It is not much to look at in conventional terms: roughly thirty centimetres high, barely sixty centimetres thick, built of one or two stones laid side by side. But what it represents is a fragment of an older agricultural landscape, a relict field boundary that has outlasted whatever farming life it once organised, now sitting quietly in rough hillside grazing on the north-north-east-facing slopes above Toorboney.

The boundary has an odd, almost hesitant geometry to it. Starting about twelve metres north of a nearby enclosure, it runs for eight metres in a north-north-westerly direction, then angles north-north-east for twelve metres, then swings back to north-north-west for a further twelve metres, before finally meandering across the hillside for another forty-five metres or so. That meandering quality is itself suggestive. Planned field systems tend toward regularity; walls that wander like this often followed the natural grain of the land, picking a route around outcrops or boggy ground that no longer reads clearly in the modern landscape. The peat has crept up around it over time, so that only the upper courses protrude above the surface, preserving beneath them a record of land division that pre-dates the current, largely unimproved character of the hillside.