It would be easy to walk past without a second glance, and gorse has done its best to make that even more likely, smothering most of the cairn's surface and obscuring the large perimeter stones that hint at its original shape. Only the western side remains relatively clear, giving a partial view of what survives.

A cairn of this kind, a deliberate heap of stones raised over a burial or as a monument, is a familiar feature of the Irish prehistoric landscape, though most are considerably more substantial. This one measures roughly three metres north to south and just under two and two-thirds metres east to west, a modest footprint that suggests either a modest original construction or centuries of disturbance, or both. The damage is evident; the stones that once defined the perimeter appear only intermittently beneath the vegetation. What lifts the site slightly above the merely vestigial is the presence of a standing stone just two metres to the east, a single upright slab whose relationship to the cairn is unrecorded but whose proximity is almost certainly not coincidental. The pairing of a cairn and a standing stone is a pattern seen elsewhere in Cork and across Ireland, and it raises quiet questions about how this small corner of the Beara Peninsula was used and marked by the people who built here.

The site sits on a slight elevation in low-lying pasture, around forty metres east of a river, and the mountain rises immediately behind it. The gorse cover means that the cairn reads better from the west, where the ground is less obscured, and the standing stone to the east provides a clearer focal point for anyone trying to make sense of what remains.