This rugged area, stretching roughly 700 metres north to south and varying between 50 and 220 metres east to west, represents the island’s highest point and contains an extraordinary concentration of ancient sites. The natural geography itself tells a defensive story; a narrow 40-metre-wide isthmus forms a natural ditch leading to the southern section, where the grass-covered remains of a stone wall still stand, built from granite blocks set on edge. Historical records from the 1650s mention a ‘Little Castle’ here, though no visible traces of this structure remain today.

The peninsula’s defences become increasingly impressive as you move northward. About 80 metres east of the entrance, an earthen and stone bank runs for 105 metres alongside a fosse, punctuated by a deliberate gap halfway along its length. Beyond this first line of defence, the remnants of various enclosures and mysterious bands of water-rolled beach stones create geometric patterns across the landscape, including what appears to be a square structure with evidence of a hearth in its southeast corner. Further north, where the peninsula narrows to another 50-metre-wide isthmus, stands the site known locally as ‘Balor’s Fort’; a formidable series of four massive earthen banks with intervening ditches, rising progressively with the natural slope and showing traces of stone revetment work.

Perhaps most intriguing are the remains of at least twenty hut circles scattered across the sheltered, south-facing slope beyond Balor’s Fort. These structures, typically circular or oval and measuring up to 10 metres across, were built directly on the island’s rocky surface, their earthen and stone banks still visible despite centuries of Atlantic weather. Among them, three sites known as ‘Diarmuid and Grania’s’ appear as circular depressions, their original purpose lost to time. A rock-cut well near one of the huts suggests this was once a thriving settlement, whilst further east, an almost inaccessible tower of rock called Tor-more guards the peninsula’s extremity. Here, another rock-cut fosse protects a final collapsed stone enclosure, perched precariously on the cliff edge. Together, these features transform Tory Island’s eastern peninsula into an archaeological puzzle; a fortified landscape whose builders and inhabitants remain tantalizingly unknown, their stories written only in stone and earth against the wild Atlantic backdrop.