That wall still exists, just about: two courses of stone, roughly half a metre high, with inner and outer facing preserved but the rubble core long gone. It is, by most measures, a ruin of a ruin. And yet the overall form of the place remains legible enough to make it quietly arresting. A promontory fort is exactly what it sounds like, a fortified headland where the sea does much of the defensive work and a barrier across the neck of land does the rest. Here, that barrier consists of the stone wall itself, an external earthen bank, and a ditch two metres wide. A narrow stone-defined entrance, 1.6 metres across and 3.6 metres long, sits roughly 15 metres from the southern cliff edge, with a faint causeway still traceable across the ditch in front of it.

The interior, a garth sloping down toward the east, is flanked by a sheer cliff to the south and sea rocks to the north, with access to the sea possible from the northern edge. The ground is strewn with rocks along the western and northern sides, and old cultivation ridges are visible both within the fort and along the edge of the outer ditch, suggesting that farming activity over the centuries has contributed to the erosion of the earthworks. Scattered around the site are the remains of hut sites whose relationship to the fort is uncertain. Twenty metres to the east lies a circular mound, five metres in diameter, containing a rectangular hut. Across a small cove to the south, a circular grassed-over hut site sits on the cliff edge, three metres across, its northern corner already lost to the sea. Whether these structures were contemporary with the fort, earlier, or later is not known. What makes the wider setting particularly striking is that two other fortified headlands are visible from this spot, suggesting a coastline that was, at some point, quite deliberately occupied and organised. The site sits on upland bog and poor grazing land, overlooked by higher ground to the east, which raises its own quiet questions about who built here, and why.