts in April and ends in September, if one measures strictly the period by which Zweisimmen is open and Saanen is not. Specifically, it is roughly March 31st to September 20^th, though from a practical standpoint, it is really about May 1 until mid-August. It is not worth flying from a different airport to gain a few minutes of flying time after 8PM, though the above window is when a full hour is gained.

Further, on June 21^st, twilight lasts 39 minutes after sunset, whereas it is 35 minutes on December 21^st, extending the twilight by 11.4%, which means that I can fly that much further from the airport at the time of sunset to have enough time to get back.

The biggest detail pertains to orientation of the sun at sunset. On December 21^st, the sun sets in Switzerland at 236 degrees, which means it is to the southwest. That means that few parts of Alps here are oriented toward the sun, without other ridges blocking the light, leaving only the peaks bathed in sunset colors. On June 21^st, the sun sets 307 degrees, almost to the northwest, meaning that everything from Mont Blanc to roughly the Uri Alps is gleaming in the sunset light, bathed in incredible colors, made even more interesting with any daytime clouds.

There were a variety of flights in the aforementioned range, a product of wind, afternoon cloud buildup, and cloud activity to the northwest. Sometimes, lighting would be perfect, with explosive colors bathing the Alps. Other times, right in the peak of panting and heavy breathing with perfect lighting, thunderstorms over France would block the sun, and coitus interruptus would set in. When the wind was out of the southwest, I would plan a slow slog to Mont Blanc, haul my sorry ass to 16,000 feet, enjoy the light show at the summit, and then commence a blistering race back to the field at 9:25PM, at times having to call Alps Radar for clearance into Class C as I undertook a power-on descent, after sunset, above the clouds, at FL155, with the tires chirping at 9:48PM down in the valley.

The last flight of the season, before a trip to the Arctic Circle, was the culmination of the season’s exploits. I had discovered the “Dies Irae” opera, a glorious monument to medieval Catholic terror, and was listening to it on my aviation headset by Bluetooth. On this flight, dwindling cumulonimbus were still towering to 20,000 feet, building off the Bernese Alps in southwest flow, with a cloud deck below in the valleys. I found a way to slink around the thunderheads, sandwiched between angry towering clouds, next to angry towering peaks, with clouds below, above, on both sides, all moving with the wind, growing and shrinking cyclically and orographically. It was a challenge to maintain good situational awareness, as the peaks would come and go with the clouds blocking them, and the various cloud layers were both stationary and moving at the same time. Add into this delightful mix divine medieval Latin operatic wrath. It scared the shit out of me, though the opera is intended to put the literal fear of God into someone.

The photos were nice though, and I simply flew out of the Alps when I had enough of picking a battle with the sky. The descent to the foothills featured few clouds, and I was left somewhat stunned that such a menacing concoction of visuals and experience could lie a few minutes away by plane, as the cow bells rang and the sanguine existence that is an evening summer in the Alps filled the air after landing.

Next Spring, I will be armed and ready much earlier to resume the sunset attack.

Climbout from Zweisimmen. Towering cumulus in the Alps in the background.

Welcome to the flight levels! A little bit of granite hiding in those clouds….

Modestly challenging. The peak is over 13,000 feet, with cumulus towering to FL160 at least.

Jungfrau to the left.

This best depicts the challenge of the mix of terrain and moving clouds on all sides. While it looked like the clouds ahead were advancing, they were dissipating as they separated from terrain, though had the sensation of movement.