The boobies spoke to me.

All over the Maryland Birding Facebook page, birders were sharing photos of the elegant, tropical birds with the cartoonish feet and the white, penguin-like bellies. There were more than a dozen brown boobies, settling into Chesapeake Bay buoys as if moving into a condo, their yellow beaks popping out of the penthouse suite.

They had been here since the summer, always on the same buoys, far from their tropical homes in the Caribbean and South America. As a longtime chronicler of the Chesapeake Bay, I get excited about rare birds and how and why they arrive here. But often, I hear about a rare bird somewhere and go to find it and it’s not there. These birds were not only staying put; they were unfazed. Long lenses leaning out of charter boats, large ships barreling through the channel, cormorants competing for fish — nothing seemed to bother them. They were the chillest, coolest birds I had ever seen.

I didn’t have to say much more than “brown booby” to generate interest in the newsroom. Saying the name made me giggle like a 13-year-old, but the booby comes by it honestly. Officially Sula leucogaster, the booby takes its moniker from the Spanish word “bobo,” which translates as foolish or half-witted. It comes from the birds’ tendency to stay in one place for a long time, often on a ship’s bow, the easier for the crew to catch it and eat it.

Jerry Jackson was all in before I even finished my sentence. An excellent photographer and avid birder, he is also the son of a famous ornithologist, Jerome Jackson. The elder Jackson is an expert on the elusive Ivory-billed woodpecker, among many other avian creatures. The younger is among the best birders I know. Also, he had photographed the boobies in 2015, when two of the birds made their first known Baltimore-area appearance on the mooring ropes between the Antares and Denebola ships in the harbor.

Birders lost their minds, hiring water taxis to make unscheduled stops for better views. And now, we could see — there weren’t just two boobies, but at least 14 of them.

On the recommendation of fellow birders on Facebook, we called captain Eric Goodrich of Stella Charters in Pasadena to take us to the boobie penthouse. Goodrich, an avid fisherman who used to run an environmental restoration company, is usually busy with rockfish parties this time of year. But he’d already taken out eight birding parties when we called, and had three more scheduled. He’d be happy to take more, he said. Birders don’t get frustrated when they don’t catch anything, and they drink a lot less beer. He’d even made an “I saw the Brown Booby” T-shirt, which I immediately had to have.

Tim Forrester, a local birder, asked on Facebook if he could join us. I friended him, sent him a message with captain Eric’s information, and gave him parking instructions. “Now, here’s hoping you’re not a creep,” I wrote. These are boobies. You can never be too sure.

He responded with a link to his ebird profile, which confirmed he was a publicly engaged ornithologist with not much but birds on his mind.

We met at the dock, and I knew I was right to trust my instincts. Tim is a recently minted Ph.D. in bird ecology from the University of Montana; he knew every bird we saw, whether it was a juvenile, what kind of feathers it had (some birds that swim don’t have waterproof feathers and some do), where it came from, and where it was going. He had binoculars, a camera, a digital Sibley bird guide and a lot of patience for my incessant questioning.

The four of us set out in Titan, captain Eric’s plush pontoon. He maneuvered out of Bodkin Creek and across the Chesapeake toward Rock Hall. In the middle of the bay sat several numbered buoys. The boobies were perched on them; the cormorants relegated to the buoy basement.

Unbothered, they seemed to pose for Jerry, their necks able to turn almost 360 degrees. Their duck-like feet pitter-pattered. Then they swooped down into the water. Three flaps and a glide; three flaps and a glide. Mesmerizing. Enthralling.

No one knows for sure how the boobies got here, when they are leaving, and where they will go. But Tim Carney, an avid Baltimore birder who has been chronicling their movements, said he sees some patterns. They have “site fidelity,” meaning they return to the same general area. Sort of like Baltimoreans who go to Ocean City every year, but switch up where they rent their beach condo.

Boobies have stayed on buoys in years past, but in smaller numbers, so people didn’t notice them as much. They like atolls in the ocean, so it’s not surprising they’ve taken to our channel markers. Some birders theorize they arrived here following a cruise ship.

They may have come because of warming patterns pushing their range north or because of changes in their food source, as with other rare birds here. Snowy owls have turned up in Cambridge. Roseate spoonbills, native to Texas and Florida, have taken to the urban wilds near Curtis Bay. Mississippi kites have found a home next to the Glen Burnie Costco.

I’ve often thought we don’t deserve our birds. Over the decades, we sure have not acted grateful for all they do for us. We’ve overfished their food supply. We’ve sprayed pesticides that thin the shells of their offspring, killing them. We’ve built skyscrapers in their flyways, and townhouses in their forests.

And yet, they come back to us. I’m grateful, as always, for the restorative power of a day with my eyes toward the sky. We may be boobs who don’t deserve our boobies, but as long as they’re going to be here, I’m going to look.