Fine line black tattoo of a small sailboat on waves on the inner wrist, with a world map behind the hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small sailboat on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small sailboat with a triangular sail sits on a few wavy lines of water, drawn in black ink on the inside of a wrist. The linework is thin and even, and the tattoo is set against a hand held up in front of a colourful world map, which fills the background.

Fine line Forearm Sailboat Boat Wave Sea

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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

Sit down, the lot of you, and mind the kettle, because this is the one about Ada Pringle and the little boat that never left the harbour wall. Ada kept a chandlery at the bottom of Mercy Lane, and behind her door she had pinned a map of the whole world, gone soft and yellow where the afternoon sun got at it. Every evening she'd run a finger across the blue to some place she'd never set foot in, and she'd tell the boy who swept up for her that the sea was only ever a few thin lines of water. You draw them fine, she said, so the boat has room to go.

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The boat was called the Tern. She had rigged her from an old dinghy, a single triangle of sail, and she kept her on the slipway in case the tide ever remembered its manners. The boy, Owen Carrick, was twelve and had no patience for ropes, so one grey morning in February he took the Tern out on the first of the flood without asking anyone. The gulls followed him to the bar. The fishermen on the quay swore they saw him wave, and then the mist came down thick as wool and nobody saw anything at all.

He came back on the evening tide with his cap full of mackerel and salt in his hair, and he would not say where he had been, only that the water had gone on further than anyone said it did. Ada didn't ask. She went inside and took the map off the door and laid it flat on the counter. On the Atlantic, a little way off the coast of nowhere she had ever heard of, there was a pencil mark, no bigger than a fingernail, and beside it a neat small sail.