What makes this one quietly arresting is the way it has been pressed on all sides by the centuries: a road clips its western edge, farm buildings crowd its north-eastern flank, and a C-shaped hollow roughly ten metres across has been quarried out of the eastern platform, a wound already visible on the Ordnance Survey six-inch map of 1838. By the time that map was made, the damage was done and recorded, which means the quarrying is itself now part of the historical record of the place.

The rath survives as a raised earthen platform, roughly 33 metres on its north-east to south-west axis and about 36 metres across from north-west to south-east. A vertically-cut scarp, between 1.8 and 2 metres high, still defines the perimeter clearly, and the northern arc in particular retains much of the original circular curve of the enclosure. The southern and south-western sections have taken further damage over time, leaving the overall plan irregular rather than the neat circle it would once have presented. The interior is level and, at ground level, gives nothing away.

What draws the eye now is less the earthwork itself than the ring of vegetation that has colonised its edges: ash, hawthorn, blackthorn, and brambles encircle the platform in a dense, tangled border. This kind of growth is common on Irish raths, partly because such sites were traditionally left unploughed, associated in local memory with the fairy mounds or síde, and partly because the earthwork simply offers undisturbed ground. A stream runs about 150 metres to the east, close enough to have made the original site practical for a farming household. The barn and shed standing immediately to the north-west give a sense of just how tightly the modern working farm has grown up around a structure that predates it by well over a thousand years.