I can’t say that I have ever before likened myself to a brain surgeon. Or a heart surgeon. Or any kind of skilled miracle worker of the life-saving variety.
I am just not brain surgeon-smart. Or talented. (Don’t get me wrong, I know I am awesome. I knit, for goodness sake.)
But this week. I rose to new heights. Life-saving heights. It was almost as if I went to med school. Even though I didn’t.
I have been working on a new cowl. I swatched the thing first, even though it is atypical for me to be a by-the-book knitter. The swatch came out pretty dang fabulous, and I was basically doing my post-touchdown celebration dance in my head before I scored the goal (or cast on for that matter).
Because I never get ahead of myself or anything. And, yes, now I am mixing a medical analogy with a football analogy.
Bear with me.
Eventually I did cast on. But here’s the thing: I didn’t knit exactly what I swatched. I adjusted it. Just a bit. A few rows of stockinette between the garter edge and my first stitch pattern. I thought it needed more of a, uhm, transition.
The good news: my garter edge did not roll. This was my goal. Nothing irks me more in knitting than a rolling edge. Touchdown dance still on track.
Nothing can ever be so easy.
The bad news: now my cowl was folding where I added the extra rows of stockinette. I was having such a jolly time knitting along, practicing my Heisman trophy speech, that I didn’t even really notice until I was 100 meters in…Close to half way.
Time out. Lay on the field and cry. Roll into a little ball. Medic!
I knew one thing: I wasn’t going back. I had this feeling there was a way to simply undue the knitting from the cast-on edge. Fix it later. I had come so far. I couldn’t stomach the idea of frogging the thing, fatal fold and all.
Sadly unraveling a cast on edge isn’t quite as simple as unraveling a cast off edge. The stitches lock, and you have to unpick each one.
There is not enough wine in the world to get you through that one. Unless you are more patient than I. Even so. Avoid at all costs.
Thankfully there is an alternative solution. A relatively easy and painless one, all things considered. It was scary, and it did involve cutting my knitting with scissors. (Did I mention I was knitting with a cashmere blend?) A first for me. But I did it. And I lived. If you are reading this, you can do it to.
Step 1. Lifeline.
Run a lifeline through the row of stitches you want to start at. I used a circular needle several sizes smaller than the needle I was knitting with. You could also use a piece of scrap yarn and a big needle.
Step 2. Pray (I mean, cut).
Pray to your god(s). Cross fingers. Salt over shoulder. Take Xanax. Summon courage.
Just be sure not to cut any of the stitches on your lifeline. Aim for the row below. Although here I cut two rows below because of the pattern transition, and it worked just fine.
Step 3. Tidy.
After cutting, you end up with lots of messy yarn bits. If you have a regular house keeper (who is someone other than you), things are looking good. Otherwise, you have to grab all those little suckers and clean up the row of live stitches left on your lifeline.
Step 4: Knit on.
You should now have a clean row of live stitches. Notice there is also a new live tale on the far right. Reattach yarn, switch back to your regular needles, and you are good to go. Reknit your new cast on edge as desired.
This now completes this Public Service Announcement.