Recorded on the 1840 six-inch OS map as a roughly circular area enclosed by a bank, the site had vanished entirely from the 1897 twenty-five-inch revision. No explanation accompanies its disappearance, and when an Archaeological Impact Assessment was carried out by Galvin in 2007 as part of a planning application, no trace of the monument could be found. The fields had closed over it completely.

Enclosures of this kind, broadly circular earthworks defined by a raised bank, are a common enough feature of the Irish landscape, associated in many cases with early medieval settlement or agricultural activity. They appear and disappear from the record with a regularity that says something about how thoroughly farming can reshape a field over a century or two. What makes Lurraga mildly remarkable is the gap between those two survey dates, roughly sixty years in which the bank was levelled, the ditch filled, and the ground returned to pasture on a gentle westward-facing slope that the notes describe as having good views in all directions. Whether that setting made the land particularly attractive for improvement, and therefore clearance, is a reasonable speculation, though nothing in the record confirms it.

The enclosure does retain one form of visibility. A Google Earth orthoimage captured in November 2019 shows a cropmark, the faint difference in vegetation colour or growth that appears above buried features in certain light and moisture conditions, marking what is interpreted as the northern arc of the original enclosing element. Cropmarks of this kind tend to be most legible from the air in dry summer conditions, when differential soil moisture above buried ditches or banks causes the grass above them to green up or fade at slightly different rates. On the ground today there is nothing to see; the site sits in ordinary pasture, and nothing distinguishes it from the surrounding field. The record as it stands rests on three things: an old map, a failed assessment, and a ghost outline caught briefly by a satellite.