This hut had a huge open fire in which you could burn great logs, it kept the hut toasty hot while it was burning and we had enough light to see from the fire alone. And outside the dunny was on a drunken lean and full of wetas, which one just didn’t think about.
There was some kind of wildness, haunted atmosphere all around this place. I could almost believe that some lost tribe would suddenly appear around the next bend in the river or look up and see their faces watching me from among the trees. I felt this way in the whole of the Te Ureweras, a place so untamed that one feels inescapably lost though standing right outside the hut with a map in hand.
paper, graphite, hard work