The structure is modest by any measure, roughly two and a half metres from north to south and two metres east to west, defined by a low drystone wall of medium-sized flagstones that now stands no higher than thirty centimetres. Drystone construction uses no mortar, relying instead on the careful placement and weight of the stones themselves, a technique found across Ireland from prehistory into the post-medieval period.

What makes this particular site quietly interesting is the engineering thought behind it. Because the ground falls away toward the north and east, whoever built the hut cut into the slope and raised an interior retaining wall on that side to a height of around fifty-five centimetres, effectively levelling the floor before anything else was done. The result is a grass-covered interior that remains flat today, centuries after whatever roof or daily activity it once sheltered has disappeared entirely. This kind of adaptation to difficult ground is easy to overlook, but it speaks to a practical intelligence that had nothing to do with flat, convenient land. Kerry's upland areas are scattered with such remnants, most of them without written records to explain who built them, when, or why.