It measures roughly 27 metres northwest to southeast and 43 metres northeast to southwest, a scale that puts it well beyond any casual field boundary or drainage feature. Whatever it was built for, it was substantial enough to alter the ground permanently, and unusual enough to have survived.

The earthwork's documentary history is, in its own way, telling. When the Ordnance Survey of Ireland produced its foundational 6-inch map series from the 1840s, this feature simply does not appear. By the time the more detailed 25-inch edition was published in 1897, it had been recorded, depicted as a raised area defined by a scarp, which is essentially a steep slope or edge in the earth, running from the northwest around through north, east, south, and southwest. The western boundary, however, is not ancient at all; it follows a field boundary that post-dates 1700, suggesting the earthwork's original western edge may have been absorbed or disrupted by later agricultural reorganisation. That gap between its absence on the 1840 map and its presence on the 1897 edition does not tell us when the feature was made, only when surveyors finally thought it worth recording.

The earthwork is tree and scrub covered, which is both what has protected it and what makes it difficult to read on the ground. Aerial and satellite imagery, including Digital Globe orthoimages taken between 2011 and 2013 as well as Google Earth imagery, gives the clearest sense of its D-shaped plan and the scarp that defines it. On the ground, in rough pasture, the rise and fall of the terrain beneath the vegetation is what a careful visitor would notice. There is no signage and no managed access; this is the kind of place that rewards patience with a map and a willingness to look closely at what the ground is doing beneath your feet.