That act of adaptation, modest and practical, is what survives at Gearhanagoul: a rough enclosure barely eight metres across, its drystone wall long since collapsed, its interior filled with rubble, and yet still legible as a deliberate human space carved out of an uncooperative landscape.

The enclosure is roughly circular, measuring eight metres north to south and seven metres east to west. The wall, built from dry-laid stone without mortar, stands to around 0.6 metres in height where it survives best, on the north-western to north-eastern arc, and reaches 0.7 metres in thickness. Where the ground rises to the south and south-east, the builders incorporated outcropping bedrock directly into the wall rather than working around it, a sensible use of what the terrain offered. On the northern side, the interior floor was cut approximately 0.6 metres into the hillslope, creating a more level surface within. This kind of terracing is a small but telling detail; it suggests the space was meant to be used in some sustained way rather than thrown up hastily. The enclosure sits within a wider field system, and immediately to the north-west, roughly eight metres away, lies a hut site, the two structures close enough to have functioned together. A relict field boundary runs nearby to the north-east, adding to the impression of a small, organised agricultural landscape that once made sense of this ground.