Just before that point, someone built a bridge. It is a modest thing by most measures, only seven metres long, with an internal width that narrows from about 1.2 metres at the base to 0.85 metres at the top, and a height from bedrock to the underside of its lintelled roof that ranges between 1.4 and 1.8 metres. It was built without mortar, from crude, roughly coursed blocks of drystone walling, roofed not with an arch but with flat lintels laid across the top. That lintelled construction, rather than the more familiar arched form, is part of what makes it worth paying attention to.

The bridge sits in close company with older neighbours. A church dating to the 13th century stands roughly 160 metres to the north-north-east, and the remains of a mill lie about 170 metres to the north-north-west, with earthworks nearby that appear to be connected to the ecclesiastical site. The simplicity of construction, the complete absence of mortar, and this proximity to features that are at least 800 years old all point toward a medieval origin, though the bridge itself has not been definitively dated. At the southern end, drystone revetments shore up the stream banks and funnel the water toward the entrance, suggesting the builders thought carefully about how the structure would perform under pressure. A partially collapsed parapet still runs along the upper southern side. On the northern end, a mortared pier and associated repairs are clearly later additions, and one of the roof lintels, cracked and beginning to shift downward, has been propped in place with two metal beams. The bridge has been patched and shored across whatever span of centuries it has stood, each intervention leaving its own distinct trace in the stonework.