It protrudes intermittently, runs eastward upslope for around ninety metres, curves south for another thirty, and then simply stops. The wall is not especially tall, standing to roughly 0.6 metres where it remains, and about 0.7 metres thick, but what makes it quietly arresting is the way the bog has been preserving its own demolition: stone collapsed from the upper courses lies embedded in the peat immediately beside the structure, a kind of slow-motion record of decay held in place by waterlogged ground.

Field boundaries of this kind are common across Ireland's uplands, the remnants of agricultural organisation that predates modern land use by centuries, sometimes millennia. Bog growth has long been a preserving force across the Irish landscape, sealing beneath it the traces of walls, field systems, and settlement patterns that turf-cutting and erosion have elsewhere erased. Here at Gortlicka, the shallow bog has done exactly that, locking the wall's collapse in place even as it gradually swallows the standing courses. The curve southward at the wall's far end suggests a deliberate enclosure rather than a simple boundary running in a single direction, though what the enclosed ground was used for, and by whom, the site does not say.