Despite warnings, the killer and invasive snakehead fish has not devoured its competition

Most mornings when the weather is nice, angler Mike Sielicki can be found on the water in Fredericksburg, Virginia — about an hour’s drive from Washington — trying to catch a species of fish once considered a dangerous threat to surrounding aquatic wildlife.

“To me, it’s the best fish that’s ever come to the United States,” Sielicki said. “I hope it ends up in all the water reservoirs so everyone can enjoy it.”

Sielicki has been catching northern snakeheads for 20 years, ever since they first appeared in Potomac Creek, a shallow inlet that flows into the Potomac River, a major Washington-area waterway. Through his company, Apex Predators Potomac Creek, he takes paying customers out on his boat to fish for the invasive predator, which originally came from Asia.

“I get a good amount of people from out of state, from the United States, who come to fish with me,” he says on a quiet August morning, when snakeheads have been elusive so far. “The water here is very shallow, it gets full of grass, and that’s their perfect habitat.”

Snakehead fish first appeared in the Washington area in 2002. Almost immediately, local wildlife officials sounded the alarm. Scientists feared that this species would decimate populations of native predatory fish in this area, including the prized black perch.

“The Potomac River is a nationally recognized destination for bass tournaments and bass sport fishing. It’s huge,” says John Odenkirk, a fisheries biologist with the Virginia Department of Wildlife Resources. “And that was the concern, that this fish was going to destroy it, because they were right at the top of the food chain.”

Snakeheads, which can grow to be more than 83 centimetres long, have sharp teeth and can breathe air, meaning they can survive out of water for several days as long as their skin remains moist.

They also spawn twice a year, while fish of similar levels spawn only once in that period. Officials were concerned that these unique qualities gave snakeheads an advantage over higher-level native predators.

“So on paper, it’s like, ‘Wow, they have a competitive advantage here.’ What was driving the fear was that the abundance of snakeheads would be so high that they would just overwhelm the system. That never happened,” Odenkirk says. “They never got to the point where they could threaten to overtake the bass, because there just weren’t enough of them.”

Odenkirk says snakeheads don’t dominate their environment in part because predators, including birds and other large fish, found them. And he says the snakehead’s natural prey, including smaller fish, instinctively adapted to their presence.

Odenkirk adds that the schools that snakehead fish feed on have not declined, suggesting they are not having a negative impact on the environment.

The fish is also popular with fishermen, which has also kept the population in check. Its firm, mild-tasting white flesh makes it a highly sought-after delicacy.

“Like a swimming chicken,” Sielicki says. “It’s the toughest piece of meat you’ll ever get.”

Despite this suppression, snakehead populations have become more abundant in the Potomac River and its tributaries in the Washington area and in the southern state of Arkansas, where they were once farmed for consumption until 2002, when federal officials banned the practice.

Although snakehead fish have not had a noticeable negative impact on the ecosystem, wildlife officials are not willing to give the invasive species the thumbs up.

“If they come to a different location, maybe where we have a threatened or endangered fish, where there’s not as much diversity in the fish community, there could be some unintended impacts in a situation like that,” Odenkirk says. “So there’s still that hesitancy to accept fish in general.”

Years ago, concerned wildlife officials advised people to kill snakeheads if they caught them. But a recent statewide survey showed that about 40 percent of people who catch the prized fish in Virginia now choose to release them back into the wild.

But not Sielicki, who enjoys reeling in his catch, which he does this morning after an hour-long break, when the determined angler finally hooks a 25-inch Snakehead.

“Stand back! We’re getting ready to put you in the boat,” he shouts. “Let’s see if we can get another one.”

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