It is circular, just 2.6 metres in diameter and less than a metre high at its surviving wall height, with walls over a metre thick. Those proportions tell you something immediately: this was built to endure wind and cold, not to impress. Its entrance faces northeast, which is an unusual choice given the prevailing weather off the Atlantic, and much of the surrounding stone has long since fallen.

The construction technique is corbelling, a method in which each course of dry-laid stone projects slightly inward over the one below, eventually closing the roof without mortar or timber. It is the same principle seen in beehive huts, or clocháns, found elsewhere along the Kerry coast, and it produces a structure that can survive for centuries through the sheer logic of its geometry. There is an external offset at the southeast, a slight projection in the outer wall whose function is not entirely clear but which may have provided a windbreak or a small working area outside the entrance. The location, high and exposed on the rocky terrain near the Caunoge summit, raises questions that the structure itself cannot answer. It could have served a seasonal herding function, a place for someone watching cattle on the high ground during summer months, or it may have had an entirely different purpose now lost to the record.

The site sits in the kind of landscape where the archaeology is easy to miss precisely because it resembles its surroundings so completely. Drystone on a rocky mountainside tends to blend, and much of the original fabric has slumped. What remains is modest in scale but specific in craft, a small deliberate shelter made by someone who understood exactly what the mountain demanded of them.