A shallow oval of bare ground, ringed by a thin scatter of soil and small stones, is all that survives of what was once a univallate enclosure, meaning a roughly circular or oval settlement bounded by a single earthen bank and outer ditch, or fosse. The bank and ditch are gone. The stones are going. What the ground retains is mainly an absence, a faint negative impression where something once stood.

Aerial photography has a way of restoring what time removes. A Ministry of Defence photograph taken in 1949 captured this site clearly as an oval enclosure with its bank and fosse still legible from the air, even as they were already degrading at ground level. By the time archaeologists working on the Corca Dhuibhne survey documented it in the 1986 publication by J. Cuppage, the structure had been reduced to the pattern of bare earth and scattered stone visible today. At its widest, the enclosure measures roughly 29 metres east to west and 21.3 metres north to south. Nested within it, a smaller oval marks the ghost of a hut, approximately 7 metres by 4.75 metres internally, with an entrance gap of between 2 and 2.75 metres on its southern side. The place-name offers its own small puzzle: Ceathrúin An Phúca translates roughly as the quarter-land of the púca, the shape-shifting creature of Irish folklore, which says something about how long this corner of the Dingle Peninsula has carried an atmosphere of the uncanny.

The site sits on a ridge with a clear aspect towards the harbour, a position that would have made practical sense for whoever settled here, whether for observation, for shelter from prevailing winds, or simply for the orientation that elevated ground provides. The enclosure itself is a common enough form in the Irish archaeological landscape, but most survive with at least some visible earthwork. This one has been worn so far back that its interest lies partly in how little it takes to erase centuries of habitation, leaving only the faintest signature in the soil.