MUDGEE — MUDGEE CUP

Presenter: Sophie Grant

There’s a moment driving into Mudgee, coming down off the ridge, where the hills seem to fold around you and the vineyards begin rolling out on either side.

You understand straight away why Mudgee is so often described as a nest in the hills.

The whole town feels tucked in, sheltered, like it’s been sitting there quietly getting on with things while the rest of the world rushed past.

Church and Market Streets are where you want to start. Wide country streets lined with handsome old buildings, many dating from the gold rush era, that have somehow grown more distinguished with age rather than simply old.

I found a little bookshop, wandered in for ten minutes, and came out forty minutes later with two novels I hadn’t planned on buying and a recommendation for lunch from the woman behind the counter.

Which is very Mudgee.

And then there’s the wine.

Grapes have been growing around here since the 1850s, and you can feel that history sitting quietly behind the cellar doors. Nothing needs to shout. There are families and winemakers here who know the land, know the seasons and know exactly what they’re doing.

I stopped at one winery on a whim, ended up talking to the winemaker about frost and altitude for twenty minutes, and left with a bottle of shiraz I’m rationing.

I’d come up for Mudgee Cup weekend and, honestly, the racing turned out to be the easiest part of the decision.

If you’re after a country weekend where the wine’s as good as the company, keep an eye out for next year’s Cup.

Come for the racing.

But give Mudgee enough time to persuade you to stay.

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THE MUDGEE CUP REPORT 

5 December 2025

 

DANCES WITH HOOVES IS OFF TO THE BIG DANCE
 

Local mare. Local trainer. Young apprentice. One very big Mudgee Cup.

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Two weeks after getting soaked at Kembla Grange, Kenny had found considerably better conditions for the next stop.

Mudgee.

Blue sky, a Good 3 and, according to Tommy, far too many vineyards for three blokes supposedly travelling around New South Wales to watch horses.

Kenny found Finn studying the Cup field.

“Anything?”

Finn pointed down the page.

“Number eight.”

Dances With Hooves.

Kenny looked again.

“Local horse.”

“Local trainer.”

“Barrier twelve.”

Finn shrugged.

“Can’t have everything.”

There was something else Kenny liked.

Cameron Crockett knew this racecourse better than most, and he’d put apprentice Jacob Stiff aboard his five-year-old mare.

With the claim, she would carry just 52 kilos.

At twelve dollars, plenty of people were looking elsewhere.

The gates opened.

From the wide draw, Dances With Hooves found herself back in the field.

Tommy glanced at Finn.

“Going beautifully, your one.”

“Plenty of time.”

“There always is when they’re near the back.”

Around the home turn, Jacob Stiff took her wide.

Very wide.

Kenny could see what was happening now.

“Here she comes.”

Dances With Hooves began to lengthen.

One by one, she picked them off.

Finn was on his feet.

“Come on, girl.”

Rematch was still there and fighting.

But out in the clear, with only 52 kilos on her back, Dances With Hooves had found another gear.

She swept past them.

The local mare.

The local trainer.

The young apprentice.

And the 2025 Mudgee Cup was theirs.

Rematch held second, with Istolea Merc third.

Finn folded his form guide with considerably more ceremony than necessary.

Kenny saw him.

“Don’t start.”

“Twelve dollars.”

“I know.”

“Local horse.”

“I know.”

“Number eight.”

Kenny started walking.

Tommy fell in beside him.

“Where are we off to?”

Kenny looked towards the hills.

“Well, apparently we’re in wine country.”

Finn caught up.

“I know a place.”

Kenny stopped.

“You’re twenty-five. How do you know a winery in Mudgee?”

Finn smiled.

“Plenty of time.”

And for once, Tommy had no comeback.