The first time I caught a fish I was so young that I can’t even remember it myself, but my dad likes to tell me the story every so often. We were at McDaniel Lake, about a mile from where he grew up. I’d accompanied him on several trips before, but this time I had my own pink Barbie fishing pole. I caught a catfish, although I was only about twice its length myself so I couldn’t have contributed much to its capture. But what I remember of the day is one single memory, which has little to do with what we came to the lake to accomplish. I was sitting on the edge of the bank, gazing straight down into the shallow water by the grass, completely entranced by the massive, slow moving fish swimming in circles. My dad came over and told me they were carp, but the word meant nothing to me then. I remember thinking they were cute and not much else. 

About 15 years later I was back at McDaniel Lake, this time accompanied by some friends that had asked me to take them out and show them how to fish after I’d mentioned it was an occasional hobby of mine.    

It’d been several years since I’d been back there. I was grateful that the serene calmness had remained as we set our supplies up and got to the task we’d come for. After I’d shown them how to cast and reel it was essentially a waiting game. My eyes drifted to the shallow waters by the bank where one of my earliest memories had taken place. As the sun sank closer to the horizon, a handful of what I’ve since learned were grass carp crept toward the shallow water near the bank. They were majestic creatures, the sun glinting off their hulking silvery bodies. The water became murky as they stirred the mud up, causing the minnows to flee. I knew from my dad’s long winded fishing lectures that the banks were where the bass laid their eggs. How could they do that with the carp stirring all that up? Surely, I figured, it worked out somehow. The carp had always been there, right?

When I got home, I did what I thought would be a quick Google search about Asian carp and how they affected ecosystems. It turned into much more as I realized those carp, which I had never thought of as out of place, were never intended to be swimming around the banks of McDaniel Lake—or any other North American lake for that matter. 

Asian carp originated in China, where they thrive in their native habitat of long, straight, humid rivers. Asian carp can lay hundreds of thousands of eggs at a time and reproduce quickly (Ridgway and Bettoli 2017). In Asia their populations are kept in check by predatory species. In the United States those predators aren’t native and there are no native species large enough to fill in for them due to the large size of Asian carp, which can weigh over 100 pounds (Pearce 2020). Therefore, the US is a prime location for the explosion of Asian carp populations. But how did they ever get to a place like McDaniel Lake, in the middle of the continental US, all the way from China? 

In the 1960s and 70s aquaculture farmers in the Southern United States were having trouble with their ponds becoming overrun with algae and weeds. The typical solution to the problem was dumping poisonous weed killer into the water, but farmers didn’t want to sacrifice their fish, so they turned to biologists for ideas. A group of biologists presented the idea of importing Asian carp that fed on the algae the farmers wanted rid of (Flesher and Loller 2020). Thousands of grass, black, silver, and bighead carp were shipped primarily into Arkansas from China. Unfortunately, carp started escaping from their ponds and into rivers as early as 1966 (Flesher and Loller).

That’s how, in 1976, the first ever wild Asian carp was spotted in Arkansas. By 1981, Arkansas had established populations of wild carp throughout their waterways. The government of Arkansas saw no problem with this development, as it was too early for any effects of the carp to be observed aside from an initial decrease in algae where the carp were. Seeing this decrease, Arkansas commissioned 380,000 grass carp to be released into 100 lakes across the state. The fish that both the farmers and the government imported escaped from their ponds and lakes through flooding and insecure nets until the early 1990s, when the fish were already reproducing in the Mississippi River on their own (Watershed 2023).

From the Mississippi River the carp spread into Kentucky, Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, and parts of Minnesota. Arkansas wasn’t the only state to blame for the escape of the carp. By 1994 Missouri aquaculture farmers had also started importing carp, especially Black carp. A flood that year caused at least 30 of them to escape into the Osage River. The impact of that breach was larger than anyone could have predicted, as the carp began wreaking havoc everywhere they spread (Watershed).

Since Asian carp are nonnative, they disrupted the ecosystems they invaded. In their native Asian regions large predators keep down the carp populations, but in the United States those predators aren’t there to keep their numbers in check. As a result, when carp enter a US waterway they can quickly reproduce and begin eating the native fish and their food sources, taking over the area (Ridgway and Bettoli). The Mississippi River has likely been hit the hardest by the carp, with certain areas having fish populations that are up to 90% carp (Flesher and Loller). Once the density is that high, the carp are essentially free to wreak havoc on the local ecosystem. 

Aside from the carp’s effects on other fish, they also reduce the populations of freshwater mussels. Black carp eat large quantities of freshwater mussels, and the mussels, which were already endangered, struggle to keep their populations up after the introduction of a new predator. As their numbers decrease, so do the benefits they provide. The mussels filter contaminants out of the water, which makes it safer for animals to drink and easier for companies to make it potable for humans. They also oxygenate water, meaning that without them dead zones, areas where a lack of oxygen makes it impossible for aquatic life to survive, would begin to form. (Asian Carp Canada 2024). 

Across the country conservation agencies have now realized that the brilliant plan of importing Asian carp wasn’t such a bright idea after all. After learning more about them and their status as an invasive species I began to wonder how they ended up in an isolated cove of McDaniel Lake all the way from China. 

The Mississippi River runs along the state’s border, and the river is overflowing with every type of Asian carp. The fish I found likely made the popular journey from Arkansas fish farms to the Mississippi River across several generations. From there, most of the lakes in Missouri are interconnected through webs of streams and rivers that have also been invaded by carp, and act as passageways for their spread. McDaniel specifically is fed by the Little Sac River, which connects to Stockton Lake, which through a long chain of waterways connects to the Mississippi River. 

According to the Springfield Missouri Convention & Visitors Bureau McDaniel Lake only allows fishing from two bridges and doesn’t allow any boats or swimmers. Because of that, only certain parts of the lake are easily accessible. But, enlightened with my new knowledge of the true nature of the carp, I wanted to get a good view of them in their adopted habitat. I put a fishing pole, tackle box, and lawn chair in my trunk and headed to the bridge at Farm Road 76 where I’d first seen a carp at McDaniel. 

The bridge is so old that vehicles aren’t allowed on it anymore, and only foot traffic can pass. It was made of thick, yellowed concrete, and—every time I’d ever been there—there were at least a couple of older men with their lines in the water, cans of beer sitting next to them. This time was no different, and as I walked across the bridge, I asked the questions that every fisherman asks to another before making their first cast. 

“How’s it going today? Catch anything?”

“I threw a couple youngin’s back, they’re not biting good today,” was the response from one of the men. He was lounging against the concrete with his eyes squinted toward the sun, three poles in the water waiting for a keeper.

“That’s too bad. Think it’s the carp?” 

“Carp? Maybe. They’re pretty hard on the bass when they’re nesting. Might be not a lot of fry made it,” the old man shrugged and turned to look at the water after that, and I continued down the bridge. 

My dad had mentioned similar things to me before. Carp like to stick to the grassy banks, the same place that bass make their nests to lay their eggs and raise their fry. Many fishermen in areas where Asian carp are present blame them for dropping populations of juvenile bass. But is it true?

The science behind the claim is mixed. In 2009 the American Fisheries Society published a study of bass reproduction in the presence of common carp compared to an area without them. They discovered that the rates of eggs laid and fry surviving to become juvenile fish were the same with or without carp, much to the surprise of many fishermen. But another finding was that once the bass became juvenile fish, their populations plummeted when they were in the same area as carp. They concluded that the reason for the trend was because carp eat the same vegetation that juvenile bass do, and the smaller fish can’t compete with the massive carp. The high turbidity, or murkiness, caused by the carp stirring up the water near the banks also makes it harder for the young bass to learn to find their own food, a critical part of their development and survival into adulthood.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much that can be done about it. With the areas of water where they can be found spreading, state governments across the country have tried numerous methods of reducing the populations of Asian carp with little success.

States like Illinois and Kentucky that have been hit especially hard by the carp have spent billions of dollars on research and testing projects to eliminate them. One of their endeavors involves building an electric barrier in the Chicago waterway system to prevent carp from entering the Great Lakes in large numbers (New York Invasive Species Information 2019). The barrier, referred to loosely as a dam despite being entirely electric, has yet to be completed but is predicted to be highly effective, though not 100%.

Other efforts by both state governments and private citizens include carp fishing tournaments. Kentucky hosted an International Carp Fishing Tournament in 2019 to reduce carp populations in the state. The 40 fishermen who participated ended up catching over 2,000 pounds of carp (Operle 2019). Illinois hosts a yearly carp tournament, which it calls The Redneck Fishing Tournament, along the Illinois River (Krauser 2021). Over 10,000 carp have been caught in past tournaments there. 

However, the fishing tournaments can only have a local impact, and a real solution to the carp invasion would require a national effort. Unfortunately, carp are now so embedded into US ecosystems that eliminating them entirely presents a serious challenge. Local areas may have some success, but the national problem pervades, just as it does in McDaniel Lake.

After my conversation with the old man fishing from the bridge, I continued to the opposite end of it and sat down my gear. It was an hour before sunset, the perfect time for lake fishing. I released my first cast, the lure arcing above me and landing in the water ahead of me with a slight ripple. The atmosphere was just as peaceful as I remembered it, but the old man had been right. The fishing wasn’t as good, and I only caught one small bass before I packed up to go home. Whether carp or my rusty fishing skills were to blame I couldn’t tell. But I knew that outside of McDaniel, across the country, our waterways were bearing the brunt of the damages caused by the release of Asian carp.