The cairn measures roughly 18.5 metres north to south, 12 metres east to west, and stands about 4.5 metres high, a substantial heap of stone that has been slowly losing its edges over the centuries, with tumbled material spilling downslope on both the northern and southern flanks. What makes this particular monument quietly peculiar is not just its size, but the way human intervention has layered itself on top of ancient intervention. Somebody, at some point in living memory, gathered stones from the prehistoric cairn and piled them into two smaller cairns, each roughly 1.8 metres tall, placing these new structures directly on the outcropping rock the original monument straddles. The result is something that looks, at a glance, like a single coherent feature but is in fact at least two different moments in human history occupying the same patch of ground.

Cairns of this kind are generally understood to be prehistoric funerary monuments, mounds of stone raised over burials or as territorial markers on prominent high ground. The choice of location here follows a pattern well recognised across Ireland: a commanding position on a ridge, with extensive views in every direction, signalling both practical awareness of the landscape and, most likely, a deliberate statement of presence. On the northern side of the cairn, short sections of stone slabs set end to end in a contiguous line may preserve something of the kerb or outer edging that originally defined the monument's boundary, a structural feature that would have given the cairn a more formal, finished appearance before centuries of erosion and stone-robbing took their toll. The reuse of cairn material for the two modern cairns is a reminder that these sites rarely sit untouched; they accumulate the attentions of each generation that passes over the hill.