Black and grey geometric mountain range tattoo wrapping around the outer thigh, with hatched peaks and light grey shading.

Mountain range band on a thigh

Geometric · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A band of mountain peaks wraps around the outer thigh, with the skyline rendered in angular, geometric shapes. The peaks use fine hatched lines and grey shading to suggest depth, with some areas left as bare skin for highlights. The image is in black and grey and is framed against a dark background, with the tattoo sitting across the middle of the frame.

Geometric Fine line Thigh Mountain Peak Landscape Band Hatching

Find an artist for this

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

You reach the school hall at half past seven, when the trestle tables still smell of squash and the caretaker is stacking chairs with the wrong hand. Your name badge says RUTH in capitals someone has underlined twice. Nobody recognises you until Mr Pell, who taught geography for thirty-one years, taps the badge with a biro and says, 'Skiddaw was always your problem.'

Keep reading

Fourth year, the Lake District skyline traced in Indian ink on tracing paper, hatching for the shadow faces and bare strips left for snow. You drew it so carefully that Mr Pell pinned it in the corridor, and for a month every child passing the bus queue could check the angle of Scafell against your lines. Dana Corrigan said it looked like a row of folded paper hats. You never quite forgave her, and you never stopped drawing peaks.

Dana arrives late, in a coat she has plainly bought for tonight. She carries a bottle of something cheap and two paper cups. You talk about jobs, children, a flat in Leeds with a broken boiler, and somewhere between the second cup and the caretaker's pointed cough she unzips her bag and produces a folded sheet, soft as cloth. It is your old drawing. In the corner, in your twelve-year-old capitals: FOR DANA, WHO IS WRONG.

You unfold it on the sticky table. The grey has faded to the colour of weak tea and the snow strips have gone yellow. 'Still wrong,' she says. You tell her the valleys were always the honest part. Outside, the car park lights come on one by one, like the tops of something rising.