When we first spy the hut it's the best feeling. We crank open the door and find a cold locker. But soon, wood chopped and fire lit, the house is hot and we are warming up. Chop the wood, melt the water. A woodstove is the source of all good things.
The senses are brought to life in a tiny hut on a cold winter night. We are in the Bonnington Range, eating and sleeping in the one-time miner’s cabin, Huckleberry. Spending the night in a winter hut is more lux than a five-star hotel in Van, no doubt. You realize, spending a night in a winter hut, how little you need to be properly housed. It’s your tiny house for a small fee, your chateau for the night. 
Time slows way down in the absence of electricity and clocks and refrigerators. You could stay for many nights, happily. The closest relative to the hut is the sauna; the bringer of heat inside aged wood. Instead of shivering in a tent, we sweat inside as our clothes steam. We lie on top of our sleeping bags and treasure the cold air that seeps through the rough-hewn timber. Outside, overnight, snow falls in preparation for our tour off Cabin Peak the next morning.
