Running roughly 400 metres diagonally up the hillside in a north-easterly direction from the cliff-edge at Foilbrade, this relict field boundary had been sealed beneath the peat for long enough that its age is not precisely known. What the cutaway bog has given back is a fragmentary but legible structure, its stones set in varying orientations, some end-on to the wall's line, others turned at right angles, a few still upright and reaching as high as 1.3 metres, though most have fallen or are leaning at awkward angles.

The wall itself is modest in its physical dimensions, roughly 0.4 metres thick and averaging about the same in height, but its survival says something interesting about how people once organised this exposed and difficult terrain. Someone, at some point, divided this hillside into fields, and the effort required to build and maintain such a boundary here, on a north-west-facing slope open to Atlantic weather, suggests the land was considered worth working. A more recent wall, running north-west to south-east, cuts across the older boundary near its south-western end, a casual reminder that field systems tend to accumulate across time rather than replace one another cleanly. The exposed hillside also shows ridges and trenches of varying widths, most likely the result of water erosion after the removal of the peat left the underlying mineral soil unprotected and vulnerable.

Dursey Island's population dwindled to almost nothing over the course of the twentieth century, and the island today is largely uninhabited. The wall at Tilickafinna sits on what is now hill pasture on cutaway bog, a landscape shaped as much by abandonment and erosion as by any deliberate human hand. The stones that remain visible are the kind of feature that rewards slow looking, particularly the uprights, which give just enough height to suggest the original intention of the structure without resolving the question of exactly when, or by whom, it was built.