This one, however, has been more thoroughly absorbed by its agricultural surroundings than most. A passageway nearly three and a half metres wide has been cut directly through the southern half of the interior, running roughly north-northwest to south-southeast, and the interior itself is buried under a dump of uprooted trees. It is less a monument than a palimpsest of competing uses.

When Denis Power compiled the record for this site, uploaded in August 2011, he noted that the ringfort appears on the 1923 Ordnance Survey six-inch map as an embanked circular enclosure with a diameter of around 35 metres. On the ground, however, the surviving footprint is considerably larger, measuring roughly 60 metres across on an east-northeast to west-southwest axis. What explains the discrepancy is visible in the landscape itself: the original bank has been levelled and pushed outward around the perimeter into rough heaps, while the southern and western sections have been incorporated directly into the surrounding field boundary system. The earthwork has not so much disappeared as been redistributed, its material quietly repurposed to serve the needs of later farming.

The site sits in pasture atop a low ridge in Dunganville Upper, and like many such earthworks in the Irish midlands and southwest, it is most legible from a position slightly removed, where the circular logic of the surviving bank becomes apparent even in its degraded state. The dump of uprooted trees currently covering the interior makes close inspection difficult, and the field boundary integration means the line between ancient monument and modern hedge-bank is genuinely ambiguous in places. Anyone with an interest in how ringforts are gradually erased from working farmland, rather than how they are preserved, will find this a quietly instructive example.