No earthwork rises from the grass, no stones break the surface, no hollow catches the eye. The site exists, in any practical sense, only from the air, where the buried remains of a circular enclosure roughly 25 metres across betray themselves as a cropmark, a phenomenon that occurs when buried features alter the moisture and nutrient content of the soil above them, causing the crops or grasses growing overhead to ripen or wither at a slightly different rate than the surrounding ground, tracing the outline of the vanished structure in tones of green or gold depending on the season.

What we know of this site comes largely from two moments in time separated by well over a century. The first is 1838, when surveyors producing the Ordnance Survey six-inch map recorded the enclosure using hachures, the short radiating lines that cartographers of the period used to indicate an earthwork or raised feature in the landscape. That the hachures were applied at all suggests the enclosure retained some physical presence at ground level in the early nineteenth century, even if it has since been ploughed or eroded entirely flat. The second moment of documentation came through aerial photography, which confirmed the circular form of the enclosure on a gentle south-east-facing slope, the kind of sheltered, well-drained position that people throughout Irish prehistory and the early medieval period consistently favoured for settlement and enclosure. Whether this particular site was a ringfort, an earlier prehistoric enclosure, or something else entirely, the surviving evidence does not say.