It looks, from a distance, like a natural landform; a gently domed knoll, roughly 35 metres east to west and 30 metres north to south, with a flattish top and sides that slope steeply enough to have been scarped at their base on the south-western side to a height of around 0.9 metres. Whether that scarping is the work of human hands or simply the accident of geology is not entirely clear, and that uncertainty sits at the centre of what makes this place quietly compelling. What was mapped in 1837 to 1838 as a circular, ringfort-like enclosure of approximately 40 metres diameter had become, by the 1922 Ordnance Survey edition, a penannular feature open to the north-east, suggesting either erosion or a shift in how surveyors interpreted what they saw. No clearly defined enclosing element survives on the ground today.

The detail that rescues the site from mere cartographic curiosity is a short length of bank, only 9 metres long and running roughly north-north-west to south-south-east across the flattish summit. Set into it is a single large boulder which local tradition identifies as a mass rock. Mass rocks were outdoor altars used during the Penal period in Ireland, roughly the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when Catholic worship was suppressed and priests celebrated Mass in remote or concealed locations to avoid detection. That a community would have chosen this particular elevated knoll, overlooking what the 1837 to 1838 map records as a small lake called Colemans Lough to the north, now reduced to boggy pasture, gives some sense of how the topography itself offered a degree of shelter and watchfulness. Within a relatively short radius, there is also a possible souterrain to the south-west and a possible rath to the west, a rath being a circular earthen enclosure typically associated with early medieval settlement, which suggests the hillock sits within a broader landscape of long, layered use.