Testing a $36 Eagle Claw Rod in California Surf | Double Hook-Up Stingray & Guitar Fish

When a $36 Rod Taught Me Everything About Fighting Fair


You know that feeling when someone tells you something can't be done, and suddenly that's the only thing you want to prove wrong? That's exactly what happened when I walked into Walmart and saw this Eagle Claw 10-foot surf rod sitting there for thirty-six bucks. I've spent more than that on dinner.


But there it was, this fiberglass beauty just begging to be tested, and I could practically hear the skeptics: "Budget rod won't last in the surf." "You need premium gear for California fishing." "Fiberglass is too soft for real fish."


Well, let me tell you about the day that rod made believers out of all of us.


I'm standing on Redondo Beach with the morning sun cutting through the marine layer, three setups ready to go. The Eagle Claw is the star, but I've got my Okuma Custom and Shimano Sienna as backup—just in case the budget rod decides to tap out early. The plan was simple: chase corbina in the shallows while really putting this 10-footer through its paces.


Fresh sand crabs were my bait that morning—the premium stuff that makes fish forget about being cautious. I'd rigged everything with these No Knot Fishing Co. clips I'd been wanting to try. Within minutes I had a dual hook setup in the water that looked clean as anything I'd ever tied.


That first cast with the Eagle Claw was beautiful. The rod loaded smooth, and that bait went sailing past where my 7-foot setups had ever dreamed of reaching. Ten feet of leverage opens up a whole new world of water.


I'm admiring the cast when the rod tip starts dancing. Not gentle tapping, but that deep, steady pull that tells you something serious is happening. The fiberglass starts loading up, bending in that smooth arc only glass can give you, and I'm thinking, "Okay, here we go. Time to see what this budget rod is really made of."


But as I work the fish, something feels different. Heavier. More complicated. The fight has this weird rhythm, like two separate conversations on the same line. That's when it hits me—I've got a double hook-up.


Double hook-ups are equal parts blessing and curse. Sure, it's exciting, but it means twice the chaos, twice the chance for something to go wrong, and twice the test for your gear. This Eagle Claw was about to get the trial by fire it never asked for.


Working both fish toward shore, the rod bends so deep I'm wondering if fiberglass has a breaking point I'm about to discover. But it holds. Not just holds—it works. The tip stays sensitive enough to feel every move both fish make, while the backbone gives me leverage to keep them coming.


When they hit the surf, I couldn't believe it: a guitar fish and a stingray, both solidly hooked, both very much alive and unhappy. The No Knot rig had done its job perfectly—not a single clip had budged.


Getting them to shore was like orchestrating a careful dance. The guitar fish wanted to run parallel while the stingray did its best pancake impression. But that 10-foot rod gave me the reach and control to guide both in without anyone getting hurt.


The action kept coming. Another stingray hit, giving the Eagle Claw another chance to prove itself. Each fight was a masterclass in what fiberglass can do when built right—that forgiving action that lets you feel everything while having backbone to move fish when it matters.


Here's what really got to me: this whole experience happened with gear anyone can afford. Thirty-six dollars for a rod that handles double hook-ups in the surf. A few bucks for clips that make rigging reliable. Fresh bait and a decent reel, and you're in business.


In Indigenous communities, fishing has never been about the fanciest gear. It's been about understanding water, respecting the resource, and having patience to let fish teach you what you need to know. It's about feeding family, connecting with tradition, and passing knowledge through generations.


That Eagle Claw reminded me of something important. The gear doesn't make the fisherman—the fisherman makes the gear work. Whether spending thirty-six dollars or three hundred sixty, what matters is showing up, putting in time, and being ready to learn from whatever the ocean wants to teach.


Standing on Redondo Beach, watching those rays swim back into the surf, I felt familiar gratitude. Grateful for water that still holds fish, for gear that works regardless of price, for the chance to test myself against something wild and unpredictable.


The Eagle Claw passed its test that day, but more than that, it reminded me why I fell in love with fishing. It's not about expensive equipment or catch size. It's about connection, challenge, and the simple joy of never knowing what happens when you cast into the unknown.