The stones do not describe tidy rectangles or follow any logic immediately legible to the eye. They meander, branch, and connect in ways that suggest purpose without quite revealing it, a field system preserved not by careful stewardship but by the bog itself, which buried the walls and then, slowly, gave them back.

What survives is substantial, if fragmentary. The main wall runs roughly north to south for around 250 metres, with branches extending east and west at intervals of roughly 70 and 170 metres from its northern end. Those two lateral arms are themselves joined by a shorter connecting wall running north to south, forming an informal grid. A further branch near the southern end extends approximately 85 metres eastward, and a second major wall, running parallel to the first at a distance of about 70 metres to the west, adds another 250 metres of structure to the complex. That western wall preserves something particularly arresting: upright stone slabs set at right angles to the wall's line, a construction technique that hints at considerable age. Scattered among these walls are three enclosures and six hut sites, the latter being the collapsed or earthen remains of small domestic structures, suggesting that the people who farmed these fields also lived within them. The walls themselves are modest in scale, between 0.4 and 0.8 metres thick and rarely rising above 0.8 metres, but their extent across the hillside points to a community that once organised this rough ground with considerable intention.

Relict field systems of this kind, where ancient boundaries emerge from peatland that has slowly encroached on formerly worked land, are found at various points across Ireland, but the concentration of hut sites within this one makes it unusually legible as a place where people not only farmed but lived out whole seasons, if not entire lives. The bog preserves what agriculture and time would otherwise have erased.