On June 19, another slick of fuel oil was spotted off the coast of Anapa. It’s a lingering consequence of the Volgoneft tanker accident that happened back in December 2024. Even six months on, oil residue from the vessels continues to wash ashore. In April, Russia’s consumer safety watchdog Rospotrebnadzor declared the beaches of the Temryuk District in Krasnodar Krai unfit for swimming. But in Anapa, that warning is mostly being ignored: people are sunbathing on the beaches, and some, despite daily warnings from emergency services and local officials, are still wading into the sea. Meanwhile, outside the city, volunteers continue working in the heat to clean up the coastline.
“Fishing, waterslides, and swimming in the open sea! Onboard fish soup included!” a woman shouts into a microphone, her voice echoing across the promenade as she advertises boat tours.
It’s June 2025. The temperature has hit 30℃ (86℉). On Anapa’s central beach, there are dozens of vacationers, many with young children. Some are just soaking up the sun. Others are already in the water. Kids leap in headfirst, shrieking with delight.
“It’s odd to see so few people here — but, well, you know why,” says Andrei, a lean, middle-aged man from Moscow who’s here with his family. “I think the season’s still ahead of us. The main thing is the weather and the sea.” They were originally headed for Crimea, he says, but decided to stop halfway. “We’ve never been here before. They said the water’s been cleaned up — so why not?”
Signs reading “Swimming Prohibited” line the beachfront. Every so often, a Ministry of Emergency Situations van rolls past, loudspeaker blaring out reminders that it’s dangerous to go in the water. Still, plenty of people shrug off the warnings.
In April 2025, Rospotrebnadzor declared 141 beaches in Anapa and nine in Temryuk unfit for swimming for the entire summer season. On June 2, the Anapa city administration followed up with an official recommendation: hotels and health resorts were advised not to allow their guests access to the beaches.
In April 2025, Rospotrebnadzor declared 141 beaches in Anapa and nine in Temryuk unfit for swimming for the entire summer season
Still, vacationers are trusting their own instincts. “I don’t see any oil here — they’ve cleaned it up. Maybe there are still some traces left, but I doubt it’s anything serious. If there really was a slick, you’d smell it — the fumes would be harmful,” says Oksana from Bryansk, who comes to Anapa every summer. This year is no exception.
“Any body of water is safe as long as you don’t drink from it,” says Andrei with a grin. “Back when I was a kid, we used to chew tar. I turned out fine — no gills, no extra limbs.”
The locals, too, treat the official warnings with skepticism. “I used to be a ship’s captain. I know the sea,” says Yuri, a retired sailor now living in Anapa. At 62, he still swims several kilometers along the shore every morning — and claims he’s never seen a drop of oil in the water. He’s relaxing on the beach, fresh from his morning swim.
“What bothers me is when people who call themselves experts — so-called ecologists — start spreading nasty rumors about Anapa, saying people here are dropping dead from fuel oil. I’ve worked with mazut fuel oil and diesel my whole life, eight-hour shifts covered in the stuff — and I’m fine. Nobody died. Nobody got sick. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Yuri insists.
Antonina, a local resident, agrees. “In the nine years I’ve lived in Anapa, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sea and the beach this clean. They scrubbed everything — no broken glass, no filth, no trash, not even that stinky seaweed that used to pile up.”
But environmentalists are sounding the alarm. “In my opinion, we should write off vacations in fuel-contaminated areas for at least the next five years,” says expert Alexei Mochalov.
“Mazut fuel oil gives off toxic substances like benzene and phenol. In winter, people passed out after just a few hours of cleanup work on the shore. Some developed blisters on their hands just from contact with the oil,” says ecologist Igor Shkradyuk. “We were worried that once the heat kicked in, the same smell would return — along with the same effects on people’s health.”
According to Mochalov, those most at risk are children, the elderly, and anyone with chronic respiratory conditions. “As average daily temperatures rise, the fuel oil will start to evaporate — and people will inevitably end up breathing it in.”
Shkradyuk adds that while many of the volatile compounds in the fuel oil have already evaporated over the winter, more persistent ones remain: “There are heavy molecules that don’t evaporate. They’re still right where they landed. The worst part is that what’s left includes polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons — things like benzo[a]pyrene, phenanthrene, anthracene. These are mutagenic and carcinogenic.” People might not notice anything now, but the effects could show up months in the future, he says.
According to ecologists, the effects of exposure to mazut fuel oil may take months to manifest
And the early signs are already alarming. In just the first few weeks after the cleanup began, 150 volunteers who had worked on the shoreline sought medical attention. One case ended in tragedy: 17-year-old Alexander Komin, a student at the local technical college, died in January 2025 shortly after being sent to help remove fuel oil from the coast.
The swimming season in Anapa has quietly begun, but the usually bustling Black Sea resort town is a shadow of its former self. Svetlana, who runs a small guesthouse, says that in previous years, rooms were booked out as early as December. Now, she has just a few reservations — mostly people stopping over on their way to somewhere else. Her hotel stands almost entirely empty.
“We’ve already dropped the prices. But we don’t have a pool, and that’s a problem. Places with pools still manage to get a few guests,” she says with a resigned smile.
Ludmila from Ulyanovsk is staying alone at her hotel: “Twelve rooms, and I’m the only one here. Total peace and quiet.”
Still, some in town are holding out hope. “I think the crowds will come soon,” says Vitaly, who runs boat excursions. “We’re operating as usual and even added a bunch of new programs aboard our ships.”
And vacationers are trickling in. Kirill and Roman, two friends from Kirov, say they chose Anapa quite deliberately. “We don’t have a lot of money. And we figured it’d be more affordable to vacation here.” Angelika and her friend from Moscow weren’t put off by reports of contaminated beaches either. “I really like it here — the water’s clear, the sand is great, and the housing is cheap and comfy,” she says. “Come visit!”
Six months ago, on December 15, 2024, two oil tankers — the Volgoneft-212 and the Volgoneft-239 — were wrecked in the Kerch Strait during a violent storm.
The first distress call came around 9 a.m. from the crew of the Volgoneft-212, which had suffered critical damage: the bow broke off from the hull, and the tanker ran aground about 8 kilometers from the shore, near Cape Takil. A few hours later, the stern sank completely. There were 13 people on board. Rescue crews managed to save nearly all of them, though one sailor died.
At 10:20 a.m., a second mayday call came in — this time from the Volgoneft-239 near Cape Panagia. The ship had lost control and was drifting dangerously close to land. It finally grounded just 80 meters from the shore. But with the storm showing no sign of letting up, the crew had to spend the night on board. All 14 were rescued the following day.
The environmental fallout for the Black Sea was immediate and severe. Each vessel was carrying more than 4,000 tons of oil products — in total, about 9,200 tons of mazut. Depending on the estimate, between 3,000 and 4,000 tons leaked into the sea.
The slick spread fast. Within days, emergency conditions were declared in coastal areas of Krasnodar Krai — including Anapa, Veselovka, Novotamansk, and Sennoy. Traces of oil soon reached the Crimean shore as well. By late December, the state of emergency was extended to the federal level. Within a month, contamination had covered 54 kilometers of Kuban’s coastline and another 15 kilometers along Crimea. Rescue workers and volunteers are still struggling to clean it up.
Regional authorities were slow to respond to the disaster in the Kerch Strait. In the critical first days, they didn’t request federal assistance. What followed was a breakdown in coordination, a lack of clear strategy, and worsening weather conditions, all of which combined to make cleanup efforts even harder.
It was volunteers and grassroots activists who stepped in to do the heavy lifting. By December 18, just days after the spill, nearly 4,000 volunteers were already out clearing beaches. But they lacked basic protective equipment — there weren’t enough hazmat suits, and much of the contaminated sand they collected simply sat onshore, waiting for transport that never came.
It was volunteers and grassroots activists who stepped in to do the heavy lifting
Only on December 26 — eleven days after the accident — was a special fuel pumping unit delivered to Novorossiysk. But diving operations had to be postponed again due to the ongoing storm.
A nationwide task force set up to deal with the aftermath wasn’t created until January 9, 2025 — nearly a month later. On January 10, a new discharge of oil products was recorded near the Volgoneft-239. By then, the slick had spread across an area of 3,000 square kilometers. As of January 26, roughly 1,500 tons of fuel had been skimmed from the surface of the water.
The village of Volna, in the Temryuk District, sits 44 kilometers from Anapa. Despite the heat, a few dozen people in protective suits are out digging up sand with shovels. Others sift crushed shells through metal screens.
“I’d been following the news about the disaster. I called up some local guys, and together we set up a command post. When the first slick hit us, on the night of December 19-20, we were pretty much ready for it. We started cleaning up the shore and called for more volunteers — and people responded,” says Alexander Kipra, founder of the Delfiny (Dolphins) volunteer movement. During the New Year holidays, the number of volunteers swelled to 200. He says they came from all over the country.
“I stayed home for New Year’s — didn’t celebrate with my family,” recalls another Alexander, a fit man in his forties who has become the group’s lead coordinator. “I woke up alone, started scrolling, and saw a reel from the Black Sea coast — volunteers in hazmat suits shoveling mazut. I thought: these people are spending their own time, money, and energy to come here from other cities just to dig up oil-covered sand. That hit me hard. And I knew I had to go too.”
Seven months later, he’s still here, clearing mazut fuel oil off the Black Sea shore. Becoming a full-time volunteer — let alone a coordinator — was never part of the plan. “But the situation made me a coordinator. I didn’t ask for this. Still, at some point, I realized — this is exactly where I’m meant to be,” he says.
And Alexander is far from alone. “I arrived in the middle of that cold, wet spring. I saw several dead dolphins and birds, and it just shattered me,” says Lyudmila, one of the volunteers. “This place has become part of my soul. But there’s still so much work left to do.”
“Coordination with the authorities was rocky at first. We came in thinking we’d be helping the emergency services. But it was the other way around. For a long time, we didn’t see any rescue teams at all. Eventually, they showed up and said, ‘We’re here to help you.’ But it should be us helping them — not the other way around,” Delfiny’s Alexander Kipra says.
Now the volunteers are working alongside the Emergency Ministry, and the authorities are offering free hotel accommodations and lunches. But that’s where the support ends. “There’s no financial help — we’re covering our own costs,” Kipra explains. “That’s a big issue for all of us. No one’s sponsoring us, especially not the long-term volunteers who’ve become the backbone of the team. It’s tough, but we’re holding on. Some people are ready to keep going for as long as it takes. Others, of course, have started to burn out.”
Volunteers aren’t getting any financial backing from the authorities
On top of that, the volunteers are working in some of the toughest terrain on the Black Sea coast. The landscape in Temryuk District is rugged and wild, with cliffs that reach up to 90 meters high. The area is far less popular with tourists than Anapa and much harder to access: there are no direct buses, and rail service is minimal — a commuter train from Anapa to Taman runs only twice a day.
“Oil-covered rocks are a nightmare,” says Alexander the coordinator. “If we can scrape it off by hand, we do — using gloves or little scoops. If not, we have to wipe each stone down with mesh plastic. Then it depends on the rock itself. On porous stone, the mazut sinks in — there’s just no way to get it out. But if it’s smooth, we can usually scrub it clean. It’s long, tedious work. Sometimes we bring in a whole team of 20 people and spend a week, even a week and a half, working a patch of 50 square meters.”
Closer to Anapa, where the beaches are mostly sandy, heavy equipment has largely taken over cleanup operations. But on the Taman Peninsula, machines are almost useless. “The only thing saving us is the Pioneer off-road vehicle,” says Kipra. Thanks to the four-wheeler, the volunteers have already managed to haul away 2,220 tons of contaminated soil.
Months after the disaster, fuel oil is still leaking from the sunken tankers. One of the most recent spills near Anapa occurred on June 19. “This is what we call an ongoing catastrophe — it’s unfolding in real time. We’re watching how the behavior of the mazut changes with the weather,” says an environmental specialist.
Months after the disaster, fuel oil is still leaking from the sunken tankers. One of the most recent spills near Anapa happened on June 19
Cleanup crews are now battling another enemy: the summer heat. Oil fractions that have washed ashore start to evaporate under the sun, turning the work into a grueling ordeal. In full protective gear — hazmat suits, rubber boots, and respirators — even a few hours outside becomes unbearable. “It’s really hot in PPE. We’re now thinking about how to restructure the shifts. Maybe we should go out early in the morning and finish by noon, then return in the evening,” says Alexander the volunteer coordinator. At this point, Delfiny remains the only large volunteer organization still active in the Temryuk District.
According to Emergency Ministry reports, since December 2024 more than 160,000 tons of contaminated sand have been collected from the beaches around Anapa. Divers have retrieved another 415 tons of oil products from the seafloor. But even the smallest change in weather can bring the mazut right back. “I went swimming here just once at the end of May — came out covered in mazut. Took me forever to scrub it off with laundry soap,” says Lyudmila. “Now I only swim at Vysoky Bereg [High Coast Beach]. It seems cleaner there.”
The environmental disaster triggered by the sinking of the two tankers began showing its effects almost immediately. Local Telegram channels started sharing footage of seabirds with their wings matted with mazut, struggling helplessly on the shore.
By December 24, specialists had recorded the deaths of more than 200 birds. The hardest hit were the common scoters — waterfowl that nest and winter near the coast. According to official estimates, by January 11 at least 5,800 birds had suffered from exposure to mazut in Anapa and the Temryuk District alone. Many did not survive poisoning or hypothermia, as mazut destroys the insulating properties of their feathers, making even a light wind on the water deadly.
The situation only worsened in spring. The mass migration of birds, including rare and protected species, passed through already contaminated areas. Experts estimate that millions of birds could be at risk of poisoning and death. So far, the death toll counts only those birds whose bodies were found and officially recorded.
According to environmental experts, millions of birds could face poisoning and death
The situation is no better for marine mammals. For months, dead dolphins have been washing ashore. To date, about 200 carcasses have been recorded.
Yet the greatest environmental damage lies beneath the surface. As the mazut settled on the seabed, it devastated algae and benthic invertebrates — the very foundation of the region’s food chain. Mollusks, a key food source for commercial fish species like the Black Sea goby, mullet, and flounder, were also affected.
Contaminants have begun accumulating in marine organisms throughout the food chain. Ecologists warned that in the coming months, fish caught off the coasts of Kuban and Crimea would build up toxins, making their consumption potentially dangerous.
Though shiny dolphin fins and flocks of white swans can now be seen near Anapa’s coast, ecologist Alexei Mochalov cautions against interpreting this as a sign of ecological recovery:
“Animals don’t possess some extraordinary or miraculous intelligence when it comes to this. They follow their usual migration routes along the coast. They can easily end up in contaminated zones without knowing it. Of course, people see these animals in the affected area — but how many fish or birds die shortly afterward? No one knows. These animals are victims of the disaster. This is their home, and it has been severely damaged.”
In the first months after the disaster, Krasnodar Krai allocated a total of 2.2 billion rubles ($27.96 million) for cleanup efforts. Later, an additional 1.5 billion rubles ($19.07 million) was released from the government’s reserve fund, and another 8.9 billion rubles ($113.13 million) followed in May and June.
These funds were intended to cover the removal and storage of contaminated soil, purchase protective gear for volunteers and rescuers, and provide them with food and accommodation.
In April 2025, authorities proposed covering the wrecks of the Volgoneft-212 and the Volgoneft-239 with cofferdams — protective structures designed to allow the extraction of remaining oil products without the risk of further leaks. However, the state tender for their design, manufacture, and installation was published on the procurement portal only on June 10. The contract is valued at 1.036 billion rubles ($13.17 million). The company that will carry out the work has not yet been selected.
According to a commission headed by Rostransnadzor, with participation from the Ministry of Transport and Rosmorrechflot, both of the wrecked tankers had committed systemic safety violations. Both vessels ignored seasonal navigation restrictions in the Kerch Strait, and neither was adequately staffed with qualified crew members.
The Volgoneft-212 belonged to KamaTransOil, a company based in Perm, and was chartered by the private transport firm Kama Shipping. The second tanker, the Volgoneft-239, was owned by Volgatransneft. After the accident, it was revealed that the Volgoneft-239 did not have official permission to sail. Both vessels should have been decommissioned 10 to 15 years ago — the maximum service life for such tankers is 40 years. The Volgoneft-212 was built in 1969, and the Volgoneft-239 in 1973.
Shortly after the disaster, Rosprirodnadzor filed a lawsuit against the shipowners for 84.9 billion rubles ($1.08 billion) in damages to the Black Sea’s ecosystem. Another claim, totaling 314.5 million rubles ($4.00 million), was submitted by the Maritime Rescue Service in an effort to recover emergency response costs.
Russia’s Investigative Committee has launched a criminal case under Article 263 of the country’s Criminal Code — violating maritime safety regulations resulting in accidental death. Investigations and expert examinations are ongoing, and suspects have been formally charged. Still, it's the ship captains — rather than the companies that hired them — who are likely to bear the brunt of the responsibility.
The independent investigative journalism outlet Important Stories revealed that tankers of the Volgoneft type are actively involved in circumventing sanctions on Russian oil. Throughout 2024 and into January 2025, these vessels transported 800,000 tons of oil products from Rostov-on-Don to the port of Kavkaz, with 80% of that volume transferred to Russia’s shadow fleet.
The wreckage of the sunken tankers, resting at the bottom of the Kerch Strait, still contains nearly 4,000 tons of mazut. Official plans call for their salvage, but work is not expected to be completed until at least 2026. Meanwhile, rising water temperatures are making the mazut more fluid, causing leaks to occur more frequently. Satellite imagery from March 31, 2025, already documented extensive mazut slicks in the Black Sea.
On June 1, 2025, around 100 residents of Anapa, frustrated by the slow pace of cleanup efforts, recorded a video appeal. They condemned the authorities’ inaction and demanded an immediate start to the pumping mazut from the sunken tankers — before it’s too late.