When inspectors first examined it in 1967, ahead of planned forestry development, the notes they left behind were candid in their uncertainty: roughly ten small boulders in a north-south row, with four or five more at right angles to the north end. The assessment was practical and unromantic. It looked like the footing of a field shelter. It was not, they wrote, a megalith. It did not look ancient.

That combination of features, too deliberate to be random, too modest to be ceremonial, earned the site a listing in the Record of Monuments and Places in 1995 under the category of 'Miscellaneous', which is perhaps the archaeological equivalent of a polite shrug. A follow-up inspection in 1994 failed to locate the feature at all; the forestry cover had swallowed it entirely. When the area was revisited in 2014, the knoll was found to be thick with heather, rough scrub, and a dense scatter of felled timber from earlier forestry works. What the 2014 inspection did find, just below the crest of the knoll on its gentle north-facing slope, were four small stones in a close-set north-south row, each no more than about half a metre across and thirty centimetres above the ground, their outline only glimpsed or felt through the heather rather than properly seen. Whether these four stones are what remains of the original ten-stone arrangement, or whether the rest was destroyed during forestry operations, cannot be determined.

The site sits on a shelf of upland terrain with cliffs rising to the south, a landscape that would have made a simple stone shelter entirely plausible as a functional structure for anyone working these slopes. That ordinary explanation may well be the correct one. The uncertainty is the point.