The cairn, a roughly oval heap of stones measuring about 2.6 metres north to south and 1.6 metres east to west, rises only 0.42 metres at its highest point. It is easy to walk past without registering what it is, which is part of what makes its quiet persistence on that hillside worth pausing over.

What gives this particular spot a stranger quality is that it does not stand alone. Two further cairns sit within thirty to fifty metres of it, one to the northwest and another to the west, making this a small cluster of monuments on the same slope. Cairns of this kind are generally understood to be prehistoric stone heaps associated with burial or landscape marking, accumulated by communities who left no written explanation of their intentions. Alongside the cairns, the remains of a relict field boundary survive in the immediate vicinity, a trace of some former agricultural arrangement whose date and purpose are no longer clear but which suggests the area was once organised and worked in ways long since abandoned. The combination of funerary monuments and the ghost of a field system, all slowly being absorbed into the bog, gives the place a layered quality that resists easy summary.