It is an unassuming thing, partly fallen, half a metre thick and no more than eighty centimetres high where it still stands, and it would be easy to walk past it without a second glance. What gives it a quiet interest is the material from which it was built: shaly-type slabs that appear to have been lifted directly from the outcrops that punctuate the surrounding ground. At irregular intervals along its length, larger upright slabs break the horizontal coursing, a detail that suggests either structural intention or simply the opportunistic use of whatever stone came to hand.

The wall connects at its south-western end to an enclosure, suggesting it once served as a boundary or division appended to a more substantial agricultural feature. Drystone construction of this kind, which relies entirely on the careful stacking of unmortered stone, was the default field-building technique across much of rural Ireland for centuries, particularly in areas where local rock was plentiful and lime for mortar was scarce or expensive. Here, the geology did the work of the quarry, and the builders seem to have shaped the wall around the outcrops rather than clearing them away, letting the natural landscape absorb the human one.