There is nothing to see there today. No stones remain above ground, and the ground itself gives no hint that anything was ever placed there at all.

What we know comes almost entirely from cartographic evidence. The cairn was recorded and named on the first edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map, the remarkable mid-nineteenth century survey that captured Ireland's landscape in extraordinary detail, including features that were already ancient or already disappearing. By the time the second edition was produced in 1898, the cairn had been dropped from the record entirely, suggesting it had either been removed, dispersed, or simply deemed too insubstantial to warrant inclusion. It sat on the southern verge of the trackway, which places it as a feature of the route itself rather than a destination, the kind of marker that accumulates meaning slowly through repeated use rather than a single act of construction or commemoration.

There is no surviving physical trace to seek out, and the trackway it once bordered may itself have changed beyond recognition. What remains is the faint outline of a name on an old map, pointing to a spot where something once mattered enough to be noted, and not quite enough to be preserved.