'Frankenfish' and the hunt for invasive species

But Magnus, for one, isn't backing down in his mission to do battle with the snakeheads. "No, they're not going to eat every bass in the river and then attack your children at the bus stop," he admits. "But the Potomac River is today one of the most popular bass fisheries in the nation" - and 10 years from now, he says, a proliferation of snakeheads could make for a very different waterway.

Not everyone shares Magnus's approach, and critics say that although the annihilation of invasive species may seem like an easy solution, it's hardly realistic. In fact, some say the state's refusal to consider more pragmatic solutions may ultimately stymie efforts to control invaders: A plan to force people to kill their pet snakeheads, for instance, may lead to more releases.

When Ruth Hanessian of the Maryland Invasive Species Council suggested that officials hand out snakehead recipes to promote the catching and eating of the fish, she was rebuffed. Ms. Hanessian is also sensitive to what she sees as the state's hypocrisy. After all, she says, when Maryland drained Pine Lake to capture one snakehead, officials made no provisions for saving other lake inhabitants. Hanessian transferred several koi from the lake to a backyard bathtub.

"Many of the species in question are in fact purposely introduced, frequently by state and federal agencies," she says. Autumn olives, she points out, were obtained from the state for wildlife planting. "But we have now gone 180 degrees, so that anything not native is now dreadful. To stop an invasive exotic species is admirable, but is it possible?"

Still, the snakehead may not be quite the monster it appears. Officials doubt that the fish actually "walks," though it can live out of water for several hours and may be able to slither from waterway to waterway. Many Asian cultures rather enjoy the snakehead, salted and grilled, and some cultures even release it as part of religious rituals.

Indeed, though the Potomac snakeheads may be hemmed in by the salty Chesapeake Bay, they're already showing signs of leaving the state, which can happen when eggs stick to boats and "goose bottoms," says Magnus. Several females caught this summer have been pregnant, and a Smithsonian research team is investigating whether the fish caught in a south Philly pond two weeks ago are related to the Potomac crew.

Meanwhile, the chase is on, with teams of Virginia wildlife biologists tucking electric contraptions and rubber worms among the lily pads.

When Magnus brought his record snakehead home to his shop-worn suburb in Waldorf, Md., half the neighborhood showed up along with bigwigs from Maryland DNR. Though the fish had been out of the water and in a cooler for four hours, it still had plenty of life and onlookers oohed and aahed.

Today, he's at it again, flipping a glittery worm up against the weed beds and under the floating docks, chronicling strange stories and misadventures, usually starring himself.

Still, the record-sanctioning International Game Fish Association won't be adding a snakehead category any time soon. The state of Maryland, however, has not yet ruled out what may at this point be the most pragmatic reaction: Handing Magnus the line-class state record for the northern snakehead, America's most wanted game fish.

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