There is nothing to see at ground level today, no earthwork, no depression, no crop mark visible to the casual eye. That absence is itself a kind of record, a document of erasure written into the south County Dublin landscape over the generations since the survey was carried out.

The sketch appears in the Ordnance Survey Letters of 1837, a remarkable series of field notes compiled as part of the great nineteenth-century mapping of Ireland, in which local antiquities were observed and described alongside the physical terrain. The letters recorded a cluster of enclosures, the term referring to bounded areas defined by earthen banks, ditches, or stone walls, often associated with early medieval settlement or agricultural activity. According to Herity (2001), the Glenamuck enclosures sat on level pasture along the northern bank of a stream, in a position overlooked by the lead-smelting tower at Ballycorus, which still stands on the ridge above. That tower, built in the early nineteenth century to disperse toxic fumes from the smelting works below, gives some geographical bearings: the enclosures lay in its shadow, in what would then have been working agricultural land on the edge of the Dublin mountains.

For anyone curious enough to visit the general area, the Ballycorus tower remains visible on the skyline and can serve as a rough orientation point, though the enclosures themselves left no trace for a visitor to identify. The stream bank where they once stood is now unremarkable pasture. The value here is less in what can be seen and more in understanding how much of the early landscape has been levelled by centuries of farming, drainage, and development. The 1837 sketch, preserved in the survey literature and noted by researchers such as Geraldine Stout and Padraig Clancy, stands as the sole surviving record of something that was already, even then, probably fading from view.