They were not built recently, nor were they recently abandoned; they predate the bog that swallowed them, making them relics of a landscape organised by human hands long before peat had any claim on this ground. Exposed over an area roughly 700 metres from north-east to south-west and 400 metres from north-west to south-east, these are pre-bog field boundaries, stone walls that once divided and defined agricultural land and have only come back into partial view because turf-cutting has stripped away the layers above them.

The walls themselves are largely collapsed, with only the base stones protruding above what remains of the shallow bog. Where the peat deepens, they vanish entirely back underground. Their maximum recorded thickness is around 0.7 metres and their maximum surviving height around 0.5 metres, so what is visible is modest, fragmentary, easy to overlook. What makes them worth attention is their form: the walls are generally curvilinear rather than straight-sided, suggesting a field system laid out according to the logic of an older agricultural tradition, one that followed the contours of the land rather than imposing a rigid geometry on it. The area sits on the north-facing slopes above Glenbeg Lake, in rough pasture that now borders cutaway bog, and the walls rest on the mineral soil beneath, which is how archaeologists can confirm they are genuinely pre-bog rather than later intrusions.

The discontinuous, intermittent nature of what is exposed means there is no clean plan to read here, no neat enclosures to trace from one end to the other. Sections of wall appear, run for a stretch, and then disappear. That fragmentation is part of what these boundaries communicate: a working landscape that was gradually overwhelmed, preserved in pieces, and is only now being uncovered in the places where the bog has thinned enough to let the old stonework show through.