The earthwork has been levelled, the field fences removed, and the site absorbed into the surrounding landscape. And yet it persists, in the only way it can: as a patch of ground that sits conspicuously flat against its surroundings, a faint geometric ghost readable to anyone who knows to look.

When surveyors from the Castleisland District Archaeological Survey visited in 1987, they recorded the enclosure's position at the edge of a steep drop falling away to the west, where a very narrow stream runs below. On the far side of that stream the ground climbs again, considerably higher, which means the enclosure once occupied an exposed, almost defensive lip of land, overlooking a sharp little valley. The original form of the enclosure, whether a ringfort, a settlement boundary, or something older, is no longer legible from the physical remains. What the surveyors could say was simply that the site had been levelled but remained noticeable as a roughly level area. That phrase carries a particular quality of archaeological patience; the record of a thing that has been deliberately erased but not quite successfully.