It is half a metre thick and barely thirty centimetres high where it shows, and rubble from the same structure lies embedded in the bog beside it. Taken alone, it might seem like very little. But field boundaries of this curvilinear type, walls that curve and bow rather than running in the straight lines of later enclosures, are generally among the older marks people left on the Irish landscape, often predating the more regularised field systems that came with improved farming practices in the post-medieval period.

What gives this remnant its quiet significance is the company it keeps. Some seventy metres to the northwest lies a recorded hut site, a low platform or hollow marking where a structure once stood, suggesting that the wall was not an isolated feature but part of a small working landscape: a boundary associated with habitation, dividing or enclosing ground that someone once farmed or grazed. The bog has done what bog does everywhere in Ireland, preserving and simultaneously consuming, holding the rubble in place while drawing the wall slowly downward. The rough hill pasture around it now gives little away.