The mound measures roughly 7.7 metres north to south and 7 metres east to west, with a gently flattened top, and the asymmetry of its profile tells its own quiet story: the north-west face rises only about 45 centimetres from the surrounding ground, while the south-east side, where the ridge drops away beneath it, stands closer to 85 centimetres. That difference is not decay or damage but simple topography, the ridge itself falling off to the south-east so that the mound appears more substantial on one side than the other.

When a fieldworker examined the site in May 1983, tree stumps were still visible on the surface, suggesting the mound had at some point carried a small stand of trees. The earlier account from that visit tentatively classed it as a bowl barrow, a type of round burial mound typically ringed by a shallow ditch. A bowl barrow without a ditch, however, is not really a bowl barrow at all, and when David McGuinness surveyed the monument in 2015, the thick grass cover revealed no convincing trace of any surrounding ditch at the surface. That absence pushed the classification back to the broader category of mound barrow, a term applied to earthen burial mounds where the defining features of more specific types cannot be confirmed. It is a small but meaningful distinction: it acknowledges what can actually be seen rather than what might be assumed.

The ridge on which the mound sits falls sharply away to both the north-east and south-west, and McGuinness noted that were it not for the surrounding trees, the view to the south would be considerable. That kind of elevated, outward-facing position is common for prehistoric burial monuments, whose builders often chose prominent, visible ground, perhaps to mark territory, perhaps for reasons we can no longer recover.