Roughly nineteen metres long, just over fourteen metres wide, and less than two metres high, it is not the kind of thing that stops traffic. What gives it a slightly unsettled quality is the central depression hollowed into its top, a feature common to mounds that have been disturbed, whether by earlier antiquarians probing for burial chambers, by the collapse of an internal structure, or simply by centuries of rain and settlement.

The mound is built from earth and stone, a combination that fits broadly within the tradition of prehistoric funerary or ceremonial monuments found across the west of Ireland, though no excavation appears to have confirmed what, if anything, lies beneath. T. J. Westropp, the prolific late-Victorian fieldworker who documented monuments across Connacht and Munster, noted it as long ago as 1895, which at least establishes that it was a recognised feature of the landscape well before modern land consolidation reshaped so much of rural Galway. A modern stone wall now abuts the mound on its southern side, the kind of quiet encroachment that happens when a field boundary is rebuilt and the old earthwork simply becomes part of the margin.