It never announced itself to anyone walking the ground. The only way it ever came into view was from the air, where the differential growth of crops above buried ditches traced its outline as a ghostly ring, the kind of mark archaeologists call a cropmark. A single aerial photograph, taken in 1967 as part of a Cambridge University Collection of Aerial Photography survey, caught not just this enclosure but an entire vanished landscape clustered nearby: the southwestern arc of a double-ditched enclosure about 160 metres to the east-southeast, a ring-ditch roughly 230 metres to the south-southeast, and what appears to have been a roadway connecting these features, running northward from the ring-ditch toward the double-ditched enclosure.

When someone visited the site on the ground in 1987, there was nothing to see. No earthworks, no humps in the field, no trace of the network visible from altitude twenty years earlier. The features had either been levelled or were simply too slight to register without the revealing geometry that aerial photography provides. The enclosure itself, circular and relatively modest in size, may have been a ringfort, a type of enclosed farmstead that appears throughout Ireland from the early medieval period onward, though without excavation its date and function remain unknown. What the 1967 photograph captured was a rare moment of legibility for a set of monuments that were otherwise entirely invisible, and even that window has since closed. A quarry now occupies the area where the enclosure and its associated features once lay beneath the soil, erasing what the plough and time had not already obscured.