The whole thing measures roughly two metres north to south and just under one and a half metres east to west, which is to say it was never large, barely a room by any standard. What makes it quietly remarkable is less its size than its situation: tucked within a larger enclosure, its southern wall pressed against the inner face of the enclosure's south-east wall, it reads less like an isolated ruin and more like a small piece of a larger, deliberate arrangement of space.

The structure is built in drystone, a technique in which stones are laid without mortar, relying entirely on their own weight and fit to hold together. The walls, where they survive, stand to about 0.75 metres and are roughly 0.6 metres thick, though much of the lower course is now buried under the bog that has crept across the site over the centuries. Rubble from the collapsed upper courses is scattered around the perimeter. The builders made a practical accommodation to the slope: the western portion of the interior was cut down about 0.3 metres into the hillside, while the eastern side was built up externally by around 0.2 metres, levelling the floor against the natural gradient. A second hut site abuts the western wall from outside, suggesting this was not a solitary shelter but part of a cluster, people and structures arranged in close proximity on the Kerry uplands.