Both the 1838 and 1916 editions of the OS six-inch maps mark the same spot, but only as a trigonometrical station, a surveying reference point. The mound itself goes unrecorded on either sheet, which raises a quiet question: was it already there and overlooked, or did it simply not fit neatly into the categories surveyors were trained to notice?

What survives today is a roughly oval earthwork, measuring about 8.6 metres east to west and 4.7 metres north to south, rising to 2.5 metres at its eastern end and tapering to around 1.4 metres at the west. It is composed of gravelly earth, with stones protruding from a narrow flat top barely a metre wide, and a steep curving slope on its north-eastern face. The shape it presents now is probably not its original form. Field fences have cut into it at the north-west and south, and it is thought the mound may once have been circular before the encroaching boundaries of agricultural land whittled it down. It sits at the junction of two field fences, occupying what feels like a leftover corner of the landscape, with a disused sunken trackway running along its north-western edge. Sunken trackways of this kind are often ancient, worn down over centuries of use before being abandoned entirely, and their presence beside old earthworks is not unusual in the Irish countryside.

The mound looks out over a gently undulating stretch of grassland, with expanses of bog opening to the west. Whatever its original purpose, whether burial, boundary marker, or something else entirely, it commands the kind of elevated position that suggests it was placed with intention. The stones breaking through the surface hint that there may be more structure beneath the earth than is immediately visible from the outside.