On the 1923 Ordnance Survey six-inch map, a sub-rectangular enclosure is marked on a gentle north-facing slope in what is now open pasture. It looks, at first glance, like the kind of feature that archaeologists get quietly excited about: a defined shape, a boundary, a suggestion of something deliberate. The reality on the ground is a little more ambiguous, and that ambiguity is precisely what makes it interesting.

The enclosure measures roughly 40 metres along its north-east to south-west axis. Its western and north-eastern sides are formed by a dry-stone boundary wall standing about 1.35 metres high, which kinks noticeably at this point, as though it were detouring around something, or was built to contain it. A modern wire fence completes the circuit to the north-west. The site has been partially levelled over time, and whatever original form it held has been softened considerably. When Denis Power compiled the site record, uploaded in August 2011, he noted that the 1923 map depiction was not definitively suggestive of an archaeological site, and on that basis it was excluded from the formal county inventory. In other words, it sits in a grey zone: recorded, examined, and then set aside.

For a visitor curious enough to seek it out, the approach is straightforward in the sense that the landscape is open farmland on a gentle slope, though access would require local permission as it is working pasture. The most telling feature to look for is the kink in the dry-stone wall itself, that slight but deliberate change of direction that first caught a cartographer's attention a century ago. A galvanised hay shed now sits against the enclosing wall inside the south-western gateway, which gives the space an entirely practical modern use. What the wall was originally built around, or whether the sub-rectangular shape reflects something older beneath the soil, remains an open question.