For those of you who haven’t been following along on social media as well, my family and I are in the process of relocating.

Moving is always fraught with stress and anxiety. In my case, this was compounded by not planning the appropriate amount and type of spinning projects while transitioning between houses. I found myself with very few options to keep my hands busy, and as a result made a very, very bad choice. 

I decided to finally spin my hand-scoured, hand-combed nests from a Shetland fleece. And how do we spin fiber combed by hand? With a true worsted short forward draw, of course. Since this is doable, but tedious on supported spindles—and more importantly, all the supported spindles lingered at the old house—I decided to use my eSpinner which had already been packed and moved. Lofty visions of a Shetland half-hap shawl danced in my head.

Why no, no I hadn’t done any research on how Shetland haps. I’d only seen pictures and made note of the typical lace edging. Oh, lace! Let’s try a worsted prep and a worsted spin and see how nice the lace looks! Yes, I completely missed the memo that Shetland haps were “carded” and “warm”, i.e., not worsted.

While it seems impromptu, this particular spin was a year and a half in the making. Like many tales of woe, this one started with a well-meaning friend. She bought a Shetland fleece at Shenandoah Valley Fiber Festival in 2024 and gave me a portion of it “to play with.”

This kind gesture inevitably leads to an addiction, the primary symptoms of which are breed studies, hands perpetually coated with lanolin, and fleeces shoved in every available nook and cranny of one’s home.

You can tell a friend or loved one is falling victim to this disease when they breathily utter phrases like, “But look at this crimp.”

I sorted the locks to remove the second cuts, vegetable matter and, um, other detritus. Then I scoured what was left using the Percentage Based Scour Method.

Once I finished scouring the fleece, I separated the locks by color (white versus gray/charcoal) and set to combing.

Because of long running shoulder problems, I found it easiest to lash one of the combs to a table, and use the second comb with both hands. I left the comb on the kitchen table for weeks until the last lock was prepped, a situation which resulted in little wool neps and dirt absolutely everywhere… to say nothing of annoyed family members.

I carefully wrapped each combed section into a little nest to await spinning. Unfortunately I failed to track which were tip versus cut end on the nests, so you could argue the fiber wasn’t truly worsted prep despite the hand-combing. I’ll overlook that minor detail if you will!

And then the project stalled.

Not because I didn’t want to spin worsted but… oh wait.

Yes, it stalled entirely because I didn’t want to spin worsted! I was perfectly happy supported spinning semi-woolen yarn, and I had plenty of spindles and stash to do so.

Fast forward a year and a half. While split between houses and with no empty spindles available, I turned to my Daedalus Starling in desperation. The Shetland nests were in the very next box, which I (mistakenly) took as a good sign.

The spinning experience itself wasn’t that bad, except for the extra attention required for a consistent short forward draw and hand fatigue from the unusual pinch and pull movements. The yarn itself … yikes. It was exactly what you would expect from a relatively inexperienced spinner.

• Slubs throughout, especially when joining fiber? Check.
• Way thicker than I normally spin? Absolutely.
• Inconsistent twist in the singles yarn? Without a doubt.

Thankfully, I didn’t realize just how bad it was until I was finished spinning and ready to ply. Otherwise, this project might have hibernated for another year and a half.

I did not split the nests by weight, so I reeled half the singles yarn (by weight) onto a second bobbin. Reeling gave me a chance to inspect the yarn and even out the twist some. I then plied the two bobbins onto a third. When one bobbin inevitably ran out before the other, I wrapped the rest of the singles yarn onto a Plying Dragon so I could use every last yard.

While plying I realized the singles twist was not just inconsistent. In some sections, it was so low as to be almost nonexistent. I think the relatively long staple length of the Shetland as well as the thickness of the singles—okay, and my lack of experience with the fiber and the drafting method—kept me from realizing the problem. It was so low that in some sections, the singles yarn completely untwisted as the ply twist joined the two singles together! I had heard that low twist singles could product very drapey yarns so I just plowed through.

I was unhappy with the inconsistent ply twist (probably due to all the slubs) so I sent the yarn back through the eSpinner to add a bit more twist in the sections that seemed low.

I finished the yarn with a soak and some thwacks, and then hung it to dry. Alas! All the extra ply twist made the yarn kink up on itself. I reeled it onto my Daedalus Whirligig to keep the yarn under light tension while drying.

• Length: 400 yards
• Weight: 5.77 oz
• Grist: 1,109 yards per pound
• Between 12 to 16 wraps per inch (WPI)

Am I happy with the yarn? No, not at all. Did I learn a lot? Absolutely.

First off, my semi-woolen handspun handknit hat off to folks who enjoy spinning worsted! This was a humbling project, despite my mumble years of spinning experience. While it is good to try new things, I am happy to return to process spinning on my supported spindles.

Second—no, it is not nearly enough yarn to knit a hap. Not even a half-hap. Maybe not even the lace edging on a half-hap. I hope to acquire some more Shetland fiber soon to spin woolen for the body of the hap, which will be “carded” and “warm” like a hap is supposed to be. Josefin Waltin used the same approach of making a hap with a woolen yarn for the main part of the shawl and worsted for the lace. (While my own hap will be nowhere near the size and scale of hers, I worry I will similarly be plagued with running out of yarn in the middle of knitting.)

Last but not least, I have no idea whether this is a “good” worsted yarn or not! Once it was finished, most of the flaws faded into the overall skein, so no single problem in particular stands out. Even the utter lack of singles twist is hidden under all that ply twist. But I don’t have any other examples of a true(ish) worsted yarn with which to compare it. For example, the grist should be denser (fewer yards per pound) than a comparable woolen yarn. Unfortunately, most of my woolen yarns are much thinner so they don’t offer a fair comparison.

All that said, would I do it again?

Ask me in a year and a half!