What makes this particular example quietly interesting is less any single dramatic feature than the gradual, accumulative way the landscape has absorbed and repurposed it. The earthen bank that originally defined the enclosure has, along its south-western arc, been pressed into service as an ordinary field boundary, and later farm fences now abut the rath at several points around its perimeter. The monument and the working farmland around it have grown into each other over centuries, the one quietly domesticating the other.

The rath itself is a raised oval measuring roughly thirty metres north to south and thirty-five and a half metres east to west. Its defining bank survives well along the south-south-east to west-north-west arc, but diminishes to a simple earthen scarp on the opposite side, retaining only a slight internal lip in places. Inside, the ground slopes gently downward from the centre toward the north. A ruined earth and stone field fence, less than a metre wide and barely twenty centimetres high, runs roughly north to south through the interior east of centre, a later intrusion that cuts cleanly across the older enclosure. The whole perimeter is thickly fringed with hawthorn, blackthorn, and hazel, the kind of scrubby growth that tends to colonise undisturbed earthworks, and blackthorn has begun to push inward from the south-eastern quadrant.

Access to the interior is currently through a gap about one and a quarter metres wide at the south-east, supplemented by several narrow breaks in the bank at the north and east, worn through by cattle over time. The site sits on a rise with wide views east and west across gently undulating grassland and bog, a position that would have made practical sense to whoever first chose it, offering both outlook and a degree of natural prominence in an otherwise open landscape.