It opens to the southeast, framing the water as it passes through, and it has been doing so for long enough that nobody can say with certainty when people first began coming to it. What is clear is that they still do.

The well is known locally as Tobar Chonaill, a name that attaches it to a saint called Conall, one of dozens of early Irish holy figures whose cults survived in rural practice long after formal ecclesiastical memory of them had faded. Holy wells of this type, often little more than a natural spring or stream given a modest stone setting, served as focal points for patterns, the Irish vernacular term for a saint's day gathering involving prayer, circumambulation, and sometimes the tying of offerings to nearby vegetation. The enclosure here is drystone construction, meaning it is built without mortar, with stones selected and stacked to hold by their own weight and fit. At roughly two and a half metres by one and a half, it is a modest structure, but its horseshoe plan, open to allow the stream to enter and exit, gives it a purposeful, considered shape. References to it appear in sources from the 1950s onward, suggesting its use and local identity were well established by the mid-twentieth century, and accounts consistently describe it as still frequented.

The well sits near a ringfort enclosure recorded in the same area, which places it within a landscape that has been continuously inhabited and marked out for a very long time. In Connemara, where the physical evidence of early settlement can be sparse and the historical record thinner still, a place like this one carries a particular kind of weight, not through drama or scale, but through the quiet fact of continued use.