They are barely visible at ground level, surviving as collapsed, sod-covered ridges no more than thirty centimetres high, and the whole system was not formally recorded until researchers spotted it on satellite imagery in 2017. One of the walls does not even survive intact; it runs southward for roughly twelve metres before the Ennis to Scarriff road, the R532, simply cuts through it.

What survives here is the ghostly outline of an organised agricultural landscape, its walls spreading to the south, south-west, north-west, north-east, and east of a central enclosure, an enclosed area that was likely used for settlement or livestock in earlier centuries. The walls themselves vary in length from around twelve metres to forty metres, and one of the eastern walls meets a sixth at an acute angle, suggesting a deliberate, if irregular, geometry to the field boundaries. The walls and the enclosure appear to be broadly contemporary with one another, meaning the whole complex probably functioned as a single system. The ground to the north-east is further complicated by undulations that may belong to the field system or may simply be outcrops of bedrock rising close to the surface, the two being difficult to distinguish without closer investigation.

At ground level, the walls are easy to overlook or misread entirely. Their cross-sections, just over three metres wide at the base in some places, suggest they were once substantial enough to define real boundaries, but collapse and centuries of turf growth have softened them into the general texture of the land. The surrounding undulations add to the ambiguity, making it genuinely difficult to tell, even on the ground, where human construction ends and geology begins.