Today there is nothing to see. The ground gives no hint that anything was ever there, yet the 1838 Ordnance Survey six-inch map records it clearly: a roughly circular, embanked enclosure, somewhere between twenty and twenty-five metres in diameter, quite possibly a rath. A rath is an early medieval enclosed farmstead, typically defined by one or more earthen banks and ditches, and thousands of them survive across Ireland in varying states of preservation. This one does not.

Local memory held on a little longer than the earthwork itself. People in the area knew the site as a fort, describing it not as a banked enclosure but as a low, roughly circular platform with no surrounding wall. That slight discrepancy between the mapped feature and the remembered one is not unusual; earthworks can be reduced to almost nothing by centuries of ploughing, grazing, and drainage work, and what one generation recalls as a definite structure the next may know only as a slight rise in the ground. What makes the site more than a cartographic footnote is what emerged when a sandpit was dug nearby. Human burials came to light during that digging. The sandpit has since been infilled, and the exact relationship between those burials and the enclosure itself remains unclear, but their proximity to a site locally identified as a fort suggests the kind of layered, long-use landscape that is far more common in the Irish countryside than visible monuments alone would suggest.

There is nothing for a visitor to observe at ground level today, and the sandpit that briefly exposed the burials has been filled back in. What remains is essentially a location on a map, a name in local speech, and the knowledge that the ridge at Tulleague was, at some point, a place people lived and were buried.