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IT EMERGES out of the mist, like a mirage in the desert. But this is no optical illusion. It’s real – a tiny shelter with a sloping roof, protruding chimney and walled yard, hidden secretly amidst giant slag heaps of silvery slate. The dichotomy is stark. The skies are dark and ominous, as if pent up with rage, and the hillside is a scene of devastation: colossal mounds of discarded rock, deep gash-like gullies and brutally vertical craggy excrescences. But this hut represents something soft er. For me it is a sign of hope and a symbol of safety; a haven where the fire flickers golden and adventure tales