Drainage works carried out at some point reduced the lough from an actual body of water to a spread of wet, marshy terrain, leaving this standing stone stranded in a basin that no longer behaves like one. The stone itself is not a tall, theatrical monolith of the kind that tends to draw attention. It measures roughly 1.25 metres in height and just under a metre wide, a broad, heavy presence rather than a slender one.

The character of the stone is worth paying attention to. Viewed from the shorter side, its edges taper slightly inward as they rise, giving it a faintly wedge-like silhouette. But look at it from the longer side and it reads as flat-topped and almost architectural, closer to a block than a spike. Its long axis runs north-north-west to south-south-east, an alignment that may or may not be deliberate but is consistent with the kind of directional orientation seen in standing stones across Ireland, where such markers were sometimes positioned in relation to landscape features, trackways, or seasonal astronomical points. The lough it once overlooked sat in a shallow natural basin ringed by gently rising ground, a setting that would have made the stone visible from the surrounding slopes and perhaps made the water visible from the stone.

The site sits in terrain that is genuinely soft underfoot, so visiting in drier months makes practical sense. The marshy ground that replaced the lough offers little visual drama, but the stone itself, low and solid in an otherwise featureless wet expanse, has a presence that is quietly odd, something placed with apparent intention in a landscape that has since been altered almost beyond recognition.