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Maximilien CHAUVEINC, a student in the Grande École Program at IÉSEG, decided to spend a gap year off the beaten track by completing a project dedicated to wildlife photography. From a young age, he has nurtured a deep fascination for biodiversity—through books, documentaries, travels, and now, through the lens of his camera. He tells us about his once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Maximilien, how did the idea of spending your gap year on wildlife photography come about?

I’ve always been passionate about biodiversity. Since childhood, I’ve been reading, researching, and watching documentaries on the subject. As I grew older, I was lucky enough to travel, and my trips were always focused on exploring nature.

About ten years ago, I got into wildlife photography for two reasons: to capture those unique moments and to make my passion for biodiversity more tangible by sharing it with others. So, when the time came to choose how to spend my gap year, it was obvious to me that it should revolve around wildlife photography—especially in places I had long dreamed of visiting.

The idea of an exhibition came naturally. It was the perfect way to bring my project to life: a real challenge in terms of organization and budgeting, while also showcasing my passion.

How did you go about organizing the exhibition?

I already knew the founder of a production company experienced in setting up exhibitions, and he helped me secure a venue in Paris’ 20th arrondissement. We held several meetings to discuss the project and review my photos. I explained the main theme: the conservation status of different species, the threats they face, and the broader challenges of protecting biodiversity in the countries I had visited. The exhibition ran for three days, with an opening night reception. The feedback was overwhelmingly positive and gave me the motivation to plan more exhibitions in the future.

You chose China, Nepal, and Sri Lanka. Why these countries in particular?

Although they’re geographically close, these three countries have strikingly different ecosystems. I had been researching them for years, and I already knew about certain reserves and the species found there.

What also makes them interesting is that they are examples of successful conservation efforts on a global scale. China, for instance, is the symbol of panda protection: their numbers rose from under 100 individuals to about 1,800 in around three decades—a rare conservation success story.

In Nepal, the tiger population has nearly tripled over the past few decades. The country also protects a species of rhino, with around 4,000 individuals left—600 of which live in a single reserve. These successes rely heavily on community involvement and sustainable tourism. Those were exactly the dynamics I wanted to explore on the ground.

What lessons did you take away from this experience?

One thing that struck me in Sri Lanka—and even more in Nepal—was the complexity of managing natural reserves for local communities. In these areas, wildlife roams free with no fences, which leads to many accidents. People living nearby simply have to adapt.

A young Nepali once told me something I’ll never forget: “They can kill us, but we’re not allowed to kill them.” From a Western perspective, we often focus solely on saving endangered species at all costs. But that comes with responsibilities: namely, the very real consequences for people living alongside these animals.

Another lesson I learned is that conservation only works if local populations are fully involved—from governments down to small villages. Political decisions, like building infrastructure in certain areas, can have massive effects on biodiversity. On a smaller scale, some communities are forced to give up activities they’ve practiced for generations. Striking a balance between protecting biodiversity and maintaining viable living conditions for local people requires constant creativity.

Was there an encounter with an animal that stood out to you?

I had several powerful experiences, but one moment in Nepal stands above the rest. I spent ten days in a reserve, traveling by foot in the territory of apex predators and other big animals like rhinos, elephants, tigers, and leopards.

On the ninth day, just as we were about to head back, a tiger appeared—barely 30 meters away. We watched each other for about twenty minutes. He was a massive male, around 500 pounds—the very embodiment of a king of the wild. It was one of the most intense moments of my life. I took a few photos, but then I chose to put the camera down and watch him through my binoculars, fully savoring the experience.

There were also scarier encounters, especially with rhinos. In every reserve, I was accompanied by guides—sometimes armed with nothing more than a stick. Their calm and deep knowledge of animal behavior were remarkable. They explained how to react depending on which animal we came across. With rhinos, for example, the only option was to climb a tree! More than once, we found ourselves perched five or six meters above the ground while a rhino lingered below. One time, a particularly nervous rhino charged into the tall grass just a few yards from us—we had no idea where it might run. We quickly scrambled up the trees for safety.

These moments gave me huge adrenaline rushes, but that’s also what I was looking for: raw, unfiltered encounters with animals—face to face, with both respect and danger in play. On foot, you’re on equal footing with wildlife, unlike in a jeep safari. Of course it’s risky, but I trusted the guides completely.

What did a typical day in a reserve look like?

It varied depending on the country’s regulations. Sometimes we camped inside the reserve, other times on the outskirts. Some places allowed walking or night safaris, others didn’t.

Days started at sunrise, when most animals are still active, and lasted around ten hours. During the day, we alternated between long walks and waiting quietly at observation points identified by the guides.

That often meant two or three hours of patient watching, once or twice a day. In the evenings, we returned to our tents, lodges, or cabins. I’d then spend time talking with guides, locals, or other travelers—discussing their work, their experiences, and conservation issues. It was a mix of personal curiosity and field research for my exhibition.

In your view, how can photography contribute to biodiversity conservation?

Photography plays a vital role in raising awareness, especially in developed countries. It showcases both the beauty and the fragility of biodiversity. But it can also be confronting—documenting deforestation, poaching, or pollution. I try to capture these realities too, not just the animals.

I believe photography has an emotional impact that words often can’t match. It makes issues tangible, striking, and sometimes impossible to ignore. Today, especially in the age of social media, images speak louder than text.