It sits on the townland boundary between Ballyhaght and Streamhill East, one of a group of five boundary cairns that once marked this upland frontier with piled stone. Whether any of that stone remains above ground is, at this point, genuinely uncertain.

Boundary cairns are among the more functional monuments in the Irish landscape, heaps of stone raised not for burial or ceremony but simply to say: here is where one jurisdiction ends and another begins. This particular cairn belongs to a cluster of five, recorded together in the Sites and Monuments Record under related reference numbers. What is curious about it is how thoroughly it has slipped from the documentary record. Neither the Ordnance Survey's six-inch map of 1840 nor the more detailed twenty-five-inch edition of 1897 includes it. The only historical mapping that acknowledges its existence at all is the later Cassini edition of the six-inch map, where it appears with the modest annotation "Mound", a label that tells you almost nothing about what it was or why it was there. By the time aerial and satellite imagery was gathered between 2011 and 2013, no surface remains were visible at all, either on Digital Globe orthoimage or on Google Earth. The cairn has either been absorbed into the ground or dispersed across the pasture over time.

For anyone determined to look for it, the site lies in rough upland grazing on Carron Mountain along the Cork-Limerick county boundary. Access to this kind of terrain tends to be unmarked and the ground underfoot can be soft, so stout footwear and an awareness of the surrounding farmland are both sensible. The honest expectation, based on the available survey evidence compiled by Fiona Rooney and uploaded to the record in November 2021, is that there may be nothing to see. What makes the visit worthwhile, if anything does, is the boundary itself rather than the monument: a line across open mountain that still divides two counties, even as the cairn that once announced it has quietly disappeared.