What remains today is a roughly circular spread of disturbed ground, about nineteen metres across, its surface uneven with humps and hollows and angular stones pushing up through the sod. The higher edge, to the north-west, still reaches about a metre; the south-eastern side has subsided to little more than half that. It is not much to look at, but the place carries a name that suggests people once thought of it as something considerably more than a bump in a field.

Locally, this feature was traditionally known as a síodan, a term from Irish folklore referring to a fairy mound or supernatural dwelling place, the kind of earthwork that communities often regarded with a mixture of reverence and wariness. Such associations frequently attached themselves to ancient mounds or cairns, the accumulated stone and earth of earlier peoples, and they sometimes served as a form of informal protection, discouraging disturbance where official designation offered none. In this case, the protection was not enough. The mound has clearly been damaged at some point, reduced from whatever original height it once held to the low, scattered form visible today. The identification as a levelled mound or cairn comes from local knowledge passed on by Jim Gilvarry in the late 1980s and early 1990s, and it is the kind of testimony that survives precisely because a place held enough meaning in the local memory to be talked about at all. Behind the field, to the south-west, Nephin Mountain and the Nephin Beg range sit on the horizon, a view that whoever first raised the mound would have known just as well as anyone standing there now.