The well itself is barely a metre across, D-shaped, shallow, and lined with white-painted stones. Two stone steps lead down to it from the northwest. It is modest almost to the point of invisibility, yet it sits within a carefully tended rectangular enclosure of earthen bank, hedge, and drystone wall, with a gate that opens directly onto those steps. A statue of a mitred bishop stands inside the enclosure. There are no votive offerings, no knotted rags on nearby branches, none of the accumulated tokens that tend to accumulate at active pattern sites. Someone tends the place, but quietly.

The well is dedicated to Saint Caomhán Santleathan, associated with the early church site at Ardcavan, a few miles to the north along the Wexford coast. Around 1840, the scholar and place-name surveyor John O'Donovan recorded that the pattern here, meaning the traditional gathering of prayer and ritual observed on a saint's feast day, fell on the 12th of June. That detail was later published in a collection of O'Donovan's letters edited by Michael O'Flanagan in 1933. Whether the pattern continued beyond O'Donovan's time is not recorded, but the maintenance of the enclosure and the presence of the bishop statue suggest the site has not been entirely forgotten. The saint's name, Santleathan, is unusual enough to invite curiosity; it may be a descriptive epithet rather than a surname in any modern sense, though its precise meaning is not firmly established.

The well sits close enough to the railway line that the embankment is a visible feature of the immediate landscape, which gives the site an oddly layered quality: a pre-Norman devotional site in the literal shadow of Victorian infrastructure. The surrounding valley is low and unremarkable, drained by a small stream running roughly south to north about a hundred metres to the west. June 12th, the old feast day, remains a reasonable moment to think about the place and what it once drew people to do.