What makes this particular example quietly odd is the way a later field wall has simply been driven straight through it, running north to south across the cairn's eastern sector. The wall did not go around the ancient monument; it went through it, and the stones it displaced went into the wall itself.

The cairn is roughly circular, measuring thirteen metres east to west and twelve metres north to south, and rises only about ninety centimetres above the surrounding ground. Sod has grown over most of its surface, giving it the rounded, unassuming profile that makes such monuments easy to miss or easy to dismiss as a natural rise in the field. But the interference of the field wall has undone part of that concealment. Where stones were robbed from the cairn to build the wall, a hollow has formed just east of the centre, and loose stones now sit exposed there. Further stones break the surface intermittently along the southern and western edges. The section of the cairn immediately to the east of the wall remains undisturbed, its covering of sod intact, preserving whatever the original builders left beneath.

The view from the site is worth noting in its own right. The lower slopes of Lackacroghan face south, and from this position the mouth of Bantry Bay opens out below. Whether the cairn's builders chose the location partly for that orientation, looking out toward the sea, is not something the surviving evidence answers. What the site does show, plainly and without drama, is how prehistoric monuments and agricultural boundaries have coexisted in Ireland for centuries, each generation making use of what the last left behind.