Close-up photo of a black tribal-style turtle tattoo with two blue wavy lines across its centre, on skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tribal turtle with blue waves

Mixed · Photo

The image shows a bold black tribal-style turtle with a rounded shell and curved flippers, with a small head and tail shape at the top and bottom. Two horizontal wavy lines filled with blue ink sit across the centre of the design. The solid black linework is smooth and the blue areas are flat, set against lighter skin tones.

Turtle Wave Tribal Sea Water

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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

The skipper doesn't look up when you come aboard at four, only nods at the bare hatch cover you're expected to paint. Ruth Tremayne, who sells the crew their oilskins, has handed you a tin of black and a tin of blue enamel that smells of turpentine. "Do the turtle," she says. "Old Pen always did one for the first trip. Keeps the sea sweet."

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You sit on an upturned fish box with the lid across your knees and work the curves the way your grandfather taught you to cut kelp: long pulls, never stopping mid-stroke. The flippers must sweep back as if they're already pushing through water. The head is a single dot, the eye every fisherman checks before he trusts a swell. Then come the two wavy bands across the middle, which take longer than they should, because your hand keeps wanting to straighten them.

By the time the Constance Rae clears the breakwater the paint has dried to a dull gloss. Past the Runnel the swell lifts and the net goes out, and you stand at the rail with your palms raw from the winch handle, watching the gulls drop into the wake.

When the net comes back, a loggerhead is tangled by one flipper, eyes shut. The skipper has Pen's old knife in his fist, and you are the one who holds the line steady while he cuts. The creature slides off the side in one heave of green and goes under without looking back. In harbour the hatch is dry, the blue waves catching the sodium light. Nobody mentions the turtle. Ruth just nods at your empty tins and says the paint held.