That omission is quietly remarkable. The site is not obscure because it is unremarkable; it is simply a place that slipped through the cartographic net, unacknowledged on paper while the sea continued its work on the cliffs around it.

The fort itself is small, a roughly trapezoidal tongue of land measuring about eighteen metres northwest to southeast and only around five metres across at its widest. Three sides, the northwest, northeast, and southeast, are bounded by high sea cliffs, making them natural defences that needed no human improvement. The northeast end, exposed to the full force of Atlantic wave action, is noticeably eroded. The only landward approach is from the southwest, and it is here that whoever built the fort concentrated their effort. A low bank of earth and stone, just over a metre wide, cuts across the neck of the promontory. Beyond the outer face of this bank lies a berm, a flat shelf of ground about two metres wide, and then a wide, flat-bottomed fosse. A fosse is simply a defensive ditch, dug to slow or deter anyone approaching on foot, and this one is substantial: nearly twelve metres across at the top, tapering to just over five metres at the base, and between one and a half and two and a half metres deep. A three-metre gap in the bank on the southeast side, paired with a causeway spanning the ditch, would have provided the original entrance. The overall effect is a place that used the sea as its primary protection and earthwork engineering as its secondary line.