Archaeologists have looked at them, taken measurements, and come away without a firm answer. The largest, a gable-shaped upright standing two metres tall and aligned east to west, is accompanied by two smaller stones roughly 0.8 metres high set just to its north-west, with a further large stone nearby that may once have lain flat as a covering slab. What exactly these stones once formed, no one can say with confidence.

The weight of evidence suggests this is a megalithic tomb, the heavily disturbed remains of a prehistoric funerary monument, but it resists precise classification. The tall gable-shaped stone hints at a connection to the portal tomb tradition, a type of megalithic structure typically characterised by two tall upright portal stones and a large capstone tilted dramatically over a burial chamber. Researcher MacDonald noted that affinity as early as 1990, yet the site cannot be formally assigned to any tomb class until further investigation takes place. Adding to the complexity, a line of small stones arranged just to the east of the monument appears to record a later, more pragmatic intervention: someone, at some point, seems to have attempted to convert whatever ancient structure remained into a pen or enclosure for animals. A ruined hut stands immediately to the south, suggesting the area was still in use, or at least occasionally occupied, long after any original funerary purpose had been forgotten. The stones were simply useful, and usefulness tends to override reverence.

The site sits where the mountain meets the strand, in a landscape already layered with prehistory and post-medieval abandonment. The combination of an unclassified ancient monument, a repurposed ruin, and a possible collapsed slab makes this a place where the record raises more questions than it resolves, which is, in its own way, part of what makes it worth knowing about.