The walls are modest things, none of them standing much above knee height, but taken together they describe a roughly rectangular area stretching around 850 metres from north-east to south-west and roughly 400 metres across. What makes the pattern so quietly arresting is the way it keeps disappearing: some stretches have been exposed by centuries of turf-cutting on the lower slopes, while higher up the walls surface only where they push through the shallow covering of peat, before vanishing again where the bog deepens.

These are relict field boundaries, the remnants of an organised agricultural landscape that predates the peat growth that eventually smothered it. Relict, in this context, simply means that the system fell out of use long ago and was never cleared or rebuilt, leaving the original layout fossilised beneath the ground. The walls are generally curvilinear rather than rigidly straight, though occasional linear stretches appear, suggesting a working landscape that grew and was modified over time rather than one laid out to a single plan. Within this network, two hut sites have been recorded, the foundations of small structures whose occupants would presumably have worked and grazed the fields around them. The maximum recorded thickness of the walls is 0.75 metres, with a surviving height of up to 0.65 metres where they remain most intact.

The turf-cutting that has periodically exposed these lower stretches is itself part of a long tradition in the area, and it is that same activity which has inadvertently done the work of an archaeologist, peeling back the peat to reveal collapsed wall sections that would otherwise be entirely invisible. The result is a site that reads differently depending on where you stand on the hillside: fragmentary and suggestive near the base, then fading into almost nothing as the ground rises and the bog thickens.