An enclosure, the kind of roughly circular or oval earthwork that might once have defined a farmstead, a ritual space, or a place of refuge, sits on the break of a steep north-facing slope, and it exists today almost entirely as a bureaucratic fact rather than a physical one. There is no visible trace of it at ground level.

The enclosure was first identified not by a surveyor walking the land but by someone studying an aerial photograph taken in May 1977. Even on that photograph, the feature was described as not well defined, a faint suggestion of something rather than a clear outline. The intervening decades have done nothing to improve its legibility. The area has been worked over by commercial forestry, with mature trees felled and the ground broken up by the deep parallel trenches that foresters cut to drain and prepare the soil for new planting. Young conifers have since gone in. Gorse, heather, and ferns have colonised the disturbed ground between them. A trackway runs east to west roughly through the area where the enclosure is thought to lie, which may itself have obscured what little remained. What the aerial photograph caught in 1977 was likely a crop or vegetation mark, a ghostly differential in growth that briefly made visible something the soil had long since swallowed.

For anyone inclined to visit, the honest account is that there is nothing to find. The site is overgrown, the ground churned, and the monument itself imperceptible without the particular angle of light and season that briefly revealed it nearly fifty years ago. That is, in its own way, the most interesting thing about it.