Tararua enthusiast John Rhodes and I are on the trail of a missing hut. A hut blown off its foundations like Dorothy’s house in The Wizard of Oz. Most trampers have experienced a night in a hut when the wind not just rattles the windows, but rattles your nerves. Wind that you hear coming in great gusts, tearing and growling until it hits, hard, and the hut shudders, the guy wires sing. Wind that seems to harbour intentional fury, even malice.