Realism tattoo of a leaping largemouth bass with a lure, dead tree stumps and a fisherman in a boat, across a man's back and shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Leaping bass and angler across back and shoulder

Realism · Back · Mixed · Photo

A largemouth bass leaps from the water with its mouth wide open and a lure at its jaw, shown in detailed shading with yellow-green scales. Weathered tree stumps rise from the water beside it, and a small figure of a fisherman in a boat sits on the upper arm under a pale blue and grey sky. The image is a close photograph of the back and shoulder, with soft natural light and the design filling most of the frame.

Realism Back Shoulder Upper arm Fish Boat Sky Cloud Water

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dai Pryce had fished the reservoir for thirty-one years before the water dropped far enough to show him the stumps again. They stood in rows where the orchard used to be, grey and split, and the men at the slipway said you could hear them tick as the sun dried them. Dai didn't care for the stories. He cared about the bass that lived under the Tanllwyn stumps, a fish the length of his forearm that had taken every lure he owned and bent two of his best hooks.

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On the last Saturday in May he tied on a silver spoon with a red feather, the one his late wife had sewn onto his cap, and cast it low between the trunks. The line went tight in the grey light before the sun was properly up. The bass came out of the water all at once, mouth open wide enough to swallow the morning, and hung there shaking its head at the sky. Dai held the rod steady and did not reel in. He had lived in the valley long enough to know what it cost to keep a thing that had been taken from somebody else.

He cut the line close to the jaw and let the fish slide back under. The spoon stayed where it was, a small bright thing among the scales. All that summer the lads from the village reported the same fish near the stumps, always with a flicker of red at its mouth, and nobody ever got it to bite again.

Dai took the boat out every May after that. He sat at the oars and waited until the ripples stopped, and then the bass rose to look at him, a fish with a little of his luck hanging from its lip. He never cast for it again. He only nodded, and it went down slowly under the dark trunks of the orchard.