Is the Invasive Snakehead the Best Thing to Happen to Topwater Fishing?

I was losing blood fast. The setting sun dipped just behind the treetops, blanketing the shallow, weed-choked cove in shade. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, I was swarmed by mosquitoes so terribly that I had to wipe—not swat—them off my arms and the back of my neck. It was a stagnant 90 degrees, and every inch of exposed skin was slathered in sweat and squished bugs, but I couldn’t leave. I’d paddled all the way back to this spot hoping that the fading light would entice a snakehead bigger than the ones I’d caught earlier to move up onto this flat so thick—with muck and duckweed and lilies—that you could barely tell there was any water.

I purposely overthrew, landing a red-and-black frog in the tall grass on the bank. As it slid into the swampy soup, the slop bulged 3 feet to the left like a gas bubble escaping from an underwater volcano. The fish closed the distance to the lure in the blink of an eye and vacuumed it down with a sharp, crisp suck that resonated in the still air. When I set the hook, the 7-pounder exploded out of the water vertically and crashed back down like thunder.

The first time I scored a take like that was eight years ago, and it turned me into a full-blown snakehead junky. I’m addicted to the mere seconds that pass between seeing a fish come out of nowhere, lock in and track a topwater and the feeling of setting into a brick wall. The experience is unrivaled by any other freshwater species where I live, and those used to be fighting words.

Not so long ago, saying anything positive about invasive snakeheads made you a target for ridicule, but more than 20 years after they infiltrated U.S. waters, the joke is on you if you can’t appreciate their silver linings.

STICKING AROUND

Snakeheads have no business being here. I won’t argue that point. But they are here, and if one thing is for certain, there is nothing anyone can do to get rid of them or stop their range from expanding. Year after year, they push north, south and west from their long-time strongholds in Delmarva and New Jersey. Large river systems like the Susquehanna, Potomac and Delaware that link together massive amounts of tidal swamps and tributaries create a superhighway for these fish. Even in out-of-network areas like Atlanta, Charlotte, and Queens, N.Y., there are pockets of snakeheads that—as far as state agencies can tell—were transplanted by illegal “bucket biology.”

When snakeheads were first discovered in Maryland in the early 2000s, it was assumed that within a few years, these predators would annihilate every native and non-native species of fish with which they cohabitated. It was also believed that they wouldn’t range very far north because they couldn’t tolerate the cold winters. Neither of these assumptions ended up being true.

That’s not to say snakeheads haven’t caused issues within certain bodies of water, but by and large, they have carved a niche in the ecosystem and, after 20 years, there is balance. In states like Virginia and Pennsylvania, there are more environmental concerns these days over exploding populations of non-native blue catfish, which were introduced on purpose, and invasive flathead catfish, which were introduced by mistake.

The interest in fishing for snakeheads has ebbed and flowed over the last two decades. In the early years, thanks to all the news hype, bass guides along the Potomac River capitalized on folks suddenly eager to see and catch the novel “Frankenfish,” a nickname earned because of its ability to breathe air and “walk” over land to infest a new body of water. Within a few years, though, that hype petered out.

The fish maintained a cult following, no doubt, but it would take a massive upswing in the popularity of kayak fishing, and eventually the COVID pandemic, for many more anglers to realize snakeheads were exactly what the doctor ordered.

SHALLOW OBSESSION

The farther you’re willing to get off the beaten path, the better the action typically is with snakeheads. Considering the shallow environments where they thrive, the best way to reach prime water is with a kayak. By the late 2010s, the kayak fishing market had exploded thanks to an influx in models in price ranges that fit almost any budget, plus more stable crafts that allowed anglers to comfortably stand and fish. Many kayak fishermen quickly figured out that snakeheads provided a target that anglers on foot and those with motorized boats simply couldn’t access as easily or efficiently. When the COVID pandemic prompted thousands of new anglers to take up fishing as a way get outdoors but keep their distance from other humans, it was the perfect storm.

To illustrate just how big an uptick in snakehead obsession there’s been since 2020, take as an example Maryland-based High Octane Custom Baits, which launched a line of snakehead-specific lures in 2019. According to owner Steve Cahn, he was getting only one or two orders a week at the outset. By 2021 it became necessary to temporarily shut down his website a few times just to catch up with online orders and supply a handful of local tackle shops.

ARMED TO THE TEETH

In many ways, snakeheading is most akin to muskie fishing, though the odds of catching them are better and it’s far more visual. But it often requires putting in your time covering water, watching retrieve after retrieve produce nothing until suddenly there’s a fish coming in hot, and your heart rate skyrockets. Also, like muskies, it’s the take that’s most impressive. The fight isn’t exactly a drag-ripping event, but that doesn’t mean you can get away with light tackle.

The jaw of a snakehead is rock hard. You also must contend with rows of sharp teeth to achieve a firm hook set. That said, everything about successfully landing a snakehead revolves around power. Lures need to have strong components and tough, razor-sharp hooks. You want a stout, heavy-action conventional or spinning rod capable of taking some heat and abuse without snapping. Your reel should be spooled with 40-pound braided line, and there’s no need for a leader in this game. Snakeheads live in such heavy cover and stained water that they won’t get turned off by your braid, so you can tie lures to it directly. Skipping a leader also eliminates any stretch—a plus when trying to plant hooks in that granite-like mouth. When you swing, you do it with all your might and you give the fish nothing after you connect. Keep your drag cranked down so it absolutely will not slip.

Even when a snakehead is landed, the battle’s not over. Because these fish can breathe out of water, they’re never tired. Their fierce eyes follow you. They have the uncanny ability to play dead until you grab the hook with your pliers or go to reach for your cell phone. To maintain control, it’s critical to carry a lip-grip tool with a cord that attaches to your wrist. As soon as the fish is landed, attach the gripper on its lower jaw and hang on tight until the hook is removed and the fish is ready to be released or prepped to take home for dinner, which I highly recommend.

JUST DESSERTS

I’ve never been overly excited about eating freshwater fish, mostly because I grew up near the coast and prefer a piece of flounder or seabass to walleye or crappie. Snakehead, however, is a different story. So many people call these fish ugly and assume they’d taste like their muddy environments. What they forget is that a big part of why they’re here is because they were smuggled in as a food fish. In Asian countries they’re a delicacy, and I understand why.

Unlike a carp or catfish that roots for food in the mud, snakeheads feed on prey throughout the water column, which means they have zero muddy flavor. Their flesh is white and very firm, far more comparable to a fillet of snapper or grouper than other freshwater fish. It’s sweet and mild and works with a number of preparations, though my favorite is fried as nuggets or for tacos. If you’re a snakehead hater, there’s your motivation to give them a shot, because unlike eating bass, there’s no taboo on snakeheads.

SNAKE JUICE

Don’t hit the swamp without these proven lures.

• TRADITIONAL HOLLOW-BODY FROG: Arguably the most effective lure for snakeheads, hollow-body frogs can be worked over the sloppiest weeds and through the thickest pads without getting gunked up. Loud colors like neon orange and chartreuse turn plenty of heads, but nothing seems to upset these fish more than an all-black frog.
• POPPING FROG: Though not as easy to work through heavy cover, hollow-body frogs with a flat or scooped popping mouth shine in open water or when casting parallel along the pads. Snakeheads home in on the sound quickly, and a popping frog can draw them right out of the gnarliest junk.
• SOFT-PLASTIC FINESSE SHAD: Baits like the Zoom Super Fluke and Bass Assassin Straight Shad are must-haves on any snakehead mission. They can be rigged weedless on a wide-gap hook, allowing them to work through heavy cover. They can also be fished anywhere in the water column, from the bottom to the surface.
• BLADED JIG: In stained water, or early in the season when the vegetation isn’t fully grown in, the flash and vibration of a bladed jig, such as the ChatterBait, gets the attention of snakeheads fast. It’s particularly deadly when worked in deeper channels cutting through muddy flats.

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• This article was featured in the June-July 2024 issue of Game & Fish magazine. Click to subscribe.

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