Small black mountain range tattoo in a blackwork style, centred on the upper back between the shoulder blades.

Mountain peak tattoo on upper back

Blackwork · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A small black mountain range sits centred on the upper back, with a sharp peak in the middle and lower ridges on either side. The solid black ink is broken by white highlights within the peaks, and the design is set against plain, pale skin. The back of a person with reddish curly hair and dark shoulder straps frames the tattoo.

Blackwork Back Mountain Peak

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step there, the third one always lies. Come in out of the snow and sit by the grate, for the kettle's been on since the light went. You want the story of the Harrow sisters and the ridge above Corran Gap? Then hush, and let the wind have its say outside.

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Agnes Harrow was the elder, and she read weather the way other folk read letters. Her sister Ivy could not tell rain from fog, but she could climb anything with a handhold, and that was the trouble between them. When the valley men said the peak above the gap could not be crossed before the thaw, Ivy laughed and packed a loaf, a tin of boiled sweets, and a coil of tarred rope. Agnes said nothing. She only went to the window and watched the sharp white crown of the mountain take the last of the sun, black rock showing through where the snow had slid off its flanks.

They left at dawn. By noon the cloud had come down like a lid, and Ivy was singing to keep her feet moving. Agnes walked behind, counting the ridges as they rose on either side, low shoulders of dark stone with the light catching in the cracks. When the path split, Agnes took the left, though Ivy swore it was the right, and by dusk they were standing on a shelf of rock with the cloud beneath them like milk in a bowl.

Ivy never did forgive the mountain for being bigger than her. But she came down again, and so did Agnes, and when the thaw came they went back up together, slower, with the rope tied between them. Some say you can still see the path from the inn window on a clear night, pale against the black. I say you should go and find it yourself. Now, who wants the last of the tea?