That absence from the cartographic record is quietly remarkable. Promontory forts use natural topography as their primary defence, cutting off a coastal projection from the mainland with an earthwork across its neck, so the cliffs do most of the work. Here, the fort encloses a sliver of land just 41 metres long and 14 metres wide, set within mountainous bogland and overlooked by higher ground to the south.

The defences, though modest, are legible. A straight earthen bank, 3 metres wide, runs across the landward approach. On its inner face it has weathered down almost to a simple slope, standing only 0.4 metres high at that point, but the external ditch beyond it is considerably more substantial: 5 metres wide at the top and 1.65 metres deep, with a flat base just under a metre across. Beyond the ditch, a poorly defined counterscarp bank, the low outer lip that would have heightened the obstacle from an attacker's perspective, rises 1.2 metres above the ditch floor. There is no evidence that any of this was ever faced in stone. The only way into the interior, a roughly triangular space that slopes gently westward and is now covered in thin bog, appears to be a narrow sheep track, which may or may not follow the line of an original entrance.

The site was brought to scholarly attention through the 1999 MA thesis of Markus Casey, a survey of coastal promontory forts across counties Sligo, Mayo, Galway, and Clare. The fact that it had gone unrecorded until that work says something about the landscape it occupies: boggy, mountainous, remote, and not the kind of terrain that draws casual survey. The interior offers nothing visually dramatic now, but the position itself, on a headland flanked by cliff-drops with open Atlantic exposure to the north, makes clear why someone once thought it worth defending.