What was once a deliberate alignment of seven stones, oriented east to west, is now a scatter of large slabs lying on the ground with no apparent arrangement, the original pattern long since lost. The site sits under forest cover, which adds a further layer of obscurity to something that was already, by the time anyone thought to write it down, in a state of considerable disorder.

When the antiquarian Bowman visited in 1934, he noted the alignment in his records, observing that five of the seven stones were already prostrate and the remaining two were inclining. The landowner told him directly that the stones had been broken, suggesting deliberate interference at some point rather than simple collapse through age or weather. Stone rows, which are among the more enigmatic monument types of prehistoric Ireland and Britain, typically consist of two or more standing stones set in a line, often on elevated ground, and frequently with an orientation that may relate to astronomical events, though their precise function remains debated. The Glannaharee row, had it survived intact, would have sat within a broader landscape of related monuments; a standing stone pair lies roughly 950 metres to the south-southwest, hinting at a prehistoric presence across this stretch of the Bweengduff uplands.

For anyone who does make their way to this part of north Cork, the forest cover means the site offers little in the way of visual reward. What remains is archaeologically real but practically invisible, a cluster of displaced slabs that requires some imagination and prior knowledge to read as anything other than random geology.