From this story in The New York Times:
As the buck rises from its bed in the underbrush 40 yards away, every cell in my body decides to attempt a jailbreak. I'm in my hunting stand, 24 feet up a tulip poplar, where I've been concealed for four hours waiting for a deer to pass. And this one has been right in front of me the whole time. I would like to come to my feet, but my legs are shaking too hard.