That kind of construction, sometimes called a dry-stone facing technique, is a considered piece of engineering rather than a casual field boundary, and it points to a site that once mattered considerably. What makes this place quietly strange is the degree to which later centuries have simply folded themselves on top of it: a modern townland boundary wall was built directly along the top of the ancient rampart, running from the west-south-west round to the south-south-east, so that an administrative line drawn on a map is, in places, physically the same object as whatever this enclosure once was.

When an inspector visited in December 1974, the interior was subdivided by a network of grass-covered stone banks, most likely the collapsed remains of walls, and a possible house structure sat beside a gap in the rampart at the north-north-west. It was not clear whether that gap had always been an entrance or whether someone had simply robbed the rampart stones to build the structure beside it, which is itself a small, telling detail about how these sites were treated over generations. Outside the enclosure to the north, a further extensive complex of banks and walls spread outward, representing a field system connected to the enclosure. Among these, two roughly parallel banks were read as a possible roadway or avenue leading to or from the site. The remains of the field system extended to the south as well, though part of it there had been cut away during the construction of the railway, a reminder that the nineteenth century left its own decisive marks on the landscape. When the site was given formal legal protection and published in Iris Oifigiúil in April 1976, it was described as a monastic site and old field system, a designation that hints at an ecclesiastical origin for the enclosure, though the 1974 inspection does not settle the question.