PORTLAND — Brandon Pratt navigated his city vehicle through commuter traffic on Forest Avenue, past brightly lit shops and restaurants and the “Hopeful” sign glowing near Woodfords Corner.

As he pulled into an empty church parking lot, the lights and cars gave way to quiet darkness.

There, tucked into the woods along one of the busiest streets in Portland, he knew he was likely to find someone living in a tent, largely unnoticed by the commuters rushing by.

On one of the coldest and darkest nights of winter, Pratt, an outreach worker with Portland’s Health and Human Services Department, led one of four teams that spread out across the city Thursday to count every homeless person they could find. Their effort was part of the Point-in-Time count, an annual survey of homeless people across the country used by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development to determine how much money will be sent to states to address homelessness.

Behind the church, Pratt and his team split into two groups. He led the way over a snowbank and through a thin stand of trees to an empty tent, partially buried in snow. Two others walked carefully to the edge of a clearing, where another tent sat tucked under a swing set, hidden almost entirely from view.

A team member called out and Tamara Crosby emerged, bundled in a jacket with a hat pulled low over her forehead.

The 39-year-old told them she has been homeless for five years. She used to go to the shelter, but hadn’t in a long time, and had been staying in the tent with her boyfriend. Crosby said she couldn’t wait to get out of the cold and, on Monday, would finally move into an apartment.

It’s a struggle to stay warm, she said, even on the nights when she has handwarmers to tuck into her gloves and propane for a heater. Other times, she said, they use rubbing alcohol to make flames for a little bit of warmth.

“It’s very hard,” Crosby said.

‘THE SURVEY HELPS TELL THE STORY’

A year ago, the Point-in-Time survey counted 2,413 homeless people in Maine, a number that officials and advocates recognize is an undercount because it’s hard to find everybody. Most people were in shelters or transitional housing of some sort, but 281 were unsheltered.

Nakesha Warren, who organized the Cumberland County count, said the process isn’t always easy because homeless people are battling the cold and sometimes don’t want to answer questions. Others, she said, are willing to give their names and talk about how long they’ve been homeless.

Warren said volunteers receive training on how to approach homeless people with respect, ask the survey questions and record responses in a phone app. Volunteers hand out gift cards to the people they talk to and encourage them to go to the city’s General Assistance office to pick up donated jackets, shoes and clothing.

Pratt’s team of volunteers included Rich Hooks Wayman, president and CEO of Volunteers of America Northern New England; Josh Waxman, senior vice president of community impact for United Way of Southern Maine, and Stephanie Szabo, a peer recovery coach with Everest Recovery in South Portland.

They all work in roles that focus regularly on housing, homelessness and helping people navigate barriers to finding stability. They all said they felt compelled to participate because they understand the importance of making sure there is accurate data to secure resources.

“The survey helps tell the story,” Hooks Wayman said. “The story is there are a lot of sick and isolated people on the streets who need help.”

FINDING EMPTY TENTS

On Thursday, the temperature dipped into the low teens as Pratt’s team headed to another spot where he knew people sometimes hunker down in tents. With bitterly cold temperatures lingering for days, many people seemed to be going to the city’s warming shelter, he said.

Near a street that dead ends at the Fore River Trail, Pratt led the group through shin-deep snowdrifts, the silence broken only by their soft footfalls and the whoosh of traffic in the distance.

Multiple tents and tarps crowded a small campsite tucked just out of sight of the busy road.

“Hello, is anyone home?” Pratt called out. “Hello? We have gift cards.”

On that night, the tents were empty.

“It’s not a bad thing when you don’t find anyone,” Waxman said. “Hopefully, they’re inside somewhere staying warm.”

OUT IN THE COLD

Undeterred by the cold, Pratt and the others talked about places where they had recently seen tents or people sleeping in cars.

They decided to drive to St. James Street, where people sometimes park to sleep. There was an RV, surrounded by snow and covered with parking tickets, parked under an overpass, where Pratt knows a couple of people live.

The RV was empty, but around the corner Waxman and Szabo met a man and woman who said they are homeless. The man told them he didn’t want to go to a shelter and answered their questions before heading back to his small tent near a highway on-ramp.

As the group passed under an Interstate 295 overpass on the way to the next stop, Pratt spotted a pile of blankets on the sidewalk. Two feet stuck out from one end.

Waxman jumped out of the car to check on the person under the blankets and came back moments later, letting out a sigh as he recorded the man’s location in the app.

The man didn’t want to talk or go to a shelter.

As the car pulled away, the man stayed lying on the frozen ground, covered with a sleeping bag and a half dozen blankets.