Be Heeled! In Which Count Sockula Gets A Revelation

Good evening, my children.  Turn down the lights, sit back, and listen to another tale from the kingdom of Sockopolis.

So you know how, in spite of short-row yearnings, Count Sockula was unable to fashion a short-row heel that actually looked like a real, flap 'n gusset heel? One that had depth? One that fit?
　
Coming up instead with pathetic little half-heel nubbins?
　
Well, my children, the answer was so seeeeeemmmmppppllllle!  MUAHAHAAAAA!
　
In a casual little aside from one of my sock books, just a footnote really, there lay a picture of a short-row heel and some text that read: 'If you have problems creating a heel with depth, you can use up to 60% of your total stitches.'
　
Yes! Thievery was the answer.
　
Imagine that! Use MORE stitches. Steal from your instep stitches to add to your heel stitches! And here I was, using the 'normal' half of the total sock stitches for my heels. Silly Count Sockula.
　
Out came the needles and workbasket. Out came some Red Heart scraps. On went the Count's usual 32-stitch I-need-to-perform-an-experiment socklet. (From the toe up this time, just for laughs).
　
Count Sockula may have been absent the day they taught math, but I do know that sixty percent of 32 is not an even number. And 32 isn't all that big a number to start with. So (also just for laughs), I stole four stitches from the instep: two for each side of the heel.
　
It worked. A real heel, with enough depth not to be laughed at by all the other heels in the sock drawer.
　　
　
And now, behold the triumph of the short-row heel!

　
　
Yes, I know they are not identical twins. They are not even fraternals, but cousins.  But they are real heels.


 Now, once upon a time, in the ancient days of double-pointed needles and flap/gusset heels, Count Sockula was obeying the sock books and CUTTING the yarn (just as the books demanded) before knitting heel flap and turn.  Because, as you know, the yarn ends up sticking out of the middle of where your heel flap would be.

And then one day, another book said, 'Forget cutting yarn!  You can re-arrange the heel flap stitches so the yarn comes out at the beginning of the flap.  You can even knit half a row and purl back.  No one will notice, and we won't tell."  

So it was then that the Count discovered the joy of not cutting heel yarn.  And then came two circulars, with no stitch re-arranging whatever.

Imagine the sense of freedom the Count achieved at the prospect of not having to pick up gusset stitches at all!

This Cousins Sock-speriment has been an exercise in freedom.   I haz a happy.

And here they are compared to a dishcloth sock with a flap/gusset heel.

　
Once the heel is completed, placing the extra stitches back on the instep is optional, and only slightly hazardous.

Count Sockula imagines one could also make extra heel stitches, not steal them, and then work the extra stitches away once the heel is completed. But this has not yet been tried.


So---unless Count Sockula is the only knitter in the entire kingdom of Sockopolis with this heel problem---if your short-row heels are also lacking depth, you might want to try the simple expediency of  stitch-stealing for yourself.

Sad day in Sockopolis: In which Count Sockula feels like a total heel

For some time now, Count Sockula has been wondering about different sock heel styles.

The conventional heel-flap-turn-then-gusset type produces the best results.  Nice and crisp, 90-degree turn, with plenty of room for your actual heel to fit.

But sometimes it is just so dreary picking up and then decreasing those gusset stitches.

What to do?

Enter the various other heel types: Lifestyle Toe-up.  Fleegle.  Afterthought.  

Now, a foray into Count Sockula's favorite Red Heart yarn to try out two different kinds of heels on one pair of socks, both done from the toe up. 

The results?  Two sad, much-frogged socks that are finally, finally finished. 

First, we started with far too many stitches.  It was going to be a clown sock.  Frog one.

Second, we underestimated the number of cast-on stitches for the toe-up beginning.  Frog two.   

Finally, on to the socks.  At last (using #8 needles, both metal circulars and wooden double-points) they reached completion.  Usually that event makes Count Sockula happy.   Not this time.

Behold!  The top-sock heel doesn't.  Even.  Look.  Like.  A.  Heel.

It's just a pathetic little nubbin of a heel, a mere bump lying there flat and exhausted, piteously muttering, "Look at me...  I stand as a disgrace to your knitting skills!"

Don't know why.  The numbers work out.  The heel just never looks like a heel.

See?  From a different angle---this time the offending heel on the right:

The first heel, an Afterthought heel, at least LOOKS like a heel.  And the Afterthought heel has that circus come-on of seeming easy.  You just knit over a piece of placeholder yarn, then come back in when the sock's done to reactivate the 'held' stitches and finish that heel!  Wheee!  Nothing to it!   Done it successfully with baby socks! 

The problem is, for an adult, the Afterthought Heel foot always ends up too long.  Even when you take into account the fact that an Afterthought heel produces a longer foot and adjust your measurements accordingly. 

This particular Afterthought heel sock had to have its toe picked apart and shortened by two inches.  Frog three, and out.

I like the bull's-eye look of an Afterthought heel, especially with self-stripery yarn.   Hate the tedious picking up of stitches and the invariable gusset holes.

But at least the Afterthought is simple and needs no pattern.  You basically pick up the held stitches and make a toe where your heel should be.  That's right, a toe.  Doesn't make sense to put a toe where the heel should be, but that's how it is.


These socks took waaaay tooooo long to finish, because by the time Count Sockula was on the leg part, it was like rolling a boulder uphill.  A giant boulder made of boring, much-frogged sock particles.


At least I liked the colorway (Latte).


After all that sturm and drang, Count Sockula gratefully returned to conventional heelage.   This scrappy little pair is the result:

Nice, right-angle heels.   The way they should be.  Maybe picking up gusset stitches isn't such a bad thing.