It is not. The geometry is deliberate: a curving drystone wall forming most of the perimeter, closed off by a straight eastern side, enclosing a level interior just two and a half metres across. Drystone construction, built without mortar by fitting stones together through careful selection and placement, could last centuries under the right conditions, and here it has, though the wall now stands only thirty centimetres high.

The site sits in a sheltered valley on the south bank of a river, tucked into ground that would have offered some protection from the Atlantic weather rolling in off Bantry Bay. Hungry Hill, which rises steeply above this landscape, is better known today for its waterfall than for any archaeology, which makes the survival of this small structure all the more quietly surprising. Scattered rubble across the interior suggests the original walling was more substantial than what remains. Roughly twenty metres to the south-west, a second hut site occupies the same rough pasture, which points toward some form of paired or clustered occupation rather than a single isolated shelter. Whether these were seasonal dwellings, booley huts used during summer transhumance when cattle were driven to higher grazing, or something older and more permanent, the surviving fabric alone cannot say.