The Alabama River crested this weekend at 53.6 feet at the Claiborne Dam, the highest level seen in 25 years.

Flood stage at the dam is 42 feet. Once the river rises above that level, the dam is no longer able to control the swollen river. The National Weather Service warned of "major flooding... widespread flooding of agricultural lands in the area..."

While the river's floodwaters have inundated numerous homes and communities throughout the state, the main thing that gets flooded below Claiborne Dam are the swampy forests of the Mobile-Tensaw Delta.

The last time the Delta saw this much water was in 1990, when the existing record of 57.59 feet was set.

The flood gauge at the Claiborne Dam shows the river cresting over the weekend almost 12 feet above flood stage. This is the highest level since the record flood of 1990.

When the flood is on, the Delta's rivers rise above their banks and spill over the natural levees that build up along their edges. The floodplain forest is inundated. This flooding really begins about where Interstate 65 crosses the Delta, and reaches upstream all the way to the Claiborne Dam, with the water in the woods getting deeper the further upstream you go.

On Saturday, the entire Delta, from its eastern edge to its western edge, was rendered one gigantic river, about 13 miles wide. The divisions between the Tombigbee, Middle River, the Tensaw, Lizard Creek, and all the dozens of smaller waterways that weave through the system, simply disappeared. The forest and all its trees, from one side to the other were part of a huge and flowing river.

The woods are spooky during the flood, and dangerous. Currents pushing 10 miles an hour sweep through the thick forests. Landmarks and trails vanish along with every bit of land. Aside from bird calls, the only sound is the rushing purl of millions of gallons of water sweeping past, curling around tree trunks and Spanish moss.

A boat that loses power in the woods quickly finds itself in a dangerous situation, pinned against the cypress and gum trees by the muddy brown water. The big danger is turning over or falling out of your vessel. Do that and drowning is almost guaranteed. Or if you manage not to be pulled under by the deceptively strong currents, a slower death awaits as hypothermia takes hold, for it is a sure bet no one will find something as inconsequential as a human clinging to one of the millions of trees in 500 square miles of flooded forest.

These wintertime floods are vital to the system, for they help to correct one of the main problems associated with the damming of Alabama's rivers - the disruption of the ancient energy link between the mountains at the top of the state and the Delta at the bottom. Before the introduction of more than 30 major dams on Alabama's rivers, these winter and spring floods refreshed the floodplain forests regularly. Now, that only happens when the floods are large enough to overwhelm the dams. And even then, the high water will last for a matter of days, not weeks or months as it might have in generations past.

The floods serve to remake and re-energize the Delta lands, which I've written about here. The ripping currents erode river banks and sandbars, while simultaneously depositing sediments in new places and making new land. Meanwhile, the rushing water carries all the biological energy generated along every creek and river throughout the state. We are talking about the leaves that fall from the trees in the fall and the animals, from insects to large mammals, that die in the floodplains and are reduced to their base elements as they decay. All that energy is picked up by the floodwaters and deposited far downstream.

A mat of decaying leaves drifts by on the floodwaters. After the floods, the river forests will look as if they've been swept clean by a giant broom, with vast expanses of smooth mud.

You could see that process in action on Saturday, deep in the heart of the Delta, in the woods surrounding Mound Island - named for the ancient mud hills built by native peoples more than 1,000 years ago. There, far outnumbering the logs and other bits of flotsam drifting by, were rafts of decomposing leaves. Inky black from their time lying in the muddy swamps, these five inch thick mats of decaying vegetation floated up from the forest floor with the rising waters. As the waters recede, they will be deposited wherever they settle, moving energy from one place to another.

The Peacock clan, son Brad, and father Craig, were out tending to their Delta camp Saturday, taking advantage of the high water to do some tree trimming.

"We're using the flood as our ladder. We took that whole tree down because it was getting too big over the house," Brad Peacock said.

The "house" is a small cabin built on a floating deck. It usually sits at the edge of the Tensaw River, near its conjunction with Middle River. But today, the adjacent shoreline is nowhere to be seen. The top of their dog kennel is barely visible above the muddy brown water. A big splashing ruckus in the kennel erupts as an alligator gar that swam in through an open gate tried to find its way out.

Brad Peacock, John Kimbrough, and Craig Peacock, stand on the dock in front of their floating cabin.

"This is the highest I've ever seen it," Brad said. "The main camp house is totally flooded, and its on land. You can see it over there. It is up to the windows. This is really something to see out here. No land anywhere! Be careful out there. It's dangerous."

It is a mighty drama to behold, part of the annual push and pull of the salty waters of the Gulf of Mexico and the freshwater draining from the entire state. Right now, the freshwater is winning, pushing a vast plume of muddy brown water down through Mobile Bay and out in the Gulf, dozens of miles. The plume can be seen from space, and the scientists at the Dauphin Island Sea Lab are able to detect the freshwater as far as 50 miles offshore.

When the flood is over, it will be time for the spring spawn, in both freshwater and salt. Billions of creatures, from fish to birds to pigs, will reap this new bounty deposited by this year's high water. It is a sure bet those floodplain forests will be just a little bit greener and a little bit richer this year compared to the years the rivers don't make it above the dams.

Follow Ben Raines as he explores Alabama's natural wonders on Facebook, or Twitter at Ben H. Raines. Shoot him an email with questions or story ideas at braines@al.com. Raines, a licensed Delta guide, has spent thousands of hours exploring the Alabama River system. You can read his series on the area, America's Amazon by clicking here.