I worked on a shoe string to get this film out on the BBC - it was a subject close to my heart as I was born in Snowdonia, and my grandmother lived on its edges right up to her death. It was broadcast against the opening ceremony of the London Olympic games, so no-one saw it , but somehow it won me a RTS Award and Best Newcomer at Jackson Hole Film Festival, from which this short excerpt is taken ( people still cant see it - unless they contact me dircetly!). I did like this review from Sam Wollaston in the Guardian though :
"At first I felt a little bit sorry for Snowdonia: a Year in the Wild (BBC2), going out, as it did, against a certain opening ceremony over on BBC1. But it actually seems quite apt. Where better to escape Boris's Big Bash than the mountains and valleys of north Wales? It's about as far as you can get – if not physically, then certainly in spirit – from what's going on in east London.
Sure, there'll be fewer people here, but the ones who do come will treasure it, the more so for the space, the quiet, the peace, and the solitude. And for it not being the Olympics.
And it's absolutely lovely – the place, the film, everything. Who needs Danny Boyle's urban ewes when here are their healthier country cousins, skipping away after having their daggy dreads removed? Otters play in the rivers, ravens tumble in the sky, peregrines plummet terrifyingly towards the ground.
There is the odd person about the place, too. Like Twm the poet, son of another famous writer, who once wasn't a woman and went on the 1953 Everest expedition, and now is a woman, though Twm doesn't mention this – probably bored of it. Then there's Rhys the wholesome park ranger, cheerfully patrolling the hills with his dog, rescuing juniper bushes. That's a nice job, isn't it? And Johnny, who doesn't look like a climber until he's on a rock face, moving up it, balletically, beautifully.
est – and most entertaining – of all, there's Gwyn the farmer, owner of some of those sheep. Gwyn likes winter best, when things go to sleep, and the batteries of the Earth are recharged. There aren't too many visitors – walkers, bikers etc – then either. The visitors used to make Gwyn angry. Not any more: "Now instead of waving my stick at them, and saying, 'Get off my land!', I say, 'Come on the land, learn a bit more about farming, where your food comes from, make friends, and leave something behind ... like a cheque.'"
Ha. Don't suppose Gwyn is that fussed about the Olympics."