That act of agricultural tidying effectively severed whatever connection the stone once had to its original setting, and nobody recorded where that setting was. It does not appear on Ordnance Survey maps. The stone is simply there now, displaced, its history of use largely unreadable.

What survives is the carving. On the boulder's north-facing surface, a Latin cross, the familiar upright with a shorter horizontal bar, has been worked into the stone by pocking, a technique in which repeated strikes with a hard implement gradually hollow out a linear channel rather than cutting it cleanly. The cross measures around 45 centimetres in length, modest against the considerable bulk of the boulder itself, which runs to 1.8 metres by 1.3 metres. Cross-inscribed stones of this kind are scattered across early medieval Ireland, frequently associated with sacred boundaries, pilgrimage routes, or burial grounds, though without knowledge of this stone's original position, any such association remains speculative. It was recorded in Ann O'Sullivan and John Sheehan's thorough archaeological survey of the Iveragh Peninsula, published by Cork University Press in 1996, which catalogued sites across one of the most monument-rich stretches of the Irish southwest.

The stone's situation is a quiet illustration of how much early medieval landscape context gets lost not through dramatic destruction but through incremental, practical decisions made in fields over generations. The carving itself endures; the meaning it held in place does not.