It stands close to the southern shore of Lough Owel, within a hundred metres of an old townland boundary, which is itself the kind of liminal positioning that turns up repeatedly around prehistoric standing stones. Whether the proximity is coincidental or whether the stone helped to mark or anchor that boundary across centuries is a question the landscape quietly refuses to answer.

When fieldworkers examined the stone in October 1976, they recorded it as a rectangular-shaped limestone orthostat, the term used for a large upright slab set into the ground, measuring 2.8 metres high, 0.23 metres wide, and 0.27 metres thick. It leans slightly to the north. More intriguing than its dimensions is what survives on its surface: faint tool marks, and along one face a shallow ridge of relief running down one side. The fieldworkers noted this ridging was possibly a consequence of how the stone was originally quarried rather than any deliberate carving. That small distinction matters, because it gestures at the practical work behind the monument, the decisions made at the source of the stone before it ever arrived at its current position. Limestone of that scale does not travel easily, and the effort involved in raising it speaks to whatever significance the site once carried, even if that significance is now entirely opaque.